Chapter 9
9
The level of nervousness Drew was feeling had previously been reserved for the more momentous occasions in his life, such as the birth of his children, asking Sarah to marry him, and his wedding day. Today, none of those factors were in play, and yet his stomach swarmed with butterflies of Amazonian proportions. His flustered state didn’t bode well.
After much consideration – and test runs during the previous week’s commutes to work – Drew had decided upon a rear-facing seat towards the back of one of the middle carriages. Rear-facing meant it was unlikely that someone would choose to sit next to him, at least until the train was full, although he had decided to forgo the luxury of a proper table. It would be more convenient to have one, there was no doubt about it, but table space was at a premium, meaning there was a high chance of being overlooked. And today, Drew needed privacy. Placing his laptop on his lap, he flipped it open.
Already, his pulse was buzzing and his mouth as dry as two-day-old bread. But it was time, he knew it. In the last five weeks, he had devoured all eighteen of Naughty Nanny’s books and even had the next one on pre-order, set to download the moment it appeared on the virtual bookshelf. He didn’t need it, though.
The last week had been spent procrastinating. There was the Sarah issue, of course. Deep down, he still thought she’d be great at doing this, but the fact that she wouldn’t even let him put his hand down her bra unless she was under the covers with the bedroom light turned off meant she was unlikely to take kindly to him bringing up the idea again. It would be better, he decided, if he started it first, then he could bring her on board with all the crazy money talk he had been reading about. That, of course, meant the pressure was firmly on him to get the job done. For a full week, he had gone back and forth analysing certain scenes and looking at the use of language, but he could procrastinate no longer. The time was upon him. It was time to write.
The Adventures of an Air Hostess. That was the scenario he had decided upon. In his head spanned an unending series: The Air Hostess Hits Hungary, The Air Hostess Hits Hong Kong, The Air Hostess Hits Honolulu . He would probably have to shake things up a bit when he ran out of countries and cities that started with an H, but the idea had longevity, he was sure of that. Or at least it would if he could just work out how to start writing the damn thing. Five minutes of staring at the screen, and still, he had nothing. It was the country, he decided, that was causing the block. How could he write about a place he’d never visited? The last thing he wanted was to put off prospective readers by crappy descriptions cut straight from the internet.
After another minute of frustration, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, opened them, and began to type.
The Air Hostess Hits the Hot Tub , he wrote. Sure, it wasn’t the most exotic place, but this way, he could be a bit vaguer about locations and not worry too much about getting things wrong. Now that the excuse was put to rest, he had focus. He started, letting his fingers take the lead.
Raven kicked off her four-inch heels the moment she got in through the door. The flight had been delayed by two hours, and with the traffic backed up when she left the airport, she thought she might never get home. Fortunately, one of the passengers from First Class saw her standing in the rain while waiting in the cab queue, and offered her a lift in his limo, along with his number if she wanted it for later in the week.
Two paragraphs in, and he started having fun with it. ‘Names,’ he said out loud to himself as he wrote. He needed a name for the first male to enter her life. Brad, maybe? Or was that too obvious? Christian, had that been used before? Deciding to go with a non-offensive Joe for his initial leading male, Drew carried on typing, finding himself more and more absorbed with every line. Only when the carriage emptied, and he was left alone, did he realise they had arrived. Tucking his laptop under his arm, he raced off the train. He would have to grab a sandwich to eat at his desk for lunch today, he thought. There was more work that needed to be done.
The first ten thousand words had flown by once he got into the swing of things. After realising that there was only so far the hot tub scenario could take him, Drew had fallen back on his original idea and was now four chapters into The Air Hostess Hits Halkidiki . He had visited the Greek Islands with his parents whilst growing up, and though his memory of the finer details was perhaps a little hazy, after a bit of time perusing images and watching a few sunny relocation programmes with Sarah, he was confident in his ability to capture the essence of Mediterranean heat and brightly coloured cocktails. There was no denying it; writing was fun. So far, the leading lady had managed illicit encounters in the taxi ride to the airport, at the airport itself, and on the plane. According to his plan – which he had jotted down after reading several online posts advising him to have at least an outline of his story – he still had several more misadventures for her to enjoy, including at the hotel, on the beach, at the beach bar, and the swimming pool, then a whole couple of extra chapters when she headed back to the UK for some time off work. He was storming ahead.
‘Surely you don’t have to work again tonight?’ Sarah said as she sat on the sofa, legs propped up on the futon that used to be Drew’s but had somehow changed possession to Sarah since she first fell pregnant with George. It was old now, squashed out of shape with almost all the firmness gone, but he still missed it. When Sarah was done with this final baby, he would work out a way to go about claiming it back, although he wasn’t entirely sure how he would go about doing that. And it wasn’t like it mattered at the moment. For the last week, he had been more than happy sitting at the dining-room table, laptop facing the corner of the room as he continued to type away. At this rate, he would get the first book done well before the bump was due to join them. With a little bit of luck, he would then earn enough to jet them off to the never-ending list of H-inspired destinations under the guise of research and a well-deserved holiday. Which to go to first, that was the question on his mind. Honolulu or Hong Kong?
‘Drew, did you hear what I said?’
‘Sorry?’ He looked up from his screen.
‘I asked if you really had to work tonight. It’s been every night this week. I thought you might want to watch something?’
‘I will. I won’t be long,’ he said, glancing down to the chapter he had just started writing. Maybe just two hundred words. Two hundred more words and he would stop. His air hostess had just been given the key card to her hotel room. Little did she know, there had been a mix up at the check-in desk.
‘What is it you’re doing?’ Sarah asked, breaking his stream of concentration before it had even begun to form.
‘Sorry?’
‘I said, what is it you’re working on?’
‘Oh, just some things for Christmas.’ Drew tried to hide his irritation at the interruption and remember what it was he had planned on writing next.
‘Drew?’
‘Oh, just warehouse allocation.’ He said the first thing that came to mind but Sarah continued to stare at him, her eyebrows expectantly. ‘That type of thing.’
Obviously not satisfied by his answer, Sarah heaved herself into a more upright position on the sofa.
‘Surely they can’t be expecting you to work every night like this. It’s not as if you’re paid for it.’
‘It’s just the Christmas period. You know what it’s like. And we do get a Christmas bonus, remember?’
‘I suppose.’
Thinking that the interrogation was over, Drew got back to work. A split second later, he saw Sarah was standing over him.
‘Jesus!’ He slammed the laptop closed. ‘What are you doing? You scared the crap out of me.’
‘I just wanted to see what you were working on. That was all.’
Drew could feel the clammy heat building on his skin.
‘I told you. It’s just work. A report,’ he said.
‘A report? On what?’
‘Warehouse allocations. Like I said.’ His throat was clamming up too now. And a cold sweat trickled down his neck. He hated lying. He was useless at it, but with her glaring eyes and already suspicious expression gracing her face, there was no way he wanted to risk the truth. ‘It’s a reflection,’ he said, the lie out of his mouth before he had even thought it through. ‘I have to write a reflection on all the current warehouses. Storage volume, refrigeration ability, ease of road access. That type of thing.’
‘Is that a new thing you have to do?’
‘Not particularly.’ His sweating grew more profuse. He was worried now that slamming the lid shut would have stopped the work from saving too. If that was the case, he was going to be even more annoyed.
Sarah’s eyes remained fixed, although the tension around them loosened by a fraction.
‘Do you want some help?’ she said finally. ‘I’m a fast typer. You could dictate it to me if you like.’
‘You don’t want to do that.’
‘I do. It’ll be fun. It’s not like I get to use my brain any more. And it’ll get you done a bit quicker. Let me help.’
The tightness in Drew’s abdomen refused to let up as he watched the glimmer of hope flicker in Sarah’s eyes. It wasn’t a case of her helping him, he could see that. It was a request for herself. Her state of mind. And wasn’t that the reason he had wanted her to do this? Wasn’t this meant to be for her in the first place? His eyes went down to the top of the computer lid. He should show her now, he thought. But the flicker of hope in her eyes was met by a look of doubt in his own. Another week, he told himself. Another week, then at least he would have a little more to show for himself.
Avoiding his wife’s gaze, he placed his hand on the top of the computer.
‘Perhaps it would be best if I just worked on it myself,’ he said.