Chapter 18
18
Drew’s email pinged. His normal response was to ignore at least 40 per cent of emails until his dedicated email answering time, but it was the end of the day, and all productive work had near enough stopped. Besides, the sender caused him to do a double-take. Sarah never sent him emails, especially not to his work address. She sent text messages, instant messages. Things she could check to see whether he had actually read them or not. The fact that she would email him so close to home time obviously meant she wanted him to see what she had written.
His eyes darted quickly through his interior window and out into the cubicle area. Polly was there, nodding her head repetitively to a stressed-looking Barry. Whatever it was, Drew hoped that somehow, she would be able to deal with it. He really didn’t fancy handling another Barry crisis now. His attention returned to the email and its attached file. There was no way Sarah could have finished her chapter already, he thought to himself. He had only asked her a couple of days ago, and each of the evenings had been filled with editing his work. Chances were, it was just a single paragraph that she wanted him to have a look over. A minute later, he found himself reading the first page of a six-page document; at least she wasn’t lying when she said she typed fast.
It was difficult to maintain a look of complete and nonchalant professionalism when reading words Drew didn’t realise his wife knew, let alone was able to describe. His eyes bulged as he scrolled down the page. It would certainly spice up the plot, that was for sure. A delayed flight, our good old air hostess, the female pilot, and a male trainee pilot. It was definitely not a simple case of ravaging her again in the cockpit. In fact, there was so much more than ravaging going on that Drew was having a hard time keeping on top of it all.
‘Sorry to interrupt, boss.’
Jumping from his seat, Drew minimised the document on his screen.
‘Barry!’ he said, with far more force than intended. ‘What is it? I thought you were going home. Why haven’t you gone home yet?’
Barry puffed out his cheeks as he sighed. ‘That was the plan,’ he said. ‘That was definitely the plan. Only she…’ he paused to wave through the window at Polly, who was peering at them, clearly within listening range, ‘…has found an error in the datasheet I sent through yesterday. I tried to explain to her that I can’t redo it now, as my computer is with the IT guys. Well, I left it outside their door as they refused to open it, but anyway, I haven’t got it. And she’s telling me that if I haven’t got it completed by tomorrow, she’s going to have me up for a formal review. Can you believe it? I mean, I tried to explain, but would she listen? Formal review! Because IT has my computer. Do you think I want them to? Of course I don’t. And you’d think I’d be given a little bit of credit after how long I’ve been here, wouldn’t you? You know, I have a good mind to?—’
‘Just use my computer.’ Drew stood up, the endless diatribe having brought on an almost immediate migraine. The man had a gift. How one person could change the mood of another so completely in such a short space of time was probably worth some serious research. Just as long as he didn’t have to be part of it. Stepping to the side, Drew stretched out his hand towards the desk. ‘Honestly. I was about to head home anyway.’
‘You were?’
‘I was. Just make sure you log everything off before you go.’
Sighing with relief, Barry flopped down into Drew’s chair. ‘What would I do without you?’ he asked.
Sarah had mulled over the decision as to whether or not she should have sent her first draft to Drew’s work email. In the end, she decided to go for it. It was far easier that way; he would read it away from her, and she wouldn’t feel the need to analyse his every single expression. Already though, only seconds after sending it, her stomach was doing backflips, wanting to know what he thought. Two days. She was impressed. With all the things that had been going on, she was amazed she had managed to get her first chapter done in two days. Now she just needed to find out if he thought it was any good.
Trepidation roiled through her. She felt like it was good. At least good in the sense of what these things were meant to be like. It was rude, that was for sure. Far ruder than she’d even thought she was capable of. And funny in places too. Even now, she blushed, thinking about some of the things she had described.
Stirring the children’s ready-made pasta sauce – which she was certain contained a thousand toxins that her hippy birthing group would disapprove of – she glanced again at the clock on the wall. Five forty-five. Drew would be home soon, assuming there were no delays.
Sarah was upstairs in the bathroom when the front door finally clicked open.
‘Sah?’
‘Upstairs,’ she called. Any hope of speaking to Drew immediately had been abandoned. Only minutes after she served the children dinner, having discovered that the pasta sauce she bought on offer appeared to be made of indelible ink, Eva had grabbed handfuls of the stuff and smeared it into every orifice she could. By the time Sarah had returned to the dining table from fetching the children their water, Eva’s entire body, from her belly button to her ears, was glowing red.
‘Pretty, pretty pink,’ she chirped excitedly. ‘Eva’s pink. Eva’s all pink!’
‘Why didn’t you stop her?’ Sarah snapped at George, knowing as she spoke that it was an unfair comment.
‘She just looked so happy,’ George replied before his eyes began to well with tears. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Mummy.’ The rest of the dinner involved trying to stop George from crying and trying to get some of the remaining food into Eva. Forty minutes later, and George was enjoying a chocolate biscuit – by way of an apology – in his room while Eva was in the bath. Sarah had tried every type of soap and shower gel they had on her daughter with no luck. Short of going for the bleach, she was stuck.
‘Well, I wasn’t expecting—’ Drew stopped the moment he appeared in the doorway. ‘What happened?’
‘She had pasta sauce for tea,’ Sarah replied. ‘Toxic pasta sauce.’
He nodded, although a large V had formed on his forehead, as though he didn’t quite believe that one simple meal could have transformed his daughter quite so much. ‘Anything I can do?’ he asked, pulling his eyes away from Eva.
‘You can read George a story,’ Sarah replied, now scrubbing in a circular motion and unsure as to whether the redness of Eva’s cheeks was from the sauce or the fact that Sarah had removed the top layer of her skin. ‘Make sure he cleans his teeth first. And can you check under his bed for food?’
‘Why would there be food under his bed?’
‘I don’t know. He seems to be squirrelling it away. I found half a packet of Mini Cheddars in the dishwasher earlier. And two Oreos under his pillow.’
‘I’ll check,’ Drew said, then leaned in and kissed Sarah, Eva, and the bump before disappearing into George’s room.
Finally, after finding one-quarter of a cheese sandwich in George’s dirty washing pile and trying not to appear too concerned over his daughter’s fuchsia skin, Drew was able to sit down and have a proper conversation with his wife. The conversation he’d been wanting to have since he got home.
‘I can’t believe it. Honestly. It was brilliant. Better than brilliant. I don’t even know what’s better than brilliant. What word can I use that’s better than brilliant?’
A bashful pink tinged Sarah’s cheeks.
‘Well, you can say it was phenomenal, outstanding?—’
‘That’s it, exactly. It was phenomenal.’
Sarah shook her head and laughed. ‘You’re just saying that. You have to say that.’
‘No, I don’t. I don’t.’ Drew reached over and took her by the hands. ‘Don’t get me wrong. I knew you’d be good and everything. I really did, but seriously. Wow. It was certainly the best email I received all day.’
She winced. ‘Yeah, sorry about that, I just wanted you to read it away from me. I’d have been too embarrassed to have you read it in front of me.’
‘Do I even want to know where those ideas come from? Should I be worried? The two women…’ He let out a long-drawn whistle and watched her colour deepen. His wide grin dipped slightly. As proud as he was of his wife, it did raise one big question. One that he really didn’t want to admit. Trying to maintain an upbeat tone, he forced the words out of his mouth. ‘Sah, I think maybe it should be you writing this thing and not me. I mean. You’re clearly the one with the better writing skills and the better imagination.’ His pulse beat a little faster as he recalled exactly what went on in the cockpit of Sarah’s world. ‘Maybe we should swap roles. You do the writing, and I’ll take over on the editing front. I could still do it on the commute?’
A moment’s pause infiltrated the room for the first time since they had sat down together, causing Drew’s heartbeat to hasten even further. If they wanted to make this a career or at least make a little money after all the hours they had spent working on it, then they needed to give the story the best chance possible, and from where he was standing, that looked like handing the reins over to Sarah. A sad tug twisted somewhere around his stomach. It was a shame, though. He’d really started to enjoy it, at least for the most part.
‘You know what…’ Sarah hoisted her bump and body back onto the sofa, almost as if they were two separate entities. ‘I actually think I like the editing part best.’
‘You do?’ Drew felt the spark igniting his eyes. ‘But why? You’re so good at the writing.’
Sarah shrugged nonchalantly. ‘I don’t know. I like the wordplay of editing. I like reading through your work and figuring out ways to make it better. It’s like a puzzle, and I enjoy that.’
‘So, what? We just keep doing it like we are?’
‘I think so. I’ll just add a chapter or so in, if it feels like it’s getting stale again. As long as you don’t mind. How does that sound to you?’
With his stomach having shifted from feeling like he was about to get fired to where it felt like he was about to get promoted, Drew leaned in and kissed his wife on the lips. ‘I think you ought to tell me how on earth you came up with those ideas for the hostess and the female pilot,’ he replied.
It was worth it , Sarah thought, as she curled up in bed and rested her head in the crook of Drew’s arm. Just seeing the way his eyes lit up when she said she thought he should keep on doing the writing was totally worth it, although, even now, she had mixed emotions on the matter. There was no denying how much fun it had been, and how easily it seemed to come to her. Twisting together the storyline and plucking the perfect words for each bit of dialogue. She had loved it. But this project was Drew’s baby. Drew’s idea. Drew’s drive. And from his expression when he suggested she take over the writing, it was blatantly clear there was only one answer he wanted to hear. It would be fine, she thought, turning her pillow over to the cooler side. Maybe if this did take off, she’d be able to write a series of her own. Or if it didn’t, then perhaps she could work on something different. She’d always been a fan of regency romance. Perhaps she could try her hand at one of those.
With a snort and a snuffle, Drew shuffled around in the sheets, only to flop into the perfect spoon. No matter how comfy the movies made spooning look, it was an impossible position for her to sleep in, what with his snoring in one ear, spare arm syndrome, and the added fact that she was already so hot, she had secretly turned the radiator off. Being pregnant at least cut down on the heating bill, if nothing else. But she would leave him there curled up with her for a little while longer, she thought, interlinking her fingers with his. It was nice for a little while.
Drew was back on form. From the moment he opened his laptop and started to write, he knew it was going to be a good one. The words flowed. Good words. Not just the normal ones: breast, boobs, bottom. No, Sarah had shown him the error of his ways. He was all about the details now. The base of her spine, the skin stretched taut across her stomach. He was on fire. Even when he reached the station and headed toward the office, his mind was a whir with what he was going to write next. Three more chapters, he figured. Three more chapters would be enough to finish the book off. And what a phenomenal three chapters he was going to make them.
Half skipping, he hummed to himself as he walked out of the elevator and into the office. From one of the cubicles, a pair of eyes lifted and caught his.
‘Morning, Drew,’ the owner of the eyes said, a bizarre grin on his face.
‘Morning, Andy,’ Drew replied.
‘Drew.’ A greeting in the form of a nod came from the next cubicle, too. Once again, accompanied by the bizarre, tight-lipped smirk.
‘Heidi,’ Drew replied, wondering if there was something going on that he had missed. When the third person on his team, Arnold – who had been at the company for four years and probably only said good morning to Drew a total of three times during that period – lifted his gaze up from his computer and offered him a morning salute with his coffee mug, Drew knew something had to be up. His immediate instinct led him to Barry, and he wondered what mess the fool had made that he needed to clear up now. He didn’t need to wait long to find out.
‘I’m so sorry, boss,’ Barry said, leaping out from his desk and hissing in Drew’s ear. ‘I didn’t realise I’d sent it to everyone. I thought I’d just shut it down. Closed it, so no one else could see it. I didn’t realise I’d forwarded it to everyone.’
‘Forwarded what?’ Whatever he’d done this time had clearly got Barry into a state. Beads of sweat were already coalescing and running in streams down his temples as he wrung his hands together, barely able to look Drew in the eye.
‘What is it you’ve done?’ Drew repeated. ‘What is it you’ve sent?’
And then just like that, he knew.
‘Oh, shit no, Barry.’