Early-Morning Conversations 4 All the Ironies
Early-Morning Conversations 4: All the Ironies
“You realize how ironic it is?” says Eve early another morning, shifting her head on her pillow.
“What’s ironic?” inquires Nick sleepily.
“Well, first of all, let’s agree that I am Eve Monroe, queen of happy endings.”
“Agreed,” says Nick. “You are queen of happy endings. Happy endings bought this house.” He gestures around. “We’re very grateful to happy endings.”
“I was once doing a bookshop event,” Eve says reminiscently, “and the interviewer asked, ‘Would you ever try writing something different?’ I answered, ‘Maybe I’ll write a book with a sad ending’—just as a joke, really—and a woman in the front row shrieked ‘No!’ in total panic. It was very funny.”
Nick laughs. “Your readers love happy endings.”
“Of course they do. I love happy endings myself. So I’ve invented lots of them. But now here’s the irony: I can’t invent a real-life happy ending for myself.”
“That’s very ironic,” agrees Nick. “What would your real-life happy ending look like?”
“Let me think a moment,” says Eve, then draws breath. “OK, I’ll pitch it to you. A clinical trial in Ottawa suddenly produces a miracle cure involving cannabis oil, just in time for the heroine to use it and become fully cured, surrounded by her joyful family. I’d cast George Clooney as the brilliant but misunderstood oncologist, and I’d be played by Emily Blunt. The children could play themselves.”
“Why cannabis oil?”
Eve shrugs. “Dunno. It just seems quite ‘now.’?”
“Why Ottawa?”
“So that there’s a dash through an airport. Everyone loves a dash through the airport.”
“OK. Well, that’s a good ending,” says Nick. “I like it.”
“I like it too.” Eve nods. “It would be a nice positive twist, just at the end of the story when everyone’s given up hope.”
“I haven’t given up hope,” says Nick. “Just so you know.”
“No, I haven’t either,” says Eve. “But people do give up hope. Gloomy people.”
For a while they’re both quiet and there’s silence in the room except for some thumping from Arthur’s room, which is right above theirs. He has taken to lifting weights, and the thumps are a regular occurrence.
“Here’s another irony for you,” she says. “My brain was the secret of my success when I was writing books. But now my brain’s the very thing causing all the problems.”
“Your brain has no sense of moderation,” agrees Nick. “It’s either doing brilliant things or bloody stupid things.”
“Yes.” Eve nods. “It’s a ridiculous brain. I just wish I had more control over it. Then I could write my own happy ending and make it happen for real.”
There’s quiet again, broken by the sound of music from Arthur’s room, accompanied by still more thumps.
“You know what else is ironic?” says Nick.
“What?”
“You hate spoilers in books and films. We both do. But when it comes to this, all we want, above anything else, is a spoiler. We desperately want the doctors to give us the spoiler, but they can’t, because they don’t know either.”
“Yes!” exclaims Eve. “Exactly. I want to know . I’m a novelist. I’m used to being God. I decide on the ending before I begin.”
“Sometimes you change your mind,” points out Nick.
“Yes, but the point is, I’m the boss. I’m in charge of my whole universe. Whereas in real life…”
“You’re not the boss anymore.”
“Apparently not. Fate’s the boss. And there are no teasers. All we can do is wait and see what happens.”
“Every scan is a plot twist.”
“Exactly!” exclaims Eve. “Every scan is a plot twist. When’s my next scan again?” she adds, feeling a sudden twinge of nerves.
“Three weeks to go.”
“Three weeks to wait until the plot unfolds again…And no spoilers.”
“No,” says Nick, kissing her. “No spoilers. More’s the pity.”