Chapter Twenty-Five #2
Ugh. Awful Father’s Day lunch today. I booked a table at Scott’s for me, Mum and Isaac.
Balth turned up with Cressie and Robert in tow.
It was nice to see them but Balth behaved terribly and Isaac didn’t even open my present.
Someone was sitting on it and I had to hand it to him when we said goodbye, all flattened!
My family have no idea what’s going on with my book – such express disinterest. I bet your father would have given you more support, Liv.
My lot are absolutely hopeless. Isaac may have had his face on a couple of cookery books, but he knows nothing about the publishing world.
He’s still referring to my writing as ‘that little hobby’ etc . . . xxx
Sorry your present got flattened. I do miss my dad a lot.
I used to make a big fuss of him on Father’s Day – Ferrero Rocher galore!
I’m afraid to say I’ve spent the past two hours crying over his planing tool – the only tool of his that I kept – and his old West Ham scarf. Sorry you’ve had an awful day. x
I’m so sorry, Livs. And I’m also sorry for bringing Father’s Day up. Want me to come over? Or to meet up somewhere?
She didn’t. She thought it was safer that way.
The emails and the critiquing had become so spirited, so enjoyable, she was afraid to see Leo in real life.
She was frightened that seeing him would be a huge distraction.
She had the job at the theatre. Her writing.
She had also started an evening job, as she was struggling with the mortgage and the bills.
A part-time cleaning job in the City, three nights a week, from 7 p.m. to 10 p.m., when she cleaned the offices of M.
Gallagher and Sons, on the twenty-third floor of the Gherkin, for ￡9.
50 an hour. She was busy; she was tired.
And seeing Leo’s handsome face would be an added complication in her life she simply couldn’t fall prey to.
An attraction that wouldn’t serve her well.
No, thank you, I’m going out in a minute.
But she gave in. Leo wore her down. Two weeks later, they went for a drink – a little bar Leo chose in Mayfair, then afterwards they sat on a bench in a sunny spot in Hyde Park and read each other’s printed-off chapters.
‘This is nice,’ Leo said.
‘Shhh,’ she replied, ‘I’ve just got to a good bit.’
‘Which bit’s that?’
His thigh was a little close to hers. She wanted to shift hers away but she thought he might notice.
‘The bit with the full moon and the back of the chip shop.’
‘Ah. Yeah. I like that bit, too.’ He turned another page. They continued reading. ‘Could you ever imagine us lying in bed together, when we’re old and grey, reading side by side like this?’ he asked her after a while, his eyes not leaving the page.
She stopped reading. Her eyes didn’t leave the page, either. ‘No,’ she retorted. ‘Could you?’
‘Maybe.’
She was surprised. ‘Then you’ve got a very good imagination. Hey, maybe you should think about becoming a writer?’ Her face broke into a sarcastic smile, but her heart briefly considered the vision. A double bed. Her and Leo. A bedside light, about to be switched off.
He had turned to her. He caught the smile.
They carried on reading. Leo started reading her work aloud, which she begged him to stop doing at first, but then she started to tolerate it.
Hearing him say her words out loud made her see them in a different way.
It made her focus on the sentences she needed to re-write, the parts she needed to fix.
It also made her feel that maybe one day she could do it; that she really could be an author.
‘Thank you,’ she said, when he’d finished.
‘Thank you,’ he replied. ‘Oh, look. You’ve made a friend.’
A little bird had alighted on one arm of the bench – Olivia’s end. It cocked its head at her, amused.
‘Hello,’ she said.
Leo had a half-eaten packet of chocolate biscuits in his bag. ‘Stale,’ he said, prising the top one out of the wrapper. ‘Give her a bit.’
Olivia broke off a piece and placed it at the very end of the arm. The bird bobbed its head forward and pecked it into its mouth. Then it promptly flew off.
‘Too full from lunch.’ Leo laughed. ‘What’s your favourite chocolate bar?’ he asked suddenly, a twinkle in his eye.
‘Snickers,’ she replied. ‘What’s yours?’
‘Bounty,’ he answered.
She turned to look at him. ‘Oh, I thought you’d be more of a Mars Bar man,’ she said. ‘Something more everyman.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m not every man. And you’re not every woman.’
‘What am I, then?’ She narrowed her eyes at him.
‘You’re Olivia. Olivia, Olivia, Olivia,’ he said softly, and his words hung in the air like soft feathers. He was looking at her, really looking. They were sitting too close to one another. It was too warm, too springtime-sunny. They had read too many of each other’s words.
‘We’re not people,’ she said finally. ‘We’re writers. Now get back on with my work.’
Seven months to the day into their writer buddy cross-critiquing, when all the chapters had been read, and they had decided, after all, to carry on and re-read each other’s edited chapters, Olivia got an email, no subject, and one single line in the email body.
I’m sending it off! x
Whaaat? she replied immediately. It was a warm June afternoon, a Saturday. She was at the kitchen table, at the laptop, the back door open to the yard and the sun sailing in. You’re ready? I thought you still weren’t happy with chapter fifteen?
Nah, but I’m going to send it off. A little impetuous, I know, but I can’t tinker with it any more.
I’m doing it in tranches. I’m going to send it to five agents, all who I’ve got from The Writers’ and Artists’ Yearbook.
When I get the five rejections, I’m going to send it to five more, until I get a bite.
What about Royal Ben?
I thought about it, but no, I refuse to use nepotism! I’ll make it on my own, kiddo.
Well, that’s fantastic! Good luck, Leo.
Her book wasn’t ready yet. She still had some work to do on the last three chapters and the epilogue. She kept working. Leo kept reading for her. In early July, he sent:
I got a bite!! Rowan Langford at The Langford Agency wants to have a call with me on Friday. Eek!!!!!!
That’s amazing!
She waited for news.
Then a forwarded email, subject line, Offer of Representation.
Leo had got an agent. He went out on submission four weeks later, which meant, he told her, that his agent was going to send his book out to editors at publishing houses.
I know what that means!!!!!
You next! Get a move on. x
Soon, her book was ready. Olivia sent it off to a carefully selected cache of five agents and she waited, and she waited, and Leo waited with her, while he was still waiting to hear back from the list of editors.
Olivia got two immediate standard rejections, two complete and definitive silences and one eventually personal response. She forwarded it straight to Leo. It was from the agent, Janice Sullivan, at Becker and Stutt.
You are on the right lines. There was much here that I enjoyed.
I did, however, feel that you are lacking some close first-person introspection, and some of the scenes could be a little bigger in execution and emotion.
I’d be happy to see a re-write and a subsequent draft, though, if you are happy to work on one?
Leo replied. Congratulations! x
Not really.
No, it’s great. Do what she’s asking and re-submit!!
But Leo was two steps ahead and at the end of September, his agent phoned him with the good news.
Jones Hill wanted to publish him.
Want to go out for a drink to celebrate? x
I can’t. I’m working.
Working where?
Just doing something extra for the theatre. But I’m really happy for you, Leo. That’s such brilliant news. And stop putting kisses on your emails. We are just friends!!!!!!
So, Leo signed his contract. He went for dinner with his agent and his brand-new, first-ever editor, Marjorie Petit of Jones Hill books.
He ate Dover sole followed by raspberry roulade, and drank a kir royale.
His book was coming out in summer 2009 and he had already begun working on book two of his two-book deal.
Olivia carried on working at the theatre and at the cleaning job. She continued sending her book out to agents, but she also began work on re-submitting her draft for Janice Sullivan.
Good luck with the next tranche of agents, Liv. The Florist is really good and you’ve worked so hard on it. You’ve got this! You’re right behind me and I know it will only be a matter of time. Drink? x