Chapter 16
16
Maura Shaw was a wily one, Travis thought as he hammered at the keyboard and wrote his way towards the end of a long chapter that had his protagonist outwitting one villain while also laying a fiendish trap to outwit another one, too.
The section he was writing hadn’t been in the original plan he’d sketched out when he’d mapped his way through the final third of the book, and the detour was adding a significant number of pages to the manuscript, and probably an extra ten thousand words he hadn’t anticipated writing.
His editor would have something to say about that when she received the finished manuscript, he thought with a sigh as he tapped out the final words of the chapter and pushed back from the desk. Stretching out his fingers and hands and rolling his shoulders to fend off the aches that were building there, Travis considered the likely eventual length of the manuscript, which he reckoned would end up around twenty thousand words longer than the book he was contracted to deliver.
The publishers might not like that. Extra words meant extra pages, which in turn meant a more expensive book to print. He wondered if his editor might push back and ask him to trim the manuscript during revisions. Would all this extra writing end up being a waste of time?
Travis shoved that idea out of his mind altogether. It wasn’t his job to worry about his publisher’s bottom line, and he definitely shouldn’t be letting those sorts of concerns seep into his writing process. If anything he was currently writing was flabby or extraneous, he’d delete it himself before he sent the completed manuscript through to his editor.
But nothing he was writing felt unnecessary at all. The story was flowing naturally, the scenes almost writing themselves as he struggled to keep up with the pace of the typing required to get it all down on the page. What’s more, the extra scene he’d just finished wasn’t simply an exciting and fast-paced piece of plot development; it also sketched out some key features of Maura Shaw’s character, a character which was still unfolding even after so many books, and Travis was sure his readers would love reading the insights he’d uncovered about his clever and personable sleuth.
What he was writing was good. It was, perhaps, the best Maura Shaw book he’d penned so far. Yes, the ending might still be a week or more away, judging by his current progress, pace, and the ground still to be covered. But once he got to the end, he felt sure he’d have a pretty decent book on his hands.
Well, that’s what he hoped, anyway. After seven years spent writing full time, Travis knew only too well that an author was often too close to his work to make any objective judgement about its quality. And he also knew that trying to make those judgements was often fruitless anyway, because the truth was that some readers would love the book and some would hate it, and nothing he did would change that.
Which meant that all he could do was all he’d ever done in his writing career so far—write the very best book he was capable of and then let it go out into the world, knowing he’d told the story he wanted to tell and that he’d spent every ounce of energy he possessed to make that story as captivating and entertaining as possible.
So, if that meant an extra twenty thousand words in the final manuscript, then so be it.
With this internal pep talk concluded, Travis got up from the desk, wincing as his stiff legs creaked into motion. Glancing at the time, he saw it was almost five o’clock in the afternoon. Other than a brief pause to wolf down a sandwich around noon, he’d been writing since eight this morning, and he felt the time spent in the desk chair in every bone and muscle in his body.
After saving and backing up his work, he shut down his laptop and decided he needed to get out of the house for a while to clear his head after the marathon writing session. Since arriving on Foxglove Street, he’d come to look forward to his daily walks around Hamblehurst and the brief snatches of exercise between hours at the keyboard. Walking around Hamblehurst was completely different from walking around London, obviously, and he enjoyed the comparatively calm and bucolic peace of the place, from the winding high street to the cobbled lanes to the picturesque parks.
Thoughts of Peartree Park conjured thoughts of Courtney Flynn. Twice now he’d met her there and struck up a conversation. Perhaps he’d meet her there again today?
That was unlikely, he realised, considering how late it was in the afternoon. As their previous meetings had happened in the morning, he guessed she preferred getting out early for her exercise, perhaps preferring to be back home and relaxing by this point in the day, when she was probably feeling the physical effects of being so heavily pregnant.
And why was he thinking about Courtney and her baby bump, anyway?
Because he couldn’t help himself, that’s why. Images of her often popped into his head, unbidden, when he wasn’t writing. He’d find himself thinking of the dark sweep of her long hair over her shoulder, the flash of humour in her eyes, the bright arc of her smile that had the power to make his heart triphammer inside his chest.
And he’d find himself thinking about the gentle way she rubbed her hands over the swell of her stomach and how, when she spoke about her unborn child, the light that filled her expression was enough to blind him.
She’d bewitched him. The fact that she was so clearly oblivious of the effect she had on him only enchanted him all the more.
“Stop it,” he murmured to himself as he walked to the hallway. “Just stop it.”
He couldn’t have her. He was paying her to work for him, which meant he was out of line even thinking about these things. And she was a single, pregnant woman with enough on her plate without having to put up with inappropriate behaviour from the likes of him.
In a few short weeks, he’d return to his flat in London, Ruth would return to her assistant role, and Courtney would vanish from his life altogether once her child was born.
That was the reality. His time here on Foxglove Street was temporary, just an escape from his regular life while he finished writing his book. He’d crossed paths with Courtney by accident and it was mutually beneficial that they were able to help one another during the few short weeks he was spending here.
But it would soon come to an end. Their lives would diverge. And that would be that.
This realisation pained him, actually caused an ache in his chest. It was ludicrous that after only spending time with Courtney on a handful of brief occasions, he could feel this way about her.
Could feel so completely… enthralled .
The notion might have been amusing if it wasn’t so terrifying.
Travis counted amongst his casual friends several romance authors who he knew through his publishing house, and although he had the utmost respect for their books and their stories, he’d always assumed they were simply writing the same kinds of fictional fantasies as he was, albeit in a different genre.
He created fantastical murder mysteries for his amateur sleuth to solve and filled his stories with a larger-than-life cast of characters and incredible adventures that were unlike anything readers might encounter in the real world—which was exactly why they read his books.
His romance author friends created emotional and swoon-worthy romantic encounters for their characters, filled with beautiful moments and aching choices and glorious love stories that were also unlike anything readers might encounter int he real world—which was, again, exactly why they read those books.
But now Travis wondered if those romance writers with their tales of love-at-first-sight and unrequited longing might actually be penning stories that were far closer to reality than he’d ever imagined, because anytime he thought of Courtney Flynn, his heart did exactly the same things as did the hearts of the characters in those books.
It beat wildly out of control and made him wish for something he just couldn’t have.
In the hallway, Travis grabbed his keys and headed out into the early evening sunshine, hoping the walk ahead wouldn’t only blow away the cobwebs after a day spent writing, but that it would blow away the wild and crazy thoughts of Courtney that had taken hold of his mind and turned him into a borderline lunatic.
Travis walked at speed through Peartree Park, enjoying the pace and the fresh air in his lungs. He passed dog walkers and runners, children tearing past on their bikes, and couples holding hands. With the April sun warm and the sky a deep, cloudless blue, it seemed like half the town had come out to enjoy the delights of the spring evening.
As he strode past the benches beside the duck pond, Travis thought of how he’d sat there with Courtney a week ago while she’d enjoyed the cool shade beneath the oak tree, catching her breath and drinking the water he’d bought her, and how, once they began walking again, the sunlight had turned her glossy hair a burnished shade of dark copper.
And he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Courtney , he told himself, even as his mind conjured pictures of her over and over again.
Leaving the park by the far exit, Travis headed down the hill towards the high street, deciding to take the opportunity to stock up on groceries while he was out and about. He stopped off at the deli, seduced by its window display filled with cheese wheels and glistening olives and cold meats. Spoiled for choice, he settled on a package of fresh pasta and a homemade tomato sauce, which would make for a quick meal when he returned to the house, and added bread rolls, a wedge of herby cheddar, and a carton of marinated peppers. Congratulating himself on resisting the alluring patisserie selection offered by the deli and reminding himself he’d already eaten far too many sweet treats from the corner bakery while he was writing, he paid for his items and stepped back outside onto the high street.
Where he immediately ran headlong into Courtney, who was coming in the other direction.
“Oh, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” Travis asked as Courtney let out a whoosh of air and dropped the canvas tote bag she was carrying.
“I’m fine!” Courtney blinked, and let out a surprised laugh, reaching for the bag on the pavement.
“Please, let me get that.”
Travis grabbed up the bag and handed it to her. When her fingers looped around the handles and brushed against his own, he felt a zap of electricity race across his skin and cause his breath to hitch inside his chest.
His gaze caught hers, and for one hope-filled moment, Travis wondered if Courtney had felt the same thing he had.
No, of course she hadn’t.
Courtney took the tote bag from him and smiled. “Thank you.”
“Did I hurt you?” he asked, alarmed, as he saw her hand sweep down to her bump. “Is the baby okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine, and the baby is fine, too. Don’t worry about that. It was just a little knock and it would take a lot more than that to do her any harm.”
“I should’ve been looking where I was going when I stepped out of the deli. I’m sorry.”
“It was just an accident.” She offered a smile and glanced at his bag of purchases. “Is that more tasty treats to keep you going while you write?”
“Actually, this is tonight’s dinner. I thought I’d try the deli’s homemade pasta sauce.”
“Sounds delicious.”
“Have you eaten yet? Would you like to join me for dinner?”
So much for keeping his feelings in check. So much for not torturing himself with hopes that could only ever be dashed.
“I’d, er, love to join you for dinner,” Courtney said, a cautious smile on her lips. “If you’re sure?”
“I’m sure. I’d enjoy the company after a day of writing, and there’s too much pasta in here for just one person.” He glanced at her tote bag. “Did you have other errands to run before you go home?”
“Nope, I’m all finished. Actually, I only planned on window shopping, but ended up lured into the baby shop at the bottom of the high street to buy the most gorgeous little baby outfit you could imagine.”
“Let’s see it.”
As they began walking, Courtney reached into her tote bag and pulled out a tiny onesie in a soft primrose yellow and embellished with sweet embroidered ducks. Travis saw how Courtney’s face lit up as she turned the tiny outfit this way and that so he could admire it.
“It’s beautiful,” he said. “It must be fun buying lots of nice things for when your baby arrives.”
“It is fun. Now that I’m living with my cousin, I have space at last for all the things I’ll need, and Rosie and her family have been incredibly generous and have helped with the purchases. I don’t know how I’ll ever thank them.” She returned the little onesie to the tote bag. “It was hard to behave myself in the baby shop and not buy a tonne of gorgeous little outfits, but I reminded myself that babies grow fast and anything I buy won’t last long before it’s too small for her. But this little duck onesie”—she gestured with the shopping bag—“I just had to have it.”
Travis smiled, seeing once again the light that shone in her eyes when she talked about her baby. It was a thing of beauty, to see her expression transformed by love.
“So,” Courtney said, “how’s your writing been going since we saw each other a few days ago?”
“It’s going great. Lots of progress, today especially. Hence the lazy dinner option.”
She laughed at that, and they fell into easy conversation as they walked back to Foxglove Street. Once back at the house, Travis set pans on the hob to boil the pasta and warm the tomato sauce, while Courtney set the table, following his directions around the kitchen to find the cutlery drawer and the cupboards where the plates and glasses were kept.
While Travis stirred the pasta and Courtney set out the carton of marinated peppers and the bread rolls, arranging them on the kitchen table and adding the butter dish from the fridge while chattering away, he couldn’t help but think about how right it felt, to be here with her, preparing a meal together as they talked about everything and nothing.
How could it feel right when he knew it was foolish to have brought her here, yet again?
“Dinner’s ready,” he said on a silent sigh as he drained the pasta and served the meal.
Then, unable to help himself because he was obviously a complete idiot, he pulled out a chair for Courtney, prompting a smile at the gesture that just about made his entire day.
“Thank you kindly, sir,” she said with a fun affectation in her voice as she angled herself into the chair. “Gosh, I can just about reach the table over my bump. If I get any bigger, I’ll have to be fed through a straw because I can’t see my plate anymore.”
The image made him laugh. “Are you comfortable enough in that chair? We can use trays and sit on the sofa if you prefer?”
“This is fine, and a tray on my lap is probably a bad idea at this juncture. I can only imagine the mess I’d make, trying to lean over my bump to get to my food while wedged into the soft sofa cushions. Ugh.”
She gave him another grin and picked up her cutlery before twirling spaghetti with her fork and spoon. Sampling the food, she wiggled her eyebrows. “This is delicious.”
“Agreed,” he replied, tucking into his own plate. The pasta ribbons were soft and silky, the pasta sauce rich and savoury, and the combination was a million times better than anything he could have rustled up by himself. “I’m not much of a cook, and when I’m in the middle of my busiest writing days, I tend to fall back on sandwiches and frozen pizzas for dinner. This,” he added, nodding to his plate, “is a nice change.”
“Thanks for inviting me round for dinner. My cousin is working this evening and then meeting her new boyfriend straight after to go to the cinema for a late screening of some film they’ve been keen to see, so I would’ve been on my own tonight. It’s nice to have some company instead.”
“You mentioned you’ve spent time with your aunt and uncle since you came here to Hamblehurst. I’m sure they would’ve been happy to see you tonight, too, if you didn’t want to be by yourself.”
She gave an easy shrug. “I popped round to their house for lunch yesterday, so I don’t like to impose two days in a row. They’re already doing so much for me and being so kind. I’d hate for them to think I’m taking advantage, turning up day after day and expecting to be fed.”
“I’m sure that’s the last thing they’d think. From what you’ve told me, they sound like good people.”
Her smile returned. “They are such good people. I don’t know where I’d be without them. Considering they didn’t even know I existed until a few weeks ago, the way they’ve welcomed me into the family… well, what can I say? It’s amazing, really. Things would feel a lot darker right now without the Austins in my life. Especially considering…” She waved a hand and gave him an apologetic look. “Never mind.”
“Especially considering what? Tell me what you were about to say.”
“It’s just another instalment in my endless sob story. You don’t want to hear about it.”
“First, it’s not a sob story—it’s your life . Second, I do want to hear about it. I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”
She considered his expression, her eyes scouring his face as if checking to be sure he meant what he’d said.
“A couple of days ago, I spoke with the housing officer at the local council who’s dealing with my case. She said it’s unlikely they can find me a flat of my own for at least two or three months, maybe longer. Apparently, the fact that I’m staying with relatives who’ve had the decency to give me a roof over my head means I’m not considered an urgent priority, even although I’m so close to having a baby. I’d have to actually be technically living on the streets before my case can be re-prioritised.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Travis considered what she’d told him. “But you’re okay staying with your cousin, aren’t you?”
“Yes, of course. Like I said, Rosie’s been so kind, and so have my aunt and uncle. Even Rosie’s sister, Zara, who I haven’t got to know much since I came here because she works long hours, even she’s been sweet and thoughtful, dropping by the house to say hello when she can and making me feel welcome in the family. She even suggested I consider taking on her flat, because she’s moving to London in a few months’ time for a new job, and she offered to talk to her landlord about the two of us switching the tenancy, but it’s miles outside of my budget, even if I did find a great new job tomorrow, which I won’t, and…”
She set down her fork and took a long drink of water before giving him an apologetic look across the table. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that to come out as some huge brain-dump. Once I start thinking about all this stuff, I can’t seem to stop. But, in answer to your question, yes, I’m very happy staying at Rosie’s. I love it there. And when I spoke to my aunt and uncle yesterday, they insisted that once the baby arrives, I can go and stay with them if things are too tight in Rosie’s smaller house and smaller guest room, which they probably will be. I just don’t…” She shook her head, considering her words. “I just don’t want to rely on them any more than I have to. I want to stand on my own two feet. I don’t want them to think I’m taking advantage.”
Travis twirled pasta around his fork, still thinking about what Courtney had said. “That’s not the first time you’ve said something like that to me. I’m sure your family don’t think you’re taking advantage at all. If they didn’t want to help, they wouldn’t.”
“I know. That’s what they keep telling me, too. And the truth is, without their help right now, I’d be in real trouble. And I’d be very alone, too.”
He saw her eyes glisten at these words. Unable to stop himself, he reached across the table and squeezed her arm, wanting to offer comfort.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he said. “You’re not alone. That’s all that matters.”
Courtney gave a grateful nod and dabbed her eyes with a napkin. “I know. But I could so easily have been. If I hadn’t stumbled upon the scrap of information I found when I was clearing out my mother’s things, I would never have found out about my father’s brother, would never have searched for him, would never have met him or his family, would never have been lucky enough to have them reach out and help me the way they have.”
She blew her nose, her gaze distant. “And it feels so random , you know? If I’d just dumped all that old paperwork of my mother’s into the rubbish without a second glance, I never would’ve found the Austins. But for that one, tiny thing, everything would be so very different right now. Life is so… strange . So completely unpredictable. We think we’re in control, but we’re not! One tiny action, or inaction, can change everything.”
“Yes, it can. And, yes, your one tiny action led you to the family you needed in your life. But perhaps it’s not all as random as you think it is. This scrap of paper you’re talking about, this information that led you to discover you had an uncle? You were meant to find it. Maybe you found it at exactly the right time, at exactly the moment when you needed it the most.”
Courtney held his gaze for a long beat before she nodded. “I’ve thought that, too, sometimes. Whenever I think about all this stuff, and all that’s happened lately, I find myself veering between thinking it’s all just an unknowable random lottery, and then the next minute I’m thinking that maybe there’s something deeper at work, something bigger going on that we can’t ever understand, something that points us in the direction we need to go in, even although we don’t realise it at the time. I can’t make up my mind which one of those explanations is the right one.”
“Maybe they’re both right,” Travis said. “Random things happen that knock us off the road we thought we were destined to walk along, but there’s always a bigger picture at play, too, a bigger story in our lives that helps us understand the mystery of it all.”
She studied his face, a soft smile at her lips. “I like that idea. It’s lovely.”
“I understand you’ve gone through an awful lot, and I’d hate to sound trite about the losses you’ve had and the pain you’ve experienced. But what matters is that you are okay, right now. You’re safe and you have people in your life who care for you. Don’t cause yourself even more anguish than you’ve already endured by thinking about the worst case scenarios and the terrifying what-might-have-beens.”
“You’re right. And I know you’re right. I’d like to blame my pregnancy hormones for making me dwell on this stuff, and I’m sure that’s part of it. But the truth is, it’s hard not to think about how much misfortune and misery there is out there in the world, and wonder how close I got to complete and total disaster before my luck changed and fate decided to cut me a break.”
Courtney let out a soft, embarrassed laugh. “How’s that for crazy talk?”
“It’s not crazy at all. Actually, these sorts of questions are ones I can’t help thinking about as an author.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, when I’m writing my stories, I start out with an idea about what will happen, what the characters will do, which adventures they’ll become mixed up in. And usually the book starts off in the direction I planned. But inevitably, at some point along the way, something completely unexpected happens, something I honestly didn’t see coming until the words appeared on the page. And then the story rushes off along a new path and I find myself wondering how any of it will ever make sense in the context of how the story actually began.”
He gave a helpless shrug. “But the stories do all make sense in the end. Well, I think they do, anyway. By the time I get to the final page, I’m always happy with how the characters got there and how everything wrapped up. There are almost always plenty of hairy moments along the way, when it all seems impossible and I feel sure I can’t write the characters out of whatever mess they’ve got into. But it does all work out. Sometimes I don’t quite know how it works out. When I’m at the keyboard, it often feels less like active and conscious writing, and more like being caught up in a spell outside of my control.”
“Wow,” Courtney said, her gaze filled with awe. “That sounds amazing.”
“It’s amazing, and often frankly terrifying, too,” he laughed. “But I’ve learned to trust the process, to trust my instincts, to trust the stories. And I’ve learned to get comfortable with the idea that…” He waved a hand and sighed. “I’ve learned to get comfortable with the idea that sometimes you just have to have faith. And sometimes you just have to believe that things will all work out in the end.”
Courtney gave a slight nod, her gaze fixed on him. “And we have to hope , too.”
In the quiet of the kitchen, Travis looked deep into Courtney’s eyes, feeling the kindred spirit there that he’d suspected existed from the first moment he’d met her. Every conversation they’d had since, every word they’d exchanged, only made him feel more and more connected to her, as if their souls vibrated together as one.
He wanted to reach across the table again, not to comfort her as he’d done a few minutes ago, but to embrace her, to pull her close and never let her go.
Reason and cold logic intervened and stilled his hand before he made a move he knew he’d regret, a move he knew would not be welcome.
They were friends, nothing more. Courtney needed a friend right now, needed someone to share her thoughts and fears with, not someone who’d put his own feelings, his own desires , above hers.
And so, instead of reaching out to her, instead of taking her hand in his and pulling her to her feet and holding her close and kissing her the way he ached to kiss her, Travis simply offered a smile and picked up his fork once more.
“Hopes and dreams,” he said, picking up from where she’d left off. “It’s what life is made of.”
Her smile widened, lighting up her eyes. “See, that’s why you’re a brilliant and successful author. You know exactly which words are the right ones at any given moment.”
Travis laughed, hoping it didn’t sound as strangled as if felt. “Thank you.”
But words, he knew, only went so far.
The rest of the evening went by quickly and their conversation turned to easier, simpler matters that didn’t involve fate and luck and the mysteries of life.
They finished their meal and shared the clearing and washing up, during which Travis tried very hard not to think about what it would be like if every evening looked something like this—enjoying a meal with Courtney, pottering around in the kitchen, chatting and laughing.
Being at home, together.
Forever .
When their chores were complete and Courtney said she ought to get home to her cousin’s house and put her feet up for a while, Travis didn’t try to persuade her to stay any longer, knowing that the more time he spent with her, the less he’d be able to resist telling her how he felt about her.
That was an admission that would be so preposterous, so foolish , he could hardly believe he had to talk himself out of making it.
Better, then, that Courtney left before he opened his stupid mouth and said something he’d regret.
At the front door, Courtney smiled as she stepped outside into the fading April light. “Thanks again for dinner. It’s sweet of you to keep feeding me like this.”
“My pleasure.”
“I’d like to return the favour. Maybe I could make us a little lunchtime picnic to enjoy in the park later this week? If you can take a quick break from your writing, of course.”
Travis knew she’d given him the perfect excuse to say no, to use his writing as a reason why he couldn’t manage time away from his desk. It’s not like it wasn’t true. With the finish line so close for the new book, he was firmly in the zone where he usually turned down any and all offers of socialising that would pull him out of his manuscript during his peak writing hours in the morning and afternoon.
But although he knew he should say no—for many, many reasons—he simply didn’t want to.
“A picnic sounds like fun,” he said.
And was rewarded with another of her bright smiles, her eyes sparkling with delight.
“How about Friday?” Courtney asked.
“Friday works fine.”
She smiled again, and Travis thought, I’m a goner and I’m an idiot and I’m so doomed it isn’t even funny.
“See you soon,” Courtney said, walking towards the garden gate.
“Hey, where are my manners? Let me walk you home.”
“I’m fine,” she laughed, waving a hand to dismiss the idea. “Honestly, there’s no need.”
Travis’s gaze slipped to her baby bump. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. I’m out and about all the time, and it’s good for me, and good for the baby, too.”
He thought about this, wanting to press the point but also aware that while pregnancy might be slowing Courtney down a little, it wasn’t an illness. “Text me when you get home.”
Something flickered in her eyes—surprise? amusement? tenderness?—before she nodded. “Okay, I will. Bye, Travis.”
With another wave, she closed the gate behind her and walked off along Foxglove Street. Travis watched her progress until she vanished from sight beyond the neighbouring hedges, and reminded himself she only lived a few minutes further along the street and it was still light, the springtime sun still high above the horizon. It’s not as if he was letting her wander off by herself in the dead of night.
Still, he couldn’t resist going out to the garden gate and peering down the street and watching inconspicuously as Courtney walked down the street. Just before the long road curved away into the distance and he would’ve lost sight of her, she crossed to the other side and pushed through the garden gate of her cousin’s house.
Satisfied, Travis went back inside, feeling foolish but happy to know she was safely back indoors for the evening.
A few minutes later, his phone pinged with a message from Courtney.
Back home, no problem. Thanks again for dinner, it was wonderful. See you on Friday for a picnic in the park.
He tapped out a reply, spending far too long deleting words and adding new ones before deleting those too. Considering he made his living as a writer, it was amusing how he couldn’t come up with the right content for what should be nothing more than an innocuous text message response.
In the end, he settled for, Looking forward to it, and added the thumbs-up emoji, then pressed Send before he could debate it any longer with himself.
“Yep, you’re completely and stupidly doomed,” he muttered to himself as he set aside the phone and settled down at his desk for an unscheduled evening of work.
He’d planned on leaving alone the work he’d done earlier during his marathon day of writing, letting the new chapter marinate and settle overnight before diving back in again. But jumping back into Maura Shaw’s world, and the mystery and intrigue with which she was currently entangled, would keep his mind occupied and stop him thinking about the only other thing his mind seemed capable of focusing on these days.
Courtney.
With a sigh, Travis read the last page he’d written, and launched himself into the middle of the fictional chaos with a mixture of excitement and relief.