Chapter 37
37
I’m sitting at the large wooden table in Caleb’s chalet, the morning light streaming in through the windows, casting a beautiful glow on everything – Caleb says this kind of light is one of the best for taking photos.
Caleb is across from me, meticulously arranging his breakfast plates, angling his coffee cup just right.
‘I’ve never seen someone take so many pictures of scrambled eggs,’ I point out.
That said, breakfast was delivered from the resort kitchen, and they’ve somehow managed to make them in the shape of a rose, which really is quite impressive.
‘Of course! Look at them – they’re practically art,’ he points out.
‘They do look good,’ I admit, taking a sip of my coffee. ‘But I’m just so hungry.’
Holiday Amber, it turns out, is absolutely starving all of the time, although I suspect it’s just because the food here is so good.
‘Almost too beautiful to eat,’ he replies, snapping one last photo before digging in. ‘But not quite.’
As I glance around the table, I notice notes scattered everywhere – pages of scribbled handwriting and printouts. Curiosity gets the better of me.
‘What’s all this?’ I ask, picking up a sheet, careful not to get ketchup on it.
‘Oh, that’s my book,’ he says nonchalantly between bites. ‘Well, parts of it.’
‘You’re actually writing it?’ I say, genuinely impressed. ‘I assumed you would have a ghostwriter doing it.’
‘No, I’m writing it,’ he says – again, so casually. ‘I studied English lit at uni, which admittedly feels like a lifetime ago. I thought I was doing a great job but my editor is on my case about it.’
Oh, boy, does that sound familiar.
‘Can I read it?’ I ask, genuinely desperate to get a peek at what he’s working on.
He hesitates for a moment but then nods.
‘Sure, if you want. But only if I can read yours,’ he says.
‘Deal,’ I say, grabbing my laptop from my bag. ‘And feel free to add things in, make it worse. Have fun with it.’
Caleb laughs.
‘Make it bad on purpose – I’m excited to try that, rather than just doing it naturally,’ he jokes.
Having already finished my breakfast – because I was too hungry to photograph it – I head for one of the armchairs, sitting on my legs, ready to dive in.
Oh, it’s a fun murder mystery set on a cruise – exactly the sort of thing I wish I could write – and I find myself getting completely absorbed. The plot is genuinely gripping, the characters are interesting, and he’s great at creating tension.
‘This is really good,’ I say, eventually looking up from the pages with no idea how much time has passed. ‘I’m genuinely impressed and sort of jealous.’
‘Thanks,’ he says, though he doesn’t look entirely convinced. ‘My editor thinks it lacks universal appeal. He says men will love it, but women will hate it.’
‘What?’ I say, frowning. ‘That’s ridiculous.’
I think about it for a second, trying to work out what Caleb’s editor could have meant, based on the chunk that I read.
‘I suppose it is a little geared towards male readers,’ I point out, chewing my lip thoughtfully. ‘It just needs a little something extra, something like…’
I think for a moment. This is exactly the sort of thing I wish I could write, it’s just that I wanted to… oh my God, I’ve got it.
‘You know what you’re missing?’ I say, smiling smugly. ‘A romance arc.’
Caleb looks dubious.
‘I’m hopeless at writing romance,’ he says. ‘I write romance about as well as you write spice.’
‘Oi,’ I reply with a laugh. ‘But, honestly, I’m serious. I’m guessing your editor wants this book to appeal to women too, so a romance arc will win over a few die-hard romance readers, and, to be honest, just having a woman edit it will help. I’m starting to realise why you suggested I write “suck a tit” – it just needs that blokey edge taking out of it.’
‘Okay,’ he says, a little hesitant but clearly willing to give it a try. ‘What do you suggest?’
‘How do you fancy working on it together for a bit?’ I suggest. ‘My reluctant speciality could be just what you need.’
‘Yeah, all right, so long as you don’t mind?’ he replies.
‘No, of course not,’ I reply. ‘This sort of thing is fun to me.’
We spend the next hour tossing ideas back and forth, and I can’t help but get more and more excited – about Caleb’s idea, not my own. Caleb listens intently, taking notes, and I can see him starting to warm up to the idea of having a love triangle running through his murder mystery.
‘You really seem into this,’ he says, looking at me with a smile.
‘I am!’ I say, laughing. ‘This is why I wanted to write a book like this. With a murder mystery, you know what you’re going to get – the murder is guaranteed. So, how do you raise the stakes, and give someone something to care about? You give them a romance to get invested in. Can I try to write you a chapter? It might help, to show you what I mean.’
He nods.
‘Go for it,’ he says. ‘You seem really passionate about it, who am I to stop you?’
I laugh, but only for a second, before I’m grabbing my laptop and typing away. Honestly, I don’t remember the last time I typed this much, this quickly, there’s practically smoke coming from my fingers as I pound the keys. Even my document is struggling, seemingly like there’s a delay between me typing a letter and it appearing.
Doing this, crafting a romantic subplot that weaves seamlessly into his murder mystery, is so my shit. I’m having so much fun, and I can see Caleb getting excited too, as he reads over my shoulder, occasionally laughing in approval.
‘This is perfect,’ he says. ‘I can’t believe how well it fits.’
‘I told you!’ I say, beaming. ‘A little romance never hurt anyone.’
We spend the rest of the morning working together, bouncing ideas off each other, and I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun working on a book.
It’s just a shame it’s not my own.