‘Really?’ Katelyn’s eyes widen. ‘A new man? I’m delighted for you.’
‘Early days.’
‘Have a great time.’
‘Absolutely.’ I haul my bag over my shoulder and carry my electric scooter outside. I often use the scooter to get to work, depending on my shift, but I don’t like using it when there’s a lot of traffic around. It’s busy this evening, so I head home on foot. When I get to Bram Stoker Park, I stop to check on Steve’s location. He’s in Baldoyle, about twenty minutes away. He’s obviously decided not to call to the pub after all.
It looks like I’ll have the evening to myself unless Charles calls, which is very unlikely. But I don’t mind either way.
After all, who needs a man when you’ve had the best day at work?
Chapter 14
Ariel
Tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther.
F. Scott Fitzgerald
The clouds roll in as dusk falls, and Charles switches on the table lamp in the living room, where we’re together again, this time discussing the next steps towards publication of A Caribbean Calypso. He’s opened a bottle of wine, but I’m driving so I’ve asked for sparkling water. He pours it for me and adds ice and lemon. He always likes to do things properly.
I made a few more suggestions, including getting rid of the massive clue to the murderer early on, and he’s reworked those parts of the novel. So now it’s ready to go to his publisher.
‘I’ll bring it to Graham myself,’ I tell him. ‘I’ll make a big deal of delivering it personally and make sure he knows he has a real commercial bestseller on his hands.’
‘He has,’ says Charles.
I laugh. It’s always fun to see him when he’s super-confident.
‘What?’ He looks momentarily aggrieved, and then laughs himself. ‘Oh, look,’ he says. ‘It won’t be a disaster if he doesn’t like it. There are other publishers, after all.’
‘It won’t be ideal,’ I say. ‘You’ll still owe him a book and you’ll have missed the deadline.’
‘Even if it isn’t what he expected, it’s a good story. A family of desperate women, an enigmatic man and his younger lover, and a dark, festering secret, all coming to a head in a tropical paradise. It’s got Netflix or Prime written all over it.’
‘You have a point.’ I take a sip of sparkling water. ‘Tell me a little about your beta reader.’
‘My what?’
‘It’s a term for early readers,’ I tell him. ‘You must know that, Charles.’
‘I’ve heard it,’ he admits. ‘But I thought it might actually be some kind of publishing algorithm.’
I grin. ‘So tell me about her.’
He sits back on the sofa and gazes into his glass. ‘She was on holiday with her cousin. The cousin had, thankfully, read me. Beta girl was the Janice Jermyn fan.’
‘I truly can’t believe you gave your manuscript to a complete stranger to read.’
‘Like I said, she was an expert. So I thought, why not?’
‘And you don’t think I’m a crime expert given that I’m Janice Jermyn’s actual agent?’
He looks at me with an expression of surprise. I say nothing as he takes a slow drink. ‘I . . . I suppose I was afraid,’ he says finally.
‘Afraid?’ I frown. ‘Afraid of me?’
‘Afraid you’d say it was terrible. If someone I didn’t know hated it, that was one thing. But if you hated it . . .’