Page 9 of Before You Say Goodbye

Suddenly, he was speaking. “Tell me what you do?” he asked her. They’d spent hours talking earlier, but not, so far, about work. They’d had so many other more important things to say to each other. Small talk had been abandoned in favour of politics, economics, and social justice.

“I’m a writer.” Autumn could still barely believe she got to say that about herself. She’d once been a social media manager for a charity, but had written a book three years before and seen some success when she’d published it online. Recently, it had been bought and released by a publishing house with a good reputation. It was all she’d ever wanted for herself, ever since she’d won a second-hand typewriter in a school tombola when she was eight years old.

“Ah, yes, Bluebell did mention that. What do you write?” he asked her.

“Everything.” She beamed. She meant it. She wrote short stories, blogs, poetry and novels. Bowie laughed.

“OK, but what do you mainly write?”

“Novels,” she said.

He looked impressed.

“Have you written anything I might have read?”

“Probably not. I wrote something online. It was picked up by a publisher and recently released.”

“What’s it about?”

“A pig called Beans—”

“Beans: An Extraordinary Pig Tale?”

“Yes!”

He smiled and turned his body excitedly to face her, spilling some of his tea on her sofa as he did so. He wiped absently at the cushion as he talked.

“Oh my God. I read your book. I read it last year. I thought it was amazing. I actually pre-ordered it from Amazon when I heard that they were releasing it in paperback because I wanted to give it to my dad. It hasn’t turned up yet, though.”

She leaned across her coffee table and moved a newspaper to pick up one of three copies she had kept for herself. She handed it to him and told him he could keep it for his father. Bowie held her work in his fingers and flicked through the pages. Autumn had never been prouder. It was her fourth attempt at having her work published and, although she had known it was a good story, she had been surprised by its success.

“I wrote the truth, as I saw it, from a pig’s perspective. I wanted meat-eaters to read it, but the vegan community has been carrying my sales. I’m not complaining. I’d be mad to. But I do hope it might reach the right people eventually.”

“As soon as you said that you’d written a book about a pig, I knew it must be this. I can’t believe I’m meeting you.”

She eyed him sceptically.

“I am not bullshitting you, I really have read it. And I really do love it.”

“I can’t believe you’ve read it.”

“I can’t believe Bluebell never told me you wrote it,” he said. “Actually, I don’t talk to her much about what I’m reading. We have completely different tastes. And she might have told me, actually, a while back, one afternoon when I wasn’t very well. Now that I think about it, it’s ringing a bell. Wow! This is like fate or something. You were in our lives long before we knew you. Bluebell will love this. She’s crazy about this stuff!”

Autumn stopped herself from rolling her eyes, turning her attention back to real life.

“She’s the most unique person I have ever met,” Autumn said.

“An amazing sister,” he said. “Protective.”

He gave Autumn a pointed look. She winced, feeling suddenly guilty. He was confirming her concerns, that being here without speaking to Bluebell first was inappropriate. An uncomfortable silence fell between them. Autumn gripped the top of her beer bottle in frustration.

“I think I should get going,” he said, standing up quite suddenly and moving towards the door. Autumn was incredulous. Had she been reading this completely wrong? Sure, there was the Bluebell thing, but she’d still been sure they were seconds away from kissing. He liked her work and was attracted to her, or so she’d thought. He’d been ranting and raving about fate and serendipity thirty seconds before, for crying out loud. But Bowie, who she wanted more and more with every step he took away from her, was nodding with purpose.

“It’s late and you have your big meeting in a few hours.”

She’d told him that and now he was using it as an excuse. It disappointed her but she nodded, standing up to follow him to the door.

“You’re right,” she said.

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