Page 42 of The Plot Twist

‘Met him at the summer party,’ confirmed Allie.

‘Right, OK. So thirdly, WHY does he have your plot idea?’ Allie opened her mouth to respond but Verity held up a finger to silence her. ‘And finally, I don’t want to forget that we need to cover who you’ve been on a date with.’ A look crossed her face and her mouth dropped open. ‘Oh god… Not Martin Clark?’

‘Eugh, no!’ shouted Allie. ‘He’s old enough to be my father.’ Verity gave Allie a funny look, which Allie couldn’t get a read on. ‘But I mean he’s still very handsome,’ she continued, cheekily enjoying the look of horror that was spreading across Verity’s face. ‘If I were older,’ she eventually clarified, ‘or he was younger,’ she mused.

Verity pushed her now empty again wine glass towards Allie, indicating that if this was the direction that their conversation was going to take she was going to need more wine.

‘I’m not dating Martin.’ Allie laughed, deciding that despite her and Martin’s agreement, she owed it to Verity to explain. She poured another generous glass for Verity. ‘But heishelping me with my writing. Or at least he’s supposed to. But so far, it’s mainly been me helping him.’

It took two more glasses of wine before Allie had adequately explained the arrangement that she and Martin had reached and before Verity was suitably assured that Allie wasn’t about to run off with a man almost twice her age. By the time she left Allie’s flat, Verity still looked dubious but seemed to be more accepting of Allie’s life choices. Especially when they were backed up by promises that Allie would actuallybewriting again, and that between them they would track down Tessa and somehow persuade her to do the dirty on Jake.

ChapterEleven

Allie was enjoying her new morning routine. She had got so used to waking up with a feeling of dread that at first she didn’t recognise the new sensation. She had forgotten what it was like to have butterflies, the good kind. Not the kind that made you wonder if you were about to be sick, but the kind that fizzed inside you, sending a delicious thrill of anticipation for the day ahead. Allie would wake, say hi to her new internal butterfly pals, stretch out luxuriously and see how long she could resist before she checked her phone. So far, she had managed forty-eight seconds, but she was hopeful that by the weekend she might get to a minute.

She’d roll onto her stomach and check her messages and every morning so far there would be one from Will. Sometimes it would be something funny that had happened at whatever event he happened to be working at the previous evening. Sometimes it would be something ridiculous his sister had done (she seemed to be a constant source of bemusement and often irritation to Will, and Allie liked to match his stories with ones about Martha). Quite often it would simply be the last message of the conversation they had been having the evening before, and these were the mornings that Allie would wake with no need to roll over to check her phone, because she was still clutching it in her hand.

She grinned as she saw a picture of tiny, yet perfectly formed canapés, which he had sent with the question – ‘are these the right size for you?’ She liked him teasing her, she liked the familiarity it suggested. She liked knowing he was thinking of her, because she sure as hell was thinking of him; sometimes too much. It was great she was feeling so inspired by him to write, but sometimes she drifted off and time ran away from her as she lost herself in a daydream about Will. She couldn’t imagine ever getting bored of him or his funny messages or ever not wanting to hear from him as soon as she woke. But even as she thought this, a new realization of what this cosy familiarity might lead to washed over her and a cold leaden feeling began to travel up from her previously warm and fuzzy toes. It reached and then smothered the butterflies before she allowed herself to acknowledge it. Because what Allie knew, from life, from her previous experiences, was that this too would pass. Sure she might still be happy to hear from Will, she might even catch fleeting memories of what it had been like when they had been in this honeymoon stage, but that’s what this was; the honeymoon stage, the getting to know each other stage. When everything about the other person was endlessly fascinating, when you felt like the only two people in the world who had ever found a soulmate like each other, and when boring mundane stuff hadn’t yet entered the picture. But it would end, and Allie knew it would. Every single boyfriend she’d ever had ended up that way; even Martin and Angie, who seemed to have adored each other in the early days, had now completely lost their way.

And when that happened what would happen to her writing? Where would her creativity spark from?

And so, Allie lay in her bed, no longer feeling the butterflies and instead trying to work out how to get them back and more importantly how to make them stay.

As she made herself a cup of tea she pondered, as she ate her toast she plotted and by the time Jess rang her to check she was still alive because she hadn’t heard from her in almost twenty-four hours she thought she’d cracked it.

‘I’ve figured it out.’

‘Good, great, glad to hear it. What is “it” by the way?’

‘Oh, sorry. I’ve been trying to work out how I keep writing.’

‘Does it involve putting pen to paper?’

‘Ha bloody ha.’

‘Sorry, fingers to keyboard?’

‘No seriously, Jess, listen. OK, so everyone knows that the honeymoon stage of a relationship is the best stage, right?’

‘Weeeeelll maybe….’

‘Maybe? What do you mean maybe?’

‘I’m not convinced.’

Allie paused, startled off course by Jess’s statement. ‘You’re not?’

‘No. I mean yes it’s great in lots of ways. But it’s also exhausting and terrifying. And yes exciting and sexy too. But sometimes I just want to put my big pants on and curl up on the sofa. And you can’t really do that while you’re still trying to impress someone, can you?’

Allie contemplated this. ‘I guess not. But don’t you ever look back and think about how exciting it was when you first got together with Tom? How every date was a big deal?’ Allie was thinking back to all those nights when she’d had to counsel Jess over what to wear, endless fit checks, panicked photos back and forth, pre-drinks in bars and the promise to come rescue her if it went wrong. Which it hadn’t. And the ring on Jess’s left hand was proof of that.

‘Oh of course,’ agreed Jess, ‘it’s definitely fun.’ This gave Allie a bit of the confidence she’d had knocked out of her theory back. ‘But then it’s nice to look back on those moments and see how far we’ve come. And how much more I love him now.’

‘You do?’

There was a silence. ‘Allie, was that meant to sound like a question?’ Jess didn’t sound impressed.

‘No, no. I meant youdo. It was a statement. I mean of course you love him more now, right?’ Allie hoped she had done enough digging. ‘But I just, I guess I’m wondering how do you hang on to that excitement?’

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