Page 5 of A Cornish Winter's Kiss

‘Okay, if that’s the way you want to play it, but it needs to feel authentic, and you could do worse than look at the work of some of our authors whose books focus on relationships.’ Marty pushed his glasses up his nose, an earnest look in his eyes as he slid a book across the table towards Jude. ‘This is Sophia Wainwright’s latest. The most recent book in her Goodwill Cove series has been our number one best seller this year.’

‘I don’t read romance.’ Jude couldn’t stop his lip from curling slightly as said the word, and he didn’t move to pick up the book Marty had slid towards him. He only had to see the covers of those kinds of books to feel irritated. They brought back too many memories of sharing his flat, and his life, with a woman who’d claimed to believe that anyone could live happily ever after if they wanted to. The trouble was, the characters in those books were never ordinary people; they sold a dangerous fantasy that real people, living real lives, could never live up to. Jude certainly hadn’t been able to, not in Mia’s eyes anyway. Now, when he saw someone reading books like that on the Tube, he couldn’t help wondering if they really believed in all that sickly-sweet happy ever after stuff, where love conquered all. Somehow, he doubted it, and he knew first-hand what a load of crap it was. Love didn’t conquer all, and it was never unconditional either; there were always caveats. Lots of them.

‘Well, maybe it’s time to try.’ Marty shrugged. ‘Switching up the genres you read might help freshen up your writing. It can’t do any harm, and what’s the worst that could happen?’

‘I could end up splashed across the papers for murdering my editor in cold blood.’ Jude raised his eyebrows, and for the first time Marty’s smile reached his eyes.

‘Oh, and what would your weapon of choice be? We must have seen nearly all of them across your books.’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever had a murder where the victim was beaten to death with a romance novel.’ Jude’s tone was deadpan and he tried not to question what it was about him that made the idea of that storyline so much more appealing than giving his lead character a successful relationship.

‘I don’t think we have seen that yet.’ Marty was still smiling, but then he fixed Jude with another of his ‘this-is-no-joke’ looks. ‘Are you confident you can you still deliver the first draft by January?’

‘Once I’ve read this it should be a piece of cake.’ Jude picked up the Sophia Wainwright novel gingerly, as if it might suddenly grow teeth and bite him. ‘After all, how hard can romance writing be? The plot’s the same in every single one of these things.’

‘Hmm. Lots of people seem to think writing romance is easy, but you don’t see any of them on the bestseller lists with Sophia, do you?’ Marty gave him a wry smile. ‘But you’re a talented author, Jude, and I really hope you’re right about how easy this is going to be. Either way, I’m sure you can pull it off and get your cardboard cutout back on display where it belongs.’

‘What better motivation could I ask for than that?’ Jude shook his head, not willing to acknowledge the tiny part of him that wanted to see his cardboard cutout the next time he walked into the offices. He might hate the sight of it, but it signalled success and when success was all you had, the thought of losing it was terrifying.

If Jude’s life had been a Hollywood movie, he’d have been surrounded by lots of balls of screwed-up paper; abandoned attempts to revise the story, discarded in a fit of rage eachtime he realised just how terrible they were. Highlighting and deleting great swathes of text on his laptop wasn’t nearly so poetic, but that was what he seemed to have spent most of his time doing lately, and DCI McGuigan wasn’t the only one taking comfort in the arms of an old friend called alcohol.

The conversation with Marty hadn’t been a complete surprise; his editor had mentioned before the start of the new series that readers would need to be invested in DCI McGuigan’s personal life for it to have longevity and to feel different to his first series. He’d tried to provide that in his lead character’s flirtation with Dr Imogen Matthews, the icily cool pathologist who Cole was thrown into close contact with, but even he could see how wooden their interaction was. He’d spent the best part of the last twenty-four hours trying to escalate the ‘romance’, if you could call it that, and it was a disaster. Jude could describe the grisliest of murders without missing a beat – the arterial spurt, the puddle of scarlet blood pooling around the victim’s body, even the unmistakeable stench of death – but when it came to trying to describe a kiss, he was floundering. Reading back what he’d written, attempt number twenty-seven no less, it all sounded so clinical; more like two robots exchanging data than two people taking their relationship to the next level.

‘Jesus Christ!’ Jude highlighted the last two paragraphs he’d typed and hit the delete button so hard that his laptop jumped on his desk. He took off the dark-rimmed glasses he was wearing for a moment and rubbed the right-hand side of his temple. This was proving even more of a headache than he’d imagined.

‘Maybe I could just get him a dog.’ He said the words out loud, despite the fact he was the only person in the room. Getting a dog was something that might humanise Cole McGuigan for readers, and it was something Jude could get on board with too, because his fox red Labrador, Rufus, was undeniably the most important thing in his life. Part of the reason he was finding thewhole romance thing impossible to write was because he didn’t believe in the forever kind of love that those stories perpetuated. It was a fantasy, a chemical reaction that people tried to build into a lifelong commitment, which more often than not failed.

If someone had asked Jude to explain what he thought about the concept of love, they’d probably assume he was cynical because of what had happened with Mia, but there was more to it than that. He’d been incredibly sceptical long before he met her. He should have listened to his head back then, instead of allowing a chemical reaction to make him forget everything he knew to be true.

They’d met as interns, both of them fresh out of university and trying to take their first steps in a journalism career. Mia had ambitions of working forVogue, and Jude just wanted to write as a way of making sense of the world. They’d moved into a tiny studio flat together, taking on bar work at night to make ends meet and still barely having enough money for food. At first, their situation could have come straight out of one of the romcoms Mia loved so much, and they hadn’t needed anything apart from each other.

Sundays, when neither of them worked, had been the highlight of the week. They’d wake up and make love, before going out for a walk and grabbing lunch together. Fancy restaurants were way out of their league, but sharing a portion of chips down by the river had seemed about as good as life got. Afterwards they’d go home again, curl up in front of a movie and just enjoy being together. Mia had been the one to start talking as if their relationship might be ‘forever’, and she’d also been the first one to say she loved him. Jude had surprised himself when he’d told her that he loved her too, and had realised he meant it. There’d even been a moment when he’d thought that maybe he’d been wrong all these years and that those kind of feelings really could last forever, but then Mia had met Bexter.

Bexter was an internationally renowned fashion photographer, twenty years her senior, who went by his surname, because his first name was the far more mundane-sounding Colin. The first day they met, he invited Mia out to lunch;in Manhattan. She’d laughed when she told Jude about it, at just how ridiculous the idea was, and how she’d never have said yes ‘in a million years’. Pretty soon, Bexter’s name began creeping into the conversation more and more, and that ‘million years’ Mia had promised became a little over a fortnight. That was when she’d agreed to have dinner, and a whole lot more, with the brand new ‘love of her life’. Mia had tried to spin it with those exact words when she’d told Jude she was leaving.

‘I didn’t mean to fall in love with Bexter, but it was something neither of us could control. Almost as soon as I met him, I knew I’d found the love of my life.’ She’d sat doe-eyed and tearful, on the edge of the bed she’d shared with Jude for over a year, and he’d wanted to laugh. What she’d said had been such a cliché, and he’d thought of asking exactly what it was about Bexter that she’d fallen in love with so incredibly quickly. But he already knew. Mia’s new love could help make all her career ambitions a reality; he could take her to any restaurant, anywhere in the world, and give her the kind of lifestyle most people didn’t even dream of. How could Jude possibly have expected her to say no to that? Only a fool would have turned down that chance, unless it had been for love. Except Mia hadn’t really loved Jude; at least nowhere near enough. She’d spelled that out to him, in the midst of what had seemed like a very well-rehearsed goodbye speech.

‘I’m so sorry, Jude, but a part of me will always love you.’ He hadn’t been able to stop himself from laughing at that bit, and a few minutes later Mia had walked out of the door to start a new life with Bexter. Jude had almost wanted to be heartbroken. If he’d been heartbroken, it would have meant he’d loved Mia enough for forever to have been a possibility, but he hadn’t. Hewas hurt, but not heartbroken; not even close. All it had done was reinforce his belief that no one had ever truly loved him, not from the moment he was born. That was the part of his story that could really have broken his heart if he thought about it for too long, but he didn’t allow himself that kind of indulgence. Instead, he buried himself in writing his first book and, by the time it was finished, Bexter had moved on to someone even younger than Mia. She’d got in contact, telling Jude it had all been a big mistake and that she wished they could go back to when it had been just the two of them in their cramped little studio flat.

In some ways, Jude had felt sorry for Mia, but he couldn’t even pretend that was what he wanted. Not with her, and not with anyone, because love – such as it was – only ever lasted until something better came along, and he didn’t want to live his life like that. It wasn’t just the romantic kind of love that Jude had serious doubts about. He wasn’t sure that anyone could really love another person unconditionally. There was always some kind of transaction involved. He’d learned that lesson as a child, but he couldn’t let himself think about that too much either; it wouldn’t do any good, and he had work to do.

Jude started typing again.

McGuigan had seen the dog before. The mangy-looking mongrel had taken to hanging out around the bins behind the station, searching for scraps, but he was out of luck. DC Thomson polished up whatever leftovers there might have been long before the trash was taken out. McGuigan kept his voice low as he approached the dog, whose luck was about to change. There was a packet of ham in Cole’s pocket, bought with the sole intention of trying to win the dog over. It wasn’t the first bribe he’d ever tried to employ, but this time the stakes were far higher than with an informer. Theoutcome of this particular exchange could change the whole direction of McGuigan’s life.

Jude stared at the screen for a moment, before highlighting the text again and pressing the delete button even harder this time. He was never going to pull this off, and it could finish his career if he didn’t; Marty had hinted as much. Sloshing another double measure of whisky into his glass, Jude sighed. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Gripping the glass and desperately hoping for some kind of flash of inspiration, he suddenly caught sight of the copy of Sophia Wainwright’s novel that Marty had given him.

‘For God’s sake.’ Even the thought of reading it made irritation prickle his scalp, and he took a long slug of his drink, which burned his throat. Forcing himself to reach out, he picked up the book, the cartoon-like cover of two figures intertwined with one another on a deserted beach irritating him even further. Flipping open the front cover, he flicked past the dedication to a letter from Sophia that he could only bear to read the first few lines of:

To my dear readers, thank you from the bottom of my heart for choosing another Goodwill Cove novel. It feels like home to me now and I know it does to so many of you too. I can’t wait for you to discover Abigail and Saul’s story. It really is the perfect romance!

‘Eurgh.’ Jude slapped the palm of his hand against his forehead and took another slug of whisky, flicking forward to the first chapter. He got halfway down the second page before he threw the book across the room, just as his phone started to ring.

‘Jude, I was just calling to see how the meeting with Marty went.’ Adele had been in charge of marketing his books from thevery first one he’d written, and he knew her well enough to pick up on the tension in her voice, despite the singsong tone. Jude had neither the time nor the patience for beating around the bush.

‘I think you know exactly how it went. He wants me to give McGuigan a romance.’ The word felt so unnatural when he said it.

‘He doesn’t want a romance, he wants a relationship.’

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