Page 37 of The Payback Plan
‘Maybe look at it as an opportunity to work through some things. Don’t take their money right now. Don’t write the book for them. Write it foryou.And then decide what you want to do with it.’
He regarded her for long moments. ‘You’re good at this.’
She smiled. ‘You’re catching on.’
A grudging answering smile touched his lips as he flopped his head back against the couch and stared at the ceiling as if he might find the answer there.
‘He had this scarf.’ Oliver murmured eventually. ‘A red scarf. It was cashmere. And really soft with fringes on either end that I remember used to tickle my face. My earliest memory of him is standing at an airport gate watching him walk down the gangway to the plane he was taking to America for some role or other and everyone else was wearing black and brown and grey and there was my father, this pop of colour bobbing up ahead, getting further and further away from me.’
His clear affection for his father warmed his voice and pulled at her heart strings. ‘Okay then,’ she said quietly. ‘Start there.’
* * *
A few days later, Oliver was once again staring at a blinking cursor but this time it was a Word document and this time it was blank. He’d been writing and deleting the same thousand or so words since Paige had come up with this harebrained scheme.
So, maybe it wasn’t just that he was stuck on thescript. Maybe his writing wasgenerallystuck. Maybe hewasexperiencing writer’s block.
Considering he’d written comparatively little in his life, that was slightly worrying.
Or maybe every time he thought back to that moment in the airport he remembered the gut clash of emotion. Pride and love butting up against a staggering sense of abandonment.
After all, he didn’t need £100k. He didn’t need to pull in any income for the rest of his life. His father’s estate was significant and the royalties off his work alone would keep Oliver more than comfortable for the rest of his life.
Did he really want to pick that scab?
Or maybe it was just the godawful screech of ‘Frère Jacques’ upstairs that was putting him off his game. Maybe he needed to invest in a proper soundproof door? He was pretty sure even the seagulls that sat incessantly on the balcony railing upstairs buggered off the second Paige picked up her bow.
Triple glazing or not.
‘What do you reckon, Pavarotti?’ He glanced over at the rodent running on his wheel like he was training for a marathon. ‘Is Mumsy gettinganybetter do you think?’
Taking the animal’s silence as a judgement on her lack of ability, Oliver nodded. He cast his eye over Casper who had decided his rightful place in this world was on the couch next to Oliver. And now he no longer looked like the creature from the swamp, Oliver had to admit, the company was nice.
And, unlike Paige, the dog didn’t judge him when he turned the TV on instead of reaching for the laptop.
Oliver couldn’t quite believe how quickly his life had turned around. Two weeks ago he was living a perfectly happy existence with just himself for company. Today he was living with a distractingly curvy woman with red hair, freckles and a great rack, a very large (actually less large now) hamster with a wild Trump-esque quiff and a stray dog who filled up his life in ways that were exceptionally inconvenient.
Had he wanted any of them? No. Would he be sad if they all left tomorrow? No –probably.But, here he was and it… wasn’t awful.
The screeching suddenly stopped from upstairs and he, the rodent and the dog, all held their breath and listened. Was there to be any more massacring of music or would today’s session be mercifully over?
When it didn’t resume, Oliver’s head fell back against the cushion. ‘Halle-fucking-lujah,’ he muttered.
Casper’s tail thumped against the couch as if in agreement and Pavarotti slowed his roll until the flashing lights stopped and the wheel came to a standstill. Had he been using the sound of the wheel in motion to block out the sound of Paige on the violin?
Huh… Maybe the rodent wasn’t as dumb as he looked.
A minute later, footsteps alerted Oliver to Paige descending and he knew she’d be coming down for an update and then looking at him alldisappointedif he’d yet again failed to produce some kind of output for the morning.
She would have made a great teacher, he thought. Or maybe a sperm bank nurse, urging masturbators into greater deposits and subtly sperm shaming them for poor yields.
He rewrote the same paragraph he’d deleted an hour ago. He knew it word for word because he’d written and deleted it multiple times over the last few days.
‘I think I’m improving,’ she announced as she entered the room. ‘The bow feels like it’s gliding more naturally.’
‘Uh huh,’ Oliver murmured noncommittally as both animals side-eyed him in a way that left him in little doubt they feltheshould be the one to tell her she wasnot–in any way, shape or form – improving.
Yeah… that wasn’t happening.
