Page 20 of Happily Never After
‘Nonsense! It’s a brilliant concept, as I told you when you pitched the book to me.’
‘Don’t you think the reader might feel like it’s two books glued together?’
‘No. It’s definitely got two distinct parts, but they’re so closely linked that it just wouldn’t work as two books. What if we did that, and someone read the second part first? They wouldn’t have a clue what was going on. No. Stick with the original plan,darling. It’s genius, and I know your writing will fizz just as it always does.’
‘I’m just at that stage where I doubt everything,’ I tell her with a sigh.
‘Hmm.’ She doesn’t sound pleased. ‘It sounds to me like you’ve lost your way a bit. Have you?’
I should have known she’d see through me. The doomsday spiral has now started to play in my head and I can practically hear her telling me the publisher has lost faith in the project, I need to pay back the advance, and she’s also dropping me. To my surprise, her response is almost sympathetic when she continues.
‘I’m going to take your silence as a yes,’ she says gently. ‘Look, I know you’ve been through a lot lately, with the breakup of your relationship, moving house and everything. Maybe you should think about getting away. A change of scenery might be just the thing. There are some great-sounding retreats coming up. I can send you details if you like.’
This is another well-worn topic of hers. She’s a big believer in writers’ retreats and seems to think that every writing problem can be fixed by going on one. To be honest, being stuck with a load of other writers sounds like my version of hell and I’ve always shut her down. It’s not that I don’t like other writers; the ones I’ve met have all been fine. It’s just that I have visions of everyone sitting round in a circle at the end of the day, discussing what they’ve written and giving each other ‘helpful critique’. If anything is going to worsen my writer’s block, it’s ‘helpful critique’.
‘I’m fine, thank you,’ I say. ‘I just need to fall back in love with the story, that’s all.’
‘And what better place to do that than the South of France or Tuscany, darling? There’s also a retreat coming up in Wales, but who’d want to go there when you could be soaking up thesun and culture with a glass or two of vino while you chat all things authorly with your fellow writers? I’ll send you through the details. Promise me you’ll have a look at least? I really think this would be good for you.’
‘Fine.’ I like Tamara, and we generally work well together, but I have to admit that her obsession with retreats does wind me up. Hopefully, letting her send me the details of these ones will get her off my back for a while and, by the time she follows up, I’ll be able to tell her that I don’t need it because I’m back on track.
‘I’m home!’ Liv shouts from the bottom of the stairs an hour or so later. This is something she’s started doing ever since vibrator-gate. I think she does it to alert me in case I’m in the middle of a passionate moment with the Silver Bullet but, although I followed the instructions on the website, both it and the LadyBliss have been about as successful as Angus in the ‘rocking Laura’s world’ department. To be fair, I suspect the problem may be less to do with them and more to do with ten years’ worth of bad sex making it difficult to conjure up the right level of enthusiasm but, after a few disappointing attempts, I consigned them back to their box under the bed.
‘Hello, Meggie. Did you miss your Auntie Liv?’ she’s saying to an ecstatic Meg as I come out onto the landing to greet her.
‘Honestly, I sometimes wonder whether that dog loves you more than me,’ I say, feigning irritation.
‘Of course she does,’ Liv coos. ‘You and Laura are both much happier living with Auntie Liv, aren’t you?’
She’s got a point. She’s not perfect – which of us is? – but living with her is definitely a lot better than being on my own, and I’m grateful for my shifts in the pâtisserie too.
‘Your lovers were in again today, so Bella tells me,’ Liv says as I follow her into the kitchen, where she flicks on the kettle without even breaking her stride. ‘Tea?’
‘Yes, please. How were they?’
‘Looking very happy, according to Bella. She wondered out loud if they were having sex yet, but then the image of “old people doing it”, to use her phraseology, gave her the ick. I think she’s a little bit obsessed with them. Do you think I should have a word? I don’t want her being intrusive and putting them off.’
‘I’m sure she’s very discreet,’ I assure her. ‘It’s just Bella’s thing – psychoanalysing the customers. It’s harmless and keeps her entertained. Actually, it keeps me entertained too. I might use some of her backstories in future books.’
‘And how is the book coming?’ Liv asks as she gets two mugs and a teapot out of the cupboard. ‘Any better?’
‘Not really. I had my agent hassling me about it on the phone earlier. She wants me to go on a writers’ retreat because she thinks it might help.’
‘Sounds sensible. Are you going to go?’
‘I’d rather drill holes in my head, and what would I do with Meg?’
‘I could look after her.’
‘You’re at work all day.’
‘I’m sure there must be dog sitters and people who can come and spend time with her while I’m not here.’
‘There probably are, but she was so upset when Angus left, and I don’t want her thinking I’ve abandoned her too. Anyway, it’s academic as I don’t want to go.’
‘Why not?’
‘It just sounds cliquey and rarefied. Every time I think about it, all I can see is sniffy authors looking down on each other and being generally insufferable.’
