This Book Made Me Think of You(80)

For the penultimate book, I thought I’d go for something that might offer you some inspiration.

Ever since I’ve known you you’ve been a creative person. All your craft projects, even just how you put outfits together in ways that surprise me but always look amazing. But ever since my diagnosis I can’t help but notice that spark has seemed dimmed. You’ve stopped reading. You’re not crafting as much as you used to. I get the sense you’re just going through the motions at work.

I want to try to help you get your spark back. I hope this book might help.

I know it might feel hard, but as we come toward the end of the year it’s time to start thinking about what you want the rest of your life to look like. I hope it is full of magic, big and small.

I love you.

Joe x



As soon as Tilly read the letter, she knew that Joe was right. She had lost her creative spark, and maybe even before Joe got sick. There was a time when she used to keep a notebook beside her whenever she read, jotting down ideas triggered by each book or notes about interesting techniques the author had used. But then she got stuck in her job and stopped.

Harper lets out a cheer and stands up too. “Let’s do this!”

They set off slowly at first, Tilly wobbling like a baby deer as she finds her feet. Harper speeds up a little and then Tilly does too.

“I think I’m getting the hang of it!” Tilly cries as she picks up speed. Harper is a little way ahead, zipping along confidently. Rachel jogs to keep up with them, filming as she goes.

Wind rushes as she goes faster.

“Weeeeeeee!”

She’s flying, the park zooming by. All her worries about the bookshop, Alfie, and her future disappear, blasted away by the cold air scouring her face. After everything that’s happened, this is exactly what she needed. A moment of carefree fun, a moment of feeling like a child again—

“Slow down, Tilly!”

The path that started out flat has turned into a slope and Tilly realizes she is gaining momentum, moving faster and faster.

“I don’t think I know how!”

“Well, stop then!” yells Rachel, running to keep up.

“I don’t know how to do that either. Shit!”

She veers toward a nearby bench, falling headlong into it with a crash, sending a plump pigeon that had been resting there flapping into the air with a loud coo and a scattering of feathers. Harper is laughing so hard she is wheezing, bent over. Tilly brushes her knees down, glad that nothing seems to be broken, then turns toward Rachel, whose whole body is shaking with the effort of containing her glee, Tilly’s phone still held in her hand.

“That bit better not be on the film.”





Fifty




Tilly spots Liz Cohen at the back of the restaurant at a table next to a log fire and beneath a ceiling that is entirely covered with pastel-shade baubles. She is typing heatedly on her phone and is dressed in a crisp green trouser suit that makes Tilly tug nervously on her corduroy pinafore dress. Was a book-print shirt too much? Well, it’s too late to do anything about it because Liz looks up, smiling broadly and lifting a hand in greeting. Tilly waves back, her stomach a knot of nerves and excitement.

“It’s great to see you,” Liz says, doing the obligatory air-kisses and gesturing for Tilly to sit opposite her.

“Wow, I feel like I just walked into a Christmas film,” Tilly says, taking in the array of baubles, ivy, and softly glowing lights.

“It’s a great time of year to be visiting,” Liz says, glancing quickly at her phone. Tilly follows her eye, spotting a flashing mail app icon with 127 unread emails.

“I’ve always loved London at Christmas—everything looks so pretty and inviting.”

“Although New York at Christmas is pretty great too,” Liz says with a lift of her eyebrow. She begins counting things on her manicured fingers, “The Rockefeller Center Christmas tree, the Dyker Heights Christmas lights in Brooklyn, Central Park in the snow…”

Tilly laughs. “My husband took me skating one Christmas at the ice rink beneath Rockefeller Center. It was exactly as magical as I’d imagined it would be from watching all the films. Even if I did fall over a lot.”

Liz chuckles. The waiter takes their orders, and then Liz settles her hands on the table in front of her.

“Let’s get to it then. I wanted to speak to you, Tilly, because I’m expanding my team. The role is within the commercial fiction team, dealing with our bestselling brand authors, as well as new but high-profile authors. We recently published the debut novel of actor and director Ben Arnold…”

“I saw that, it’s been everywhere.”

Liz nods. “It’s done well for us.” Which Tilly knows is an understatement. The book was on both the New York Times and Sunday Times bestseller lists for weeks, and whenever she listened to the radio or opened a magazine, it was to find Ben Arnold talking about The Untraceables. She’d read the book; it hadn’t been bad at all, although she had wondered whether it would have received the same hype if it hadn’t been written by an Oscar-winning film star…

“We’re looking to grow that side of the business,” continues Liz. “With your experience working with high-profile authors, we think you could have the steeliness we’re after.”