‘Fine. But you can call to tell them you’re not coming. I don’t want to be the one to disappoint them.’
Typical Ada. She is so manipulative. When she was thirteen and desperate for a mobile phone, Dad refused and they had a huge row; Ada packed a bag and flounced out. She was missing for hours. Dad was about to call the police when he spotted her hiding up in the oak tree in the back garden. She’d sat up there watching everything unfold. Watching us look for her. Watching Dad practically tear his hair out with worry. And when she climbed down, she walked right up to Dad and said if she’d had a phone they could’ve called to find out where she was. Then, while he was still digesting this, she kissed him on the cheek and went up to her room because she’d got what she wanted: a guaranteed mobile phone and proof that if she ever disappeared, she’d be missed.
Knowing she won’t stop guilt-tripping me, I say, ‘What time do I need to be there?’
‘Six. And, Elodie?’
‘Yes.’
‘Wear something nice.’
Chapter Nine
14 Days Before
Elodie Fray
From: Lara@Beckwortha?ndGoldAgents.com
Subject: Harriers
Hi Elodie,
How are you? I hope you’re enjoying this glorious weather!
Harriers have come back to us and it’s bad news, I’m afraid. They’ve rejected all three of the new, grittier pitches. I’ve forwarded their email feedback separately but, in summary, as much as they love your writing, they still don’t feel your ideas are quite right for their list. They did say the story about you finding the body of your best friend’s father was closer to what they want but they felt it was better served as a subplot to a bigger piece.
A couple of times now, you’ve expressed how unsettled you are in your decision to leave your career in the hopes of getting a book deal. Maybe now is a good time to take a break from writing and dip back into marketing. Perhaps you could give Arabella （？） a call and see what she can do. I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep and, although I think you’re a good enough writer to succeed, the current market just isn’t on our side. Right now, I don’t feel I can be the best champion for your work. If you do decide to step back from writing, I can keep you on our list for a year or so or we can terminate your contract. That way you’ll be free to reach out to other representatives if that’s what you feel is best. Have a think and let me know.
Kind regards,
Lara
I read and reread the email over and over, standing on the stone steps of Ada’s house, my hands shaking so hard, I can barely keep hold of my phone. She sent the email yesterday; late Friday night and I’ve only just seen it. I imagine her firing it off at the last possible second, hoping if she gives me the weekend to digest it, I’ll be easier to deal with on Monday. For a moment, the world tilts on its axis and I am free-falling. That was it. My last shred of hope. Gone.
And it’s my fault. I placed all my hopes and dreams and happiness into this one glittering, almost-impossible achievement. I’ve spent over a year trying to break into that exclusive club of published authors. I see them on Twitter, talking about copy-edits, book birthdays, cover reveals – and my desire, my want, to be a part of it is a physical need. It’s so tangible, I could reach inside myself, pull it out and hold it in my hand. An emerald green rock of envy. As I read Lara’s email again, the future I’ve wanted since I was a little girl writing stories for my father, shrivels up, and the voice that whispers I’m not good enough, that this incredible achievement isn’t for me, it’s for others, for people more worthy, is now screaming so loudly, my head pounds.
I stare at the sage green door of my sister’s beautiful house; I can’t go inside. I cannot sit at a dining table with my family when I feel this wrecked. As I turn to leave, the door opens and Ada is standing there, looking equal parts perplexed and gorgeous with her furrowed brow and floral midi dress which probably costs the same as a week’s rent.
‘Why are you dithering out here?’ she asks, exasperated. ‘Everyone’s waiting.’
‘I …’ My words wither on my tongue and all I can do is blink and stand.
Patience snapping, Ada reaches forward, snatches my wrist and drags me inside. I’m too numb to resist so I stumble alongside her.
They’ve rejected all three pitches. We can terminate your contract.
Lara’s email runs through my mind like an electric current around a circuit without an off switch, buzzing and sparking.