‘You’ve already done enough.’ I stayed at Jack’s for two nights after I was followed home, too scared to stay all alone in my house.
He sighs. ‘Do we really have to pretend you have a choice? What time does your train get in?’
‘Nine o’clock – I’m meeting Margot for drinks after the meeting.’
‘I’ll be there.’ There’s rustling down the line, like he’s switching hands. ‘Elodie, you’re going to kill it. I know how much this means to you and if that editor hasn’t picked up your book, she’s a fucking moron.’
My face splits into a smile.
‘Call me after,’ he says.
His confidence is catching like a summer cold. ‘I will.’
‘See you in a better world, Fray.’
I ring off, take a breath, and go inside.
I’ve never been here before. There are bamboo chairs, huge windows, exposed brickwork. Everywhere there are plants, hanging in baskets from the high ceiling, shades of olive and sage and emerald, sitting in gold pots in the middle of glass tables, standing in mid-century planters in every corner of the space, their leaves glossy and thick. This is a good sign. If Lara was going to give me bad news, why do it over a meal in a gorgeous café? Why not just sit me down outside a sandwich shop so I can cry into a baguette?
Lara is at a table for two, wearing a dress that looks like it cost the same as a weekend away, but it probably doesn’t because she’s forever telling me there’s no money in publishing. She once said she gets most of her clothes from vintage shops and even sent me a list of all the best places in London, but whenever I’ve been, all I’ve found are moth-eaten nightgowns and granny jumpers that smell like dusty retirement homes.
I make my way over. She stands when she sees me, smiling wide. I never know whether to go in for a handshake, a hug or an air kiss. Is it one kiss or two? I worry that one day I’ll turn the wrong way and accidentally catch her mouth instead. She opens her arms and draws me in, air-kissing first one cheek and then the other.
‘You look wonderful,’ she says.
When the waiter comes over, I’m so nervous, I point to the first thing on the menu without really paying attention. We venture into small talk. I nod and smile and say, ‘Yes, really warm for July,’ and ‘the journey here was fine, thanks,’ and ‘no wine for me, or coffee. Water’s fine. Yes, I’m sure. Thanks. Thank you,’ until I’m about to explode because all I want to know is whether Harriers is going to take my manuscript. Lara talks about her holiday in Tuscany and how her three-year-old daughter, India, made friends with a local Italian boy and they’ll simply have to go back next year.
‘So, how’re you?’ she asks. ‘What’s new?’
I scramble for something to say and blurt out, ‘Nothing, still working in Mugs and wondering if my parents are right and I made a huge mistake giving up my career.’
‘Oh, right.’ She shuffles uncomfortably.
Trying to lighten the mood, I force a laugh. I forget when people ask how you are, they don’t really want a truthful answer. Even though I’m worried I’ve thrown the entire conversation off balance with my belch of honest misery, I feel I have to explain myself. ‘I mean, it’s just that even my mum has taken to lying to her friends about what I do for work. She acts as though serving coffee is worse than prostitution. Maybe she has a point; I mean, at least as a sex worker the tips are better, and you get to work from home.’ This time, my laughter is paper-thin. I swallow and reach for my water.
‘Oh, goodness,’ she says after a pause. ‘Well, there’s got to be a good story in there somewhere.’
I want to slam my head against the table for being so awkward. Sometimes, even as my brain is screaming for me to stop, my mouth just keeps on going.
The waiter delivers our food and I’m pleasantly surprised by my random pick. The chicken salad is so pretty with its edible flowers, I want to take a photograph but I’m not sure that’s the done thing at business meetings. I can’t tell if it’s as delicious as it looks; I’m so nervous, I chew and swallow without tasting.
She clears her throat and pours herself a glass of wine. ‘Right, Elodie, let’s talk about The Kissing Rock. We’ve had a reply from Harriers.’
My heart thunders in my chest. This is it. The moment I’ve been waiting for. I wish I could press ‘pause’ and take a minute to compose myself. My hands are shaking so I thrust them under the table and clasp them tightly in my lap. Validate me, I silently pray. Please validate my life choices. Please. The air is heavy with anticipation, too thick to breathe. Everything I have ever wanted lies between us, so close I can taste it.
‘Would you like me to read the email from them?’
I nod. I have never, ever wanted something as much as I want this book deal. I want it for myself. For Noah.
Lara pulls out her phone and starts scrolling through her emails. My heart beats so hard, I feel it in my fingertips.
‘So,’ she begins, and I sit up straighter. ‘Darcy said, “Terribly sorry for the delay in getting back to you. I loved so much about Elodie’s book – I thought she established the characters very deftly, her description is fantastic, really sexy and smart and her writing is extremely accomplished.”’
A smile tugs at my mouth. This is good, this is really good. I get that feeling in my stomach, like I’m being lifted. I’m a kite being swept into the sky, tethered only by a flimsy thread; I float higher and higher until my panic and fear are so far below me, they’re specks on the map.
‘“But,”’ she continues, ‘“I don’t think this is for us – there are too many parallels with another of our titles, Behind Her Eyes, but more generally, Elodie’s book doesn’t have the hook we’re looking for right now. The demand is for stories based on true events, something darker and grittier, and so with quite a lot of light-hearted romances already on our list, we don’t feel this is for us. If Elodie comes up with something else, we’d absolutely love to see it.”’
And just like that, I plummet back down to Earth with a crash so hard, my teeth knock together.
Lara slips her phone back into her bag then examines my face. I don’t want to seem weak, I want to stay together and professional, so I put all my energy into keeping emotion out of my expression whilst digging my nails into my palms beneath the table hard enough that they’ll leave little half-moon imprints in my skin.