by Carol Wyer
‘I’ll chat again soon.’
‘Skype me as soon as you’re online. You can run the plot past me.’
Chloe ended the call with a promise she would. After she hung up the phone she heaved a sigh. She couldn’t put it off any longer. She’d have to get some ideas down and start working on a new manuscript, even if what she wrote was rubbish. She couldn’t fib again to her friend, especially if it was face-to-face online. Faith would immediately see through her.
She settled down in front of her desk and began…
Laila MacDonald blinked hard but still stars exploded in front of her eyes.
‘You okay?’ The voice was low and filled with concern.
‘I think so.’ Her voice seemed to come from far away as if it wasn’t her own. Was she dreaming? With a sudden clarity she recalled what had happened. She’d been skating, floating across the pure ice-blue frozen lake, like a gliding bird, faster and faster, revelling in the sense of freedom that the activity always brought. She’d been coming to the lake every winter, ever since she was a teenager. She’d ingested the cold air, right into her lungs and lifted her head to the clear skies. In her opinion, Canada was at its most beautiful during winter. As usual, she’d laced up her skates tightly and cautiously stepped out onto the ice where she’d twirled and danced and glided until… until she’d collided with something or someone.
‘I called out. You didn’t hear me.’ Her eyes began to focus on his wide mouth – lips plump and reddened by the cold air and then onto his eyes, the colour of honeycomb, and onto his dark curled hair. Her heart jumped.
‘I’m fine,’ she said.
He held out a large hand to help her up. ‘I think you should get that looked at. It looks deep.’
She glanced at her knee, now crimson…
Chloe groaned loudly as she read through the chapter. It was utter crap. Saving the document so she wouldn’t be lying to Faith, she turned off the laptop and went into the kitchen where she grabbed a bag of honeycomb dipped chocolates and munched on a few. Ronnie looked up hopefully.
‘Not a chance, matey. Chocolate’s bad for dogs,’ she said. ‘Don’t suppose you fancy a new outfit for Christmas, instead? I could dress you up as an elf or a Christmas tree or a yuletide log.’
She put the bag out of Ronnie’s way. She ought to take her dog out. The skies were darkening and if they didn’t go soon, she’d get soaked. Anything to get out of writing. With coat and wellington boots on and the dog on his lead, she strode out over the fields. The chill wind stung her face and lips but Ronnie didn’t seem to notice as he snuffled under bushes and spun around to get the scent of animals who’d trailed the same path before him. Chloe had to keep stopping to untangle the lead from his legs. She decided to follow the right of way path leading towards a small hamlet rather than trudge around the reservoir. After a quarter of an hour she stopped and looked back at her home, a tiny doll’s house of a place with large welcoming windows lit by the lamps she’d left on. It was charming. She really couldn’t have chosen a better place or location. From her vantage point here, she could see Eleanor and Fairfax’s house with drapes at the French windows and a tall Christmas tree lit up in the window. Beyond that was the long barn where she’d stumbled and met Alex, and further away still the roof of his house.
As she pulled her woollen hat further down over her ears she wondered if she would ever feel as comfortable there as she had done in her old home, if William and Lilly had put up a tree in the same spot it had always stood, and if they’d adorned it with the silver and red baubles she and William had bought together.
She sighed. Christmas was a lousy time to be suddenly single. She looked again at her own property with its neat roof and arched windows and was struck by how inviting it appeared to be. Smoke curled from the chimney, the grey wisps thinning into strands until they disappeared into the atmosphere. It would be toasty inside, and when she got back she’d plug in the lights on her own tree, stick on some Christmas music and treat herself to some mulled wine. A gust of wind shook the empty branches of the oak tree and three crows flew overhead. Ronnie strained at his lead, eager to cover more distance. She yanked on it.
‘Come on, boy. Time to go home.’
* * *
‘Oh, I like this one,’ she said to a disinterested Ronnie as she turned up the radio to listen to Brenda Lee’s Rockin’ around the Christmas Tree. After a large glass of mulled wine, she was feeling more enthusiastic about the festive season and had wrapped Ronnie’s presents ready for the actual day when she and Ronnie would unwrap their gifts – hers from Faith – and tuck into a turkey breast roll she’d order once the internet was up and running.
She increased the volume and began twirling about the kitchen. She and William had danced a lot in their house when they were first married. After dinner, he’d often sweep her into his arms and smooch with her to a love song. The early days had been the best. She shut her eyes and thought back to the time when her arms would have been around the nape of his neck, fingers caressing his hair and her head on his shoulder, while his own arms would have been around her, pulling her closer to him until she could feel their hearts beating rhythmically as one. That had been before the misery. She shook herself free of the memory. Soon she’d be picturing Lilly and William swaying together and she wasn’t going to allow herself to tumble into gloom. She snatched up the reindeer antler headband she’d worn at the Christmas Tree Farm and put it on, singing along to the song as she did so. ‘Come on, Ronnie. Join me,’ she shouted and patted her thighs to encourage him. Sure enough, he picked up on her enthusiasm and scurried over, where he weaved in between her legs.
Dancing left and then right, she raised her arms and moved them in time to the music, skilfully avoiding his paws. ‘You’re a good dancer.’ They continued until the end of the song, when she stopped and curtseyed for him. ‘Thank you for the dance.’ She laughed at his face, tongue now hanging from his mouth and patted him, then turned away and caught sight of two amused faces at the window. One was a gaunt-faced man in a khaki-green jacket, holding an enormous metal case. The other was Alex.
Face beetroot red, she opened the kitchen door. She could barely look Alex in the eye. The man next to him was struggling to keep the grin from his face.
‘Hi. I was – um – well…’
Alex intervened quickly and saved her from an awkward explanation. ‘Sorry to interrupt your training for Britain’s Got Talent, but the telephone engineer is here. He came to my door by mistake.’
‘Oh, I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.’
‘Weather looks bad for tomorrow and I was in the area so I thought I’d get you online today. Not inconvenient is it?’
‘Gosh. No.’
‘I love Britain’s Got Talent. You really going on it?’ The man was goggle-eyed at the revelation.
‘Oh yes, she is. Ronnie can perform a few dances. Which routine was that, Chloe? Rock ’n’ Roll?’
‘Yes, that was it,’ she mumbled.
‘Get on! Well, I’ll be blowed.’ He studied Ronnie who wagged his tail. ‘When are you on the show?’
‘She’s not allowed to say, are you, Chloe? She signed a disclaimer.’
‘That’s right,’ Chloe said slowly. Alex winked at her. He’d been helping her save face.
‘I’ll be glued to it and cheering you on when you perform. What’s his name?’
‘Ronnie.’
‘Ronnie, eh? What a clever dog, you are, Ronnie.’
Ronnie barked once.
‘He understands me. Brilliant. Okay. I’ll start out here. Just got to fit a cable through your window frame. Where do you want your modem?’
‘In the utility room. It’s behind the kitchen. If you walk around the house, you’ll see a small window. That’s it.’
The man wandered off.
‘I’ll leave him with you,’ he said. ‘Hope you’ve got some provisions in. It looks like we might be cut off if the forecasters are right.’
‘No, I haven�
�t. I was going to shop online.’
‘You’ll get no deliveries up that slope once it starts. You’ve probably got time to nip out to the supermarket in town before the snow settles.’
‘Er, well. Yes. Thank you.’ She couldn’t divulge her condition. He wouldn’t understand why she hated supermarkets and besides, he’d already helped her look less of a twit than she felt. ‘Thanks for… you know,’ she added.
‘It was nothing. You do realise he’ll be telling everyone he knows about the woman on the hill whose dog is appearing on that talent show?’
She giggled.
‘He’s going to be disappointed when you don’t appear. Unless you enter last minute. I reckon Ronnie could pull off a mean Salsa.’
‘He’d stand more of a chance of winning if he could twerk,’ she replied.
The smile broadened. ‘I’d pay money to see that! Best get off. We’re shutting down the site for the time being and the lads are leaving. I want to make sure everything’s secure before they go. Oh, one last thing, you might want to remove the antlers before you talk to the telephone engineer again,’ he whispered.
‘Oh no!’ She tugged at the headband.
‘Don’t forget to give him Ronnie’s autograph before he goes.’ He left with an airy wave.
Chapter Eight
Saturday, 23rd December
Chloe stared out of the window at the completely white scene. Snow covered every inch of her land, turning it from a muddy mess to a magical wonderland. The wind had howled all night and brought with it copious amounts of fluffy white flakes that had now drifted into piles against the hedgerows and tree trunks. Alex had been right when he said they’d be cut off. There was no way she’d get off the hill. She ought to have taken his advice and gone to the shops, but after the engineer had left she hadn’t been able to make herself go to the supermarket.
‘Looks like we’ll both be sharing your dog biscuits,’ she said as she pulled out a box of Bonios. I suppose it won’t hurt me to go on a diet.’ She ran a hand over her round stomach and sighed. She’d piled on weight. She really ought to sort herself out and shed a few pounds. This might be the opportunity she needed. A Christmas detox.
She checked her supplies: two apples, an orange, four bags of honeycomb chocolate dips, four bottles of wine, two leftover mince pies and a box of cereal. She’d survive. She’d foolishly pinned her hopes on getting a food delivery in spite of Alex’s advice, and had spent an enjoyable hour shopping online, choosing all manner of exciting edibles for the festive season. She thought about the ham joint and specially prepared turkey breast she’d ordered for their Christmas lunch, and the extra fruity plum pudding and custard she’d planned on eating as dessert. Looking at the build-up of snow outside, she’d be lucky if it turned up by the new year.
Grabbing a bag of chocolate dips, she headed for the office. She had to write something more before Faith Skyped her. She popped a large piece of honeycomb into her mouth and let it melt until it oozed onto her teeth and stuck them together, then she chewed. At the same time her fingers flew over the keyboard.
Laila MacDonald breathed in deeply. There was something about libraries that dragged her to far distant lands and venues she’d never visited but had read about. Books had a special smell: it was the scent of escapism. She lifted the tome from the nearest shelf and squinted at the title, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. She turned the page and read ‘Illustrated by Salvador Dali’.
‘It’s a 1969 Maecenas Press/Random House edition, signed by the artist. There are only 2,500 copies in circulation. Unfortunately, I don’t have the leather Solander box it originally came in, or it would be worth far more. One sold recently for over twenty thousand dollars.’ He rested casually against the library door frame, a smile on his face.
Laila stared at the volume. ‘Twenty thousand dollars?’
‘There are books here worth more than that, first editions I’ve accumulated over the years, but the one you’re holding is one of my favourites. It contains twelve illustrations from the painter himself, and next to books, art is my love.’
Her eyes opened ever wider. Dorian was a man full of surprises, from his mansion high on the hill with its vast collection of books housed in a library she could have happily lived in, to his handsome face with its amber eyes that glittered hungrily as he approached her. Her insides squirmed at the intensity of his gaze which fell to her shoulders and dropped lower, little by little, until she felt her body stroked by one longing regard.
‘Do you dance?’ he asked.
She laughed openly. ‘Why?’
He produced a small remote control from behind his back, aimed it at a shelf, and from speakers hidden somewhere within the walls, came the sound of an orchestra playing one of her favourite songs, Lady in Red. ‘Dance with me,’ he whispered as he swept her into his arms. A warm hand found the small of her back and pushed her closer to his muscled chest and they sashayed gently in front of the shelves, in time to the music.
Faith’s flashing avatar accompanied by the familiar Skype ringtone announcing the video call broke Chloe’s train of thought. She saved the manuscript and turned on the camera icon.
‘Yay! You’re back in the land of the living! And a day sooner than expected. I was so happy to get your email this morning. So, what’s happening?’ Faith sat back in her leather chair. Her hair was scooped up from her elfin face and huge red and purple earrings that complemented the red blouse she was wearing, dangled from her neat lobes.
‘Nice earrings,’ said Chloe.
‘These are as festive as I intend to get; I flatly refused to wear Christmas baubles like Maisie,’ she replied with a grin. Maisie was her assistant, a comely woman in her fifties who worked mornings only and who was renowned for her outrageous dress sense. ‘She’s also wearing a Christmas jumper – of a snowman, no less, with red leather shorts and black knee-high boots!’ Faith whispered.
Chloe smiled at the thought. Maisie didn’t care what stares she attracted. She was her own woman and if she felt like coming to work in a see-through negligee and Doc Martens, she probably would.
‘Still got her buzz cut?’
‘No, she’s growing it out so she can have it cut into a Mohawk. Apparently they’re very fashionable at the moment. Now, tell me, what’s going on there?’
‘Not much at the moment. We’re snowed in.’
‘What, properly snowed in? Like several feet of white stuff, or half an inch and you’re making excuses for not leaving the house?’
‘Proper snow. Proper deep and crisp and even snow. Look.’ Chloe lifted her laptop and carried it to the window so Faith could see the outside wintery landscape.
‘Oh my! That’s a lot of snow. You’d better trade Ronnie in for some huskies and a sledge, or at least train him to cart you about on a makeshift one. You okay up there, alone?’
‘I love it. I have Ronnie so I’m not alone and I would never trade him.’
‘I know. Only kidding. Hi, Ronnie. I can see you snoozing on the mat.’
Chloe returned to the office and sat down again. Faith was in serious mood now. ‘This new book. Tell me about it.’
Chloe took a deep breath. To be honest, she hadn’t got a clear idea of where she was going with it. ‘I have a character called Laila, a young innocent woman, who meets a sexy, mysterious man, Dorian, at an ice-skating rink. They both share a love of books and she discovers he not only owns a bookshop but invites her to be his assistant. It soon transpires he isn’t the man she believes him to be. He’s not only wealthy and extremely passionate but somewhat kinky. She falls for him and allows him to involve her in his sex games but then it gets complicated.’ She read out what she’d written so far.
Faith listened intently, giving nothing away and nodding periodically as Chloe stumbled over words and finally came to an end. Then she steepled her fingertips together and eased further back in her chair. ‘Okay, I’m going to wear two hats now. The first is my agent hat. Please, don’t be upset b
ut you know I prefer honesty. That idea stinks: it not only sounds like a rewrite of Fifty Shades of Grey, it’s not you. This isn’t C J Knight. Spank Me Harder, Vicar was genius and it was genius because it felt true-to-life and it was funny. God, it was funny. You drew inspiration from real life and brought your characters to life so much we all felt we lived next door to them. I’m sure Laila and whoever Dormat, Doreen, pervy boy is would be well developed, but this whole idea sounds too woolly and is certainly not gripping enough. Now, before you say anything, I’m changing hats and talking to you as a friend. You’ve been through hell. William’s actions have hit you deeper than you realise and you need some time to get over it. I accept you are confused and unhappy and those emotions – no matter how many times you tell me you’re okay – are clouding your ability to turn out the sort of book I know you are capable of.’
Chloe gulped back tears. Faith was right. Her book was crap. She’d struggled with every word, sentence and thought and all the while, when she wrote the sex or love scenes, all she could see was William’s face. ‘I can’t do it, Faith. I’ve lost it. I lost William, my life and my ability to write.’
‘That’s utter crap. Your ability’s always been there, hidden inside you. You ignored it all those years you lived with William because you didn’t believe in yourself enough, and then when you finally did his actions crushed your spirit. You are gifted and you have oodles of talent in every bone of your body. I don’t take on just anyone at this agency. I didn’t ask to represent you because you were a friend. I chose to represent you because I believed in you and I still do. Now you have to believe in yourself again. You’re also partly experiencing what we call Second Book Syndrome, which is quite natural among authors. I have other writers who are panicking because they don’t think they can produce a book as good as their first. You have to relax. The ideas are inside you. Let them escape and don’t force them.’
‘I don’t have any ideas,’ sobbed Chloe. ‘I got all my inspiration for Spank Me Harder, Vicar from conversations and gossip William shared with me after his night in the local pub. It was going to be the same for this book. I have nothing now. I have no one to share silly stories with me or give me a kernel of an idea.’ She pulled out a tissue from a box on her desk and blew her nose.
