Polly's Write ol' Summer

by Penny Kane

  Polly’s

  Write ol’ Summer

  Penny Kane

  Published in 2018 by Penny Kane

  First edition published in 2013 by Karen Aminadra

  Copyright © 2013 Karen Aminadra.

  Second Edition

  This is a work of fiction. All names and characters in this book are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental and is not intended by the author.

  The author has asserted their moral right under the

  Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Acknowledgments

  To Susan at Adirondack Editing.

  Jennifer, Michele, and Victoria for loving the ‘Polly’ concept and encouraging me to write it.

  To Caroline who makes me laugh every day.

  To Theo, always there, always loving.

  To my husband, my rock, best friend, comforter, and clown.

  I am who I am because of you.

  Polly’s Write ol’ Summer

  Polly writes chick lit and her debut novel is a worldwide bestseller. However, something strange starts to happen when she gets back from an international book tour. Polly finds that instead of art imitating life, her life starts to imitate art – or rather, her novel.

  She arrives home to find her husband in the arms of the maid. Wasn’t that in Chapter Three of her book, Happily Ever After?

  Her best friend is having an affair with her husband, too, and is pregnant! Isn’t that in Chapter Four?

  Then she meets a bronzed Greek and embarks on a passionate love affair. Wasn’t that in Chapter Seven?

  Will anyone believe her life is mirroring her novel?

  Can she prevent the ultimate tragedy or must the book play out, precisely as she wrote it, to the bitter end?

  Her agent recommends that Polly go and live Happily Ever After? on the proceeds of her book, and keep away from drama!

  CONTENTS

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter One

  Polly sat in her plush seat in business class and smiled to herself. Forty-one weeks at the top of the New York Times bestsellers’ list and sales for her book were still climbing. It was a hit – she was a hit. It seemed that the worldwide public was hungry for Polly’s brand of chick lit, and they wanted more. Her publisher wanted more. She’d even scribbled a few notes for a sequel on some toilet paper in the departure lounge that morning. She never dreamt her book would catapult her onto the world stage, and she loved every minute of it.

  She smiled back at the flight attendant, who poured her more coffee with an automatic smile. She never dreamt of travelling business class, let alone travelling around the world on a book tour. Her publishers had arranged everything. They treated her like royalty. She’d stayed in the best hotels in some of the major cities in the world and now she was on her last leg to New York from Chicago. Then it was homeward bound. She was tired and needed some down time. She wanted to stop grinning insanely at everyone and saying how pleased she was to meet them. She knew full well that she’d never remember them again, but that grin and handshake were vital to her image. She now knew how the Queen felt, and wouldn’t have changed places with her for all the tea in China.

  She called Steve, her husband, every night via the Internet and they chatted until she began to fall asleep. He was good to her, she thought as she snuggled down farther into her seat and sipped her Colombian coffee. She missed him and couldn’t wait to get home.

  Polly finished her coffee, stretched out her thin, fake-tanned legs, and, without realising it, nodded off. She was awoken by the flight attendant asking her to put on her seatbelt as they descended into New York.

  * * * *

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome New York Times Bestselling Author Polly Lloyd!”

  The audience erupted into applause on cue. Polly blushed. She’d never quite worked out whether the audience really wanted to see her or if the floor man forced them to do what was written on his placard. Jackie, her agent, told her to keep reminding herself of the huge book sales instead. Surely the audience were there to see the author. Polly was too tired to believe that now.

  “It’s so great to have you here with us today, Polly,” the presenter drooled in his nasal American accent. “I’ve always wanted to interview an Australian.”

  “I’m from New Zealand.”

  “Same thing.” He waved his hand dismissively and the audience giggled.

  Polly readjusted her silk blouse that was gradually slipping to show more cleavage, and squared her jaw at the presenter. “No, it isn’t. Not at all.”

  “Whatever.” Arrogantly, he turned to the camera and showed his best toothpaste-ad grin.

  “Is this your first time here in our great nation, Polly?”

  Polly crossed her legs, wishing she had worn trousers, and fixed the presenter with a glare. “Yes, it is, Ted. I’ve always wanted to visit Canada.”

  He laughed nervously. “This is the United States of America.”

  “Same thing.”

  He paled at the bite in her voice and tried to brush it off, “Oh, not at all, ma’am. They’re two vastly different countries.”

  “Whatever.” She smiled wryly at him.

  Game, set, and match Polly Lloyd.

  The interview was very stilted from then on. It was obvious that plastic-faced Ted didn’t like her much. Perhaps she should have kissed his behind, but Polly didn’t do that and never would do it. So she enjoyed herself by exploiting his ignorance. It turned out that it wasn’t too difficult to do. He was definitely a few sandwiches short of a picnic. Good God! How do these people get these jobs? He none-too-warmly thanked her for joining him on his show. Polly shook her head as she said good-bye. Yes, you had to get that in and remind me it’s YOUR show, didn’t you, plastic man?

  * * * *

  Polly was so desperate to get home that she didn’t bother to call Steve and let him know she caught an earlier flight. She wanted to surprise him. She knew the house would be full of takeaway cartons and the fridge full of beer, but she didn’t care. She wanted to be in Steve’s arms and to see their son, Brendan, again. She made a mental note to ensure that if there was a next book tour, it be shorter. Her feet were killing her, despite only wearing kitten heels, and she was sure her ankles were swelling. They hadn’t done that since she was pregnant with Brendan. Polly groaned at the memory. Brendan was now a teenager and there were times when she’d get a little broody and want another child. Then she’d remember the constant months of vomiting and the ankles that looked like she had weights on under her tights. She’d then realise why they decided to have only the one. As she nodded off to sleep again, she remembered with a smile of relief that the house wouldn’t be a pit when she
returned at all. She was Polly Lloyd, international bestselling author. She’d thought of everything. She didn’t need to get her highly valuable writing fingers dirty; she’d hired a maid.

  As the plane touched down at Auckland Airport, Polly breathed a huge sigh of relief. Her irritation grew as they waited for the jet bridge to be connected to the plane. All she wanted was to breathe New Zealand air again, get home, kick off her shoes, and get some proper tucker in her belly. It was just her luck that her suitcases were the last ones round the carousel. Why do they weigh ten times as much as they did when I checked in?

  Tiredness set in as she made her way to the exit and took her place in the queue for the taxi rank. Polly was only minutes away from home now. Nervously, she checked her purse to be sure she had enough New Zealand dollars to pay the cabbie. The last thing she needed was to make Steve pay for her taxi as soon as she got home. She wanted her return to be a happy surprise, not have to cadge off the poor man. She smiled to herself; Steve was probably in desperate need of home cooking. He was a modern man – whatever that was – but his cooking could kill a rhino.

  Cabbies all over the world were the same, apparently. As soon as Polly settled into the taxi and they were on their way, he started talking. And he didn’t stop until the taxi did. He complained about the weather. It’s Auckland. We have extremes of weather! Apparently he hated the rain. Yeah, and I bet you complain it’s too hot in the summer, too, don’t you? Polly was in dire need of a nice cup of tea.

  “So, been anywhere nice?”

  Oh no! “I’ve just completed a world book tour, actually.”

  He frowned at her in the mirror. “What’s that, then?”

  Yep! “It’s where I tour the world promoting my book.”

  “And did you sell many?”

  Sigh. “Worldwide, my book has sold over one hundred thousand copies.”

  He nodded. “So, you’re New Zealand’s answer to J.K. Rowling, are you?”

  Oh God, help me! “No. I write chick lit. Her most famous books are aimed at children.”

  He frowned again. “Chick-lit? What’s that? It sounds like that chewing gum!” His laugh was wheezy and ended in a coughing fit, but at least it gave Polly time to swallow a sharp retort.

  “It means women’s literature. Chicks, women, you know?”

  “Oh!”

  Yep, his mind’s switching off.

  “What’s your name? Maybe I’ve heard of you.”

  “Polly Lloyd,” she answered proudly.

  He shook his head. “Nah. Never heard of you.”

  Polly deflated.

  “Mind you, I wouldn’t have heard of you, would I? I can honestly say, hand on heart…” He placed his right hand where he believed his heart to be. “…that I have never once read a book from cover to cover. Not even at school. Amazing, that, don’t you think?”

  “Oh.” Now it was Polly’s turn to switch off.

  Thankfully, he pulled into the road on which she lived and Polly knew the end was in sight. Note to self, she thought as she climbed out of the backseat, I really ought to put that conversation in one of my novels. She paid him and gave him an extra tip for lugging her cases up the front steps to the door. He’d gained a couple of points for that and Polly felt bad for thinking him an ignoramus. At least he has a heart; very few people do these days.

  * * * *

  Polly put her key into the door and quietly lifted the cases into the house. She closed the door behind her and listened for signs of life. Steve ought to be home by now. I wonder if he saw me arrive and is hiding, hoping to surprise me. She slipped off her shoes and wandered round the downstairs. There was no one there but she was pleased to see the place was spick and span. Polly sighed and headed to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, but as she passed the stairs, she heard a noise from one of the bedrooms. Ooh! She smiled as her heart skipped with excitement. She knew it wasn’t Brendan because there was no rock music blaring out. He’d told her once that he couldn’t possibly do any homework unless the music was ear-splittingly loud. It must be Steve. Polly ran up the stairs and entered their bedroom. What she saw knocked the stuffing out of her. She clung to the doorframe for support. She knew she’d never erase the image from her memory as long as she lived.

  The maid that Polly had hired to keep the house spick and span while she was on her book tour obviously thought that shagging the husband was part of her duties. Steve didn’t even notice that Polly was at the doorway, but the maid did. Steve continued to hump away despite the maid’s horrified expression.

  She slapped him on the arm. “Steve, stop!”

  “What? I thought you liked it hard.”

  The maid slapped him again. “No, look!” She pointed at Polly.

  “Not now, babe. I’m gonna come.” He resumed his thrusting.

  “It’s your wife!” the maid shouted and hit him harder this time.

  “What?” Steve looked at her angrily.

  The maid indicated with her eyes that Polly was watching them.

  “Shit!” Steve climbed off her, grabbed the duvet, and wrapped it round his bottom half. He turned to Polly. “Hi, love. You’re home early!” He smiled as innocently as he could.

  “Apparently so.”

  “I can explain, love.” He gestured towards the bed where the maid was scrambling to get her clothes on.

  “You lost your watch and she was helping you look for it?” As usual, Polly’s sarcastic self-defence mechanism kicked in.

  Steve laughed. He always laughed when he was nervous. Polly leant heavily against the doorframe; she had no energy to fight. She couldn’t believe this was happening. She wanted to grab the little hussy by her hair, drag her kicking and screaming down the stairs, and throw her, naked as the day she was born, out into the street. But the part of her that controlled her limbs had shut down. It took two to tango. He was the one who should rightfully receive the full force of her anger.

  Polly looked at the maid. “What line did he use?”

  The maid looked surprised to find Polly wasn’t screaming at her. “Sorry?”

  “What line did he use to get you into bed? Did he tell you that our marriage was all but over? Did he tell you how I don’t understand him? Or that I’m far too busy to attend to his needs?” Polly was staring at Steve again now and her anger was flaring up. As Polly stepped towards him, the maid slipped out of the room, and probably, out of the house as quickly as possible.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Steve?”

  “You surprised me. I didn’t expect you home until later tonight,” he replied as he pulled on his trousers and grabbed his shirt off the lampshade.

  “So you thought you’d pass your spare time screwing the maid?”

  “Now don’t be like that, love. It’s been lonely here without you.”

  “And that’s a good excuse to lay the maid, is it?”

  He spread his hands. “It’s not what it looked like.”

  Polly laughed bitterly and screamed at him, “Oh, do tell me what it really was, then, Steve, because it looked to me like you were fucking her brains out!”

  Chapter Two

  It was dark and Polly was sure it was past midnight. She still sat on the floor where she’d slumped after she’d had a blazing row with Steve and kicked him out. Her head hurt and her nose ran from all the crying. What had she done so wrong? Why had Steve treated her like this? She thought their marriage was great. She obviously was very, very wrong.

  Polly started to feel cold. Her head pounded and her throat was parched. She scrambled to her feet and entered the kitchen. She filled the kettle and put it on, popped a couple of headache tablets, and then opened the fridge. Sitting on the middle shelf was a ‘Welcome Home’ cake. Polly shut the door to the fridge, leant her head against the cold metal, and sobbed. “Thanks for the welcome home, you bastard!”

  The cake was tempting, though, and once she’d made herself an extra-strong cup of tea in her over-large mug, she cut herself a big sl
ice and headed for her favourite spot on the old leather couch. As the tears streamed down her face, she stuffed a forkful of cake into her mouth. The taste only served to remind her that the cake was supposed to celebrate her return home. Her heart lurched and she flung the cake and plate across the room. It smashed satisfyingly into the fireplace. Polly snuggled into the cushions and gave into her pain again. She managed to drink half of the tea before falling asleep, cuddling a now-damp cushion.

  * * * *

  The phone was ringing. Polly didn’t want to move. She was comfortable and wanted to go back to sleep. The phone kept ringing. Damn it! Polly shifted her position and opened her eyes, and the realisation of where she was, and why, hit her like a freight train. She looked at the phone. “Whoever you are, piss off!” She was in no mood to speak to anyone.

  The answering machine picked up. “Mum, it’s me, Bren. Are you and dad still in bed? Bloody hell, guys! Get up! I want to come home and have my breakfast. I gave you all night to celebrate Mum’s homecoming! Mum…Dad… Are you even there?”

  Polly picked up. “Hi, Bren…” She burst into tears.

  “Mum, can I come home now?”

  “I’ve missed you so much, Bren,” she sobbed.

  “Mum, are you ok?”

  “Just come home, Brendan. Ok?”

  “I’m on my way.” He hung up.

  Brendan must had grown wings and flown home, because by the time Polly made them both a cup of tea, he was at the door.

  He burst into the kitchen, picked her up, and swung her around. “Mummy, Mummy, Mummy!” he exclaimed childishly. “I am so proud of you!” He put her down and kissed the side of her face. “Good to have you home… Have you been crying?”