Ghostwriting

by Traci Harding

  ‘But not this book,’ he corrected, ever so politely. ‘Or she would have scribbled my name on the box.’

  Amy, still not convinced, shook her head.

  ‘Well, there is one other possibility, of course.’ Liam took a sip of his tea, stalling to give Amy a chance to realise what that other possibility was.

  Amy simply shrugged so that Liam would come out with it.

  ‘Since you have yet to find the last chapter of the book, perhaps Mother was trying to write AMY FINISH — finish the manuscript?’

  ‘No!’ Amy stood, so panicked by the suggestion that she felt the urge to flee. ‘No way. I couldn’t possibly. Olivia was a spiritual guru.’ Amy raised a hand to the heavens, then dropped it heavily at her side. ‘I’m … I’m just her editor.’

  ‘Hey, time out.’ Liam had not expected Amy’s reaction to be this adverse and so he rose to calm her. ‘I thought that inside every editor there was a writer dying to get out. I didn’t mean to alarm you.’

  Amy felt foolish then; she had overreacted.

  The final chapter of Olivia’s damn book had felt like a looming curse ever since it had been discovered missing. Poor Liam was not to know he had voiced her deepest fear.

  ‘Well, I guess there’s no need to warn you that I’m prone to unexpected mood swings.’ She smiled, attempting humour, although it was true that her moods were somewhat erratic. She then seated herself.

  ‘It was just a thought I had, nothing more. I’m sure you’ll find the summary in Mother’s office somewhere.’ Liam returned to his seat and his tea. ‘And if you do, the manuscript belongs to you. If you don’t find the elusive chapter, then I suppose all rights revert to me, agreed?’

  Amy was both disturbed and delighted by this proposal. ‘That doesn’t sound like a very good deal for you,’ she chuckled, thinking his line of reasoning absurd. ‘The rights revert to you anyway.’

  ‘What a cop-out.’ He shook his head, faking a disappointed expression. ‘Do you know what my mother’s greatest fear was? To die leaving a —’

  ‘Manuscript unfinished!’ Amy stood, enraged; that knowledge had been plaguing her too. ‘Right, that does it! I’m going to find that bloody chapter.’ She set off upstairs toward Olivia’s office.

  Four hours later the wake was over, the mourners had departed and the missing chapter was still at large.

  Tired and tormented, Amy rested her head on the desk, conceding defeat.

  ‘I’m sure it’s here somewhere, we’ve just got to keep looking.’ Liam tried to sound encouraging. ‘But not tonight, hey? Fortunately, the director of the production I was performing in managed to find a replacement for me at short notice, so I’m in Sydney for a couple of weeks. It will probably take me that long to get Mother’s affairs in order, so be my guest for as long as you need. I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for tomorrow and then you can edit it, hand it in and make yourself a killing. Sound good?’

  Amy looked up at Liam in disbelief. Where did his never-ending supply of good cheer come from? He’d buried his mother this afternoon and yet he showed not a trace of grief. ‘Are you okay, Liam? You’re not one of those people who hide their negative emotions under a smokescreen of confidence and charisma, are you?’

  Liam had to laugh at this. ‘What a question!’

  Amy immediately wanted to retract it. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I’m not suddenly going to spin out on you, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘It isn’t,’ she assured him. ‘I just want to make sure that you’re okay with Olivia’s death.’

  ‘Of course I’m okay with it. She’s allowed to die, isn’t she?’

  Amy was puzzled. ‘But won’t you miss her?’

  Liam shrugged, casting his sights around the cluttered office. ‘She’s still hanging around.’

  A chill came over Amy as he said this, and she noted how dimly lit the room was and how quiet.

  ‘She could never rest in peace with this final chapter unresolved.’ Liam noticed Amy was looking spooked. ‘Sorry, am I scaring you?’

  ‘A little,’ she confessed.

  Liam clapped his hands together to dispel the eerie mood he’d created, and his beaming smile returned. ‘I haven’t put you off staying, have I? It seems silly for you to have to come back in the morning when you’re already here.’

  Amy shied away from the idea. ‘I haven’t any clothes and —’

  ‘You can borrow mine,’ he insisted.

  ‘Are all your things so …’ she screwed up her nose, ‘bright?’

  Liam nodded, figuring that Amy wore black all the time and that it wasn’t just a mourning thing. ‘You know what they say about people who feel the need to always wear black?’

  Amy shook her head. ‘What do they say?’

  ‘They either have absolutely no idea where they’re at, or they have total command of their life … Which are you?’

  After a thought Amy laughed. ‘I think I need to get some new clothes.’ Then, resigning herself to accepting his kind offer, she said, ‘Thank you, I will stay.’

  Stage Three: Anger

  After a late dinner and a couple of hours in Liam’s company, Amy was too full of food, drink and merriment to be bothered about Olivia’s ghost. She collapsed into bed around midnight and was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

  The following morning Liam went into the city to attend classes, and Amy set to her quest. A cup of tea in hand, she climbed the stairs to Olivia’s office, located in the mansion’s large attic room.

  Four equilateral triangles rose to form a pyramid structure in the ceiling. Due to this, the walls were of minimal height and so were the windows. Double French doors at one end allowed some natural light to penetrate the room. Through these, a little balcony overlooked the surrounding houses to the harbour and city beyond.

  Amy opened the doors to air the room, and switched on the overhead light. She was of a mind to start at one end of the office and systematically sift her way through every little slip of paper until she found the pages she sought.

  But as the hours passed, Amy’s optimism dwindled and the anxious feeling she’d had since Olivia’s death seethed in her stomach, twisting it into knots. By the time she’d sorted her way through to the desk, Amy was completely exasperated.

  ‘Goddamn it.’ The tears started to well. ‘Those pages have to be here.’ Frustrated, Amy reached the bottom of the paper pile on the desk and discarded the whole lot on to the floor. On the beautiful mahogany desk, now cleared of its clutter, Amy spied an irregularity in the lovely polished finish. Focusing more closely on the black marks, she realised it was marker scribble, much like that on the top of the box containing the manuscript. Amy began to tremble as she made out the jagged letters ‘ISH’.

  Liam was struggling through the door, juggling his dance bag, keys and a couple of bags of groceries, when Amy came charging down the main staircase and began rummaging blindly through her handbag for her car keys.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Liam dropped everything to block her escape. ‘Are you all right?’

  Amy did her best to avoid him, but when she couldn’t get past she backed up. ‘I’m being set up and I don’t want any part of it. Olivia would never have entrusted me to complete her greatest work! Hell, I couldn’t delete a comma without consulting her first. She hated the way I reworded her sentences and she never supported my aspirations to be a writer.’ Amy panted in the wake of her little outburst, taking a moment to get a grip. ‘Sorry, that had to be said … I feel better now.’

  ‘You didn’t find the conclusion, I take it?’ Liam attempted to guide her back toward the sitting room, but Amy would not be led.

  ‘I can’t do it, Liam. Not only is it impossible, it’s not right! This isn’t just some work of fantasy that you can guess the outcome of.’

  ‘You don’t have to justify your reasons to me, Amy,’ Liam assured her. ‘I’m sure Asta will find someone to finish the manuscript —’

  ‘You would
n’t let her do that, would you?’ Amy was even more horrified by that notion.

  Liam held up both palms as if to say, What choice do I have? ‘Mother’s ghost must be appeased.’ He retrieved his bags and headed for the kitchen.

  ‘Why don’t you do it?’ Amy trailed him. ‘You’re Olivia’s son, that would be appropriate.’

  Liam offloaded his dance bag on to the kitchen floor, and his keys and groceries on to the servery bench. ‘I’m not a writer.’

  ‘Neither am I.’ Amy felt her reluctance diminishing by stating this.

  Liam smiled a knowing smile. ‘But you aspire to be.’

  ‘A fiction writer. I am not enlightened with your mother’s insight and wisdom. In fact I can’t even get inspired by my own ideas.’

  ‘Have you read the manuscript?’ Liam began unpacking the contents of the bags on to the counter.

  ‘Parts of it,’ Amy replied warily, seeing where this line of conversation was leading. ‘Don’t say it!’

  ‘What?’ Liam smiled at being caught out. ‘What have you got to lose? You might even get inspired!’

  Amy’s soft brown eyes narrowed as she looked at Liam in a new light. Her knight-cum-saviour image of him was dissolving rapidly; now he seemed more like the devil’s advocate, come to lead her straight into the depths of hell.

  The Grail Seduction traced the spiritual mysteries and symbolism in the Grail legends from the early Vedic, Egyptian and classical myths from which the motif of these sacred vessels had derived, through to the Christian – Arthurian saga, and the Grail’s absorption into Rosicrucianism, alchemy and our modern world via Jung.

  Amy became more and more engrossed, not by the subject matter so much as the red underscored sections of the handwritten text. These parts of the work were accompanied by notes — Olivia had been working on the conclusion.

  Before Amy realised it she was in front of the photocopier, copying the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle she was to put together. Perhaps the challenge would not prove so nightmarish after all — there was certainly no harm in giving it a shot.

  She piled all the photocopied pages together, returning the original manuscript to the box. As she did so, she found Olivia’s gold pen lying in the bottom of the carton. This was surprising, as the pen lived on a chain around Olivia’s neck and Amy had rather thought Olivia would have been buried with it. A smile graced Amy’s face as she held the golden pen up to the light, her dream of writing a bestseller wafting her away to a heavenly space.

  She was snatched from fantasising about book launches, literary lunches and awards by the phone ringing. Amy set the pen aside on the desk to take the call. It was Olivia’s agent calling to see if she’d had any luck in finding the missing text.

  ‘I’ll call you, Asta, as soon as I have any word.’ Amy was trying to get rid of Asta quickly, so as to get on with the task at hand.

  ‘You know what we will have to do, if you can’t find it, don’t you?’

  Asta’s query made Amy furious, sending her inspiration out the window and, in its place, her feeling of dread returned. ‘I’ll find it, Asta, and if I don’t, then you can do as you see fit. Goodbye.’ She hung up in her ear. As soon as the handset hit the receiver, Amy was filled with remorse. ‘There I go, again … Why do I allow people to push my buttons like that?’ Her eyes turned to all the pieces of paper that comprised her puzzle, and she gave a heavy sigh. ‘Now, how to get excited about this again?’

  From the notes Olivia had made beside her text, it was obvious that she was far more disposed toward the alchemic perception of the Grail. This tradition referred to the Grail as ‘The Philosopher’s Stone’, which represented unification with God and was the mystical substance of self-transformation. Jung had explained the Grail quest as the search for truth and the real self, but alchemy was the art of attuning consciousness to higher states of awareness whereby direct contact with the divine was possible.

  Amy switched on her computer to make some notes; she considered it her computer as Olivia never touched it. The spiritualist had denied having techno-fear; she claimed the computer interfered with her vibrational frequencies and she had placed a mass of crystals around it to absorb the excess electromagnetic radiation it emitted. Amy had suggested moving the work station to another room in the house, but Olivia preferred that they work together — probably so she could keep an eye on her.

  ‘It figures that you’d bloody well leave me on my own, just when I really need you,’ Amy scoffed, creating a new file on the computer for her notes on Olivia’s summations.

  Liam hadn’t spied Amy since she’d disappeared into the office six hours ago, so he thought it best to go and check that she hadn’t done herself in.

  Before he’d even ascended the attic stairs he could hear her stomping around, yelling curses at his mother.

  ‘If it wasn’t bad enough that you dropped dead before finishing this accursed thing. With your dying wish you ask me to do the impossible! Though, incidentally, I am not convinced you did.’ Suspicion mingled with her anger. ‘Asta wants this manuscript completed awfully bad —’

  Liam gave a timid knock on the door.

  ‘Christ!’ Amy had forgotten all about Liam. She wiped the tears of frustration from her eyes with the sleeve of her jumper. There was no mirror in the office to check how dreadful she looked, so Amy grabbed a CD, but gazing at her reflection just made her want to burst into tears all over again. She slouched into her desk chair and grabbed a tissue to blow her nose. ‘Enter at your own risk.’

  Liam suppressed his rosy demeanour as he walked inside to assess the damage.

  Head bowed low, Amy’s face was hidden by her straight, dark brown hair which fell to just past her shoulders. She discarded her tissue and came out of hiding, turning her swollen, red eyes his way.

  ‘I’m going to burn it,’ she announced in jest, forcing a grin.

  A look of empathy dulled Liam’s smile as he wandered over to give Amy’s shoulders a rub. ‘I’m sure it’s not that bad.’ Then he noticed the blank page on the computer screen. ‘Well, maybe it is …’

  ‘I made a whole pile of notes,’ Amy sniffled. ‘I thought it was going really well!’ Her tears began to build for a second coming. ‘But when it came down to the actual writing … it’s useless, it just won’t happen.’ She let the tears flow, and grabbed another tissue.

  ‘You’re in the wrong state of mind, that’s all.’ Liam crouched beside her and placed a comforting arm across her shoulders. ‘Take a break, have a bath, read your notes, get inspired! If writing is what you want to do with your life, then you have to learn to have fun with it. You can’t expect to do great work when you’re so tense.’ He resumed massaging Amy’s shoulders and a groan of painful pleasure escaped her lips. ‘This just won’t do at all.’ Liam pulled her up out of the chair. ‘Come on. Anything worth doing is worth doing well — you need a thorough working over.’

  As Amy was still working on the assumption that Liam was gay, she couldn’t see any harm in it. ‘Any assistance would be greatly appreciated,’ and she placed herself in his hands.

  An hour rolled around to find Amy feeling like a pile of jelly that had been spread across Liam’s bed. Her skin tingled from the stimulation of the massage, and her senses were reeling from the fragrant oil he’d used.

  ‘Did you know that creative energy and sexual energy stem from the same place?’ Liam stroked the fair, soft skin of Amy’s lower back. ‘The root chakra that is located behind your spleen.’

  ‘Is that right?’ She had no idea what he was babbling about and she didn’t really care.

  ‘Indeed. In both Hindu and Chinese alchemic traditions it was believed that one could achieve immortality and enlightenment through Tantric yoga … that is, intense sexual stimulation without succumbing to orgasm.’ Amy gave a semi-interested grunt in response, so Liam extended the length of his stroke to encompass her whole back. ‘They believed the generative organs were instruments of supreme magical power. And, if at the
point of climax the energy can be controlled, orgasm is experienced in the mind and is absorbed into the system, granting an individual extra Chi, or life force. A glimpse, you might say, of your Holy Grail.’

  With all this talk about sexual stimulation and the amazing sensations Liam was creating in her back, Amy was starting to feel rather aroused, liberated even. She gave half a laugh at his tutorial. ‘I should try it,’ she mumbled.

  The feeling of lips pressing into the small of her back sent Amy’s senses reeling. And then she savoured another kiss higher up her spine, and then another. It wasn’t like her to succumb so easily, but she had no desire to stop him. Amy had had a gutful of feeling ordinary, useless and safe, she needed to feel desirable, reckless and extraordinary for a change.

  Liam crawled up to lie beside her. He brushed the hair from her face, and looked her in the eyes.

  She prised her eyelids open and smiled at him. ‘So you know something of this ancient path to transformation, do you?’

  ‘A practising master of the art,’ he assured her, his smile beaming even brighter than usual.

  Amy turned to him, sliding her arms about his neck. ‘No wonder you’re so happy all the time.’

  Stage Four: Taking Care of

  Unfinished Business

  As the hours passed, Amy’s inhibitions took flight; making love to Liam was like a slow, fluent, emotive dance, which transcended the physical realm and led to a place where spirits met. Amy had never before experienced sex in an awe-inspiring way, but now that she’d plunged into the sacred depths of her sexuality, life would never be quite the same again.

  The bed had a warm glow in the wake of their giant outpouring of emotion and energy, and Amy felt she would be quite happy to stay wrapped up in this bliss forever. She looked to Liam who was dozing beside her. ‘So, I gather you’re not gay.’

  Liam would have laughed at this, had he not been so stuffed. ‘Who told you that? Asta?’ Amy nodded, and Liam rolled his eyes. ‘Asta thinks anyone over thirty who isn’t married is gay. I’m just never in one place long enough to commit to anyone, a permanent relationship just wouldn’t be fair on the other person.’ He closed his eyes, kissed her forehead and snuggled back in to go to sleep.