The Book of Second Chances

by Katherine Slee

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by Katherine Slee

  Reading group guide copyright © 2020 by Katherine Slee and Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  Cover design by Elizabeth Turner Stokes

  Cover illustration by Ella Laytham

  Cover copyright © 2020 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  Hachette Book Group supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact permissions@hbgusa.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

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  Originally published as For Emily in 2019 by Orion Fiction in Great Britain

  First Grand Central trade paperback edition: May 2020

  Forever is an imprint of Grand Central Publishing. The Forever name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

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  Chapter headings © Shutterstock

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Slee, Katherine, author.

  Title: The book of second chances / Katherine Slee.

  Other titles: For Emily

  Description: First Grand Central trade paperback edition. | New York : Forever, 2020.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2019049279 | ISBN 9781538701652 (trade paperback) |

  ISBN 9781538701638 (ebook)

  Classification: LCC PR6119.L44 F67 2020 | DDC 823/.92—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019049279

  ISBNs: 978-1-5387-0165-2 (trade paperback), 978-1-5387-0163-8 (ebook)

  E3-20200326-DA-NF-ORI

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  CATRIONA ROBINSON’S SWAN SONG

  1: COCKATOO

  2: ROBIN

  3: MAGPIE

  4: PEACOCK

  5: PELICAN

  6: SPARROW

  7: PIGEON

  8: CANARY

  9: SEAGULL

  10: PARAKEET

  11: LITTLE OWL

  12: BLUEBIRD

  13: COCKEREL

  14: FLAMINGO

  15: GOOSE

  16: STARLING

  17: HUMMINGBIRD

  18: RAVEN

  19: ROBIN

  20: HERON

  21: NIGHTINGALE

  22: PHOENIX

  23: MAGPIE

  Epilogue: DUCK

  Acknowledgments

  Discover More

  About the Author

  Reading Group Guide

  For Dylan and Scarlett

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  The fishermen know that the sea is dangerous and the storm terrible, but they have never found sufficient reason for remaining ashore.

  —Vincent van Gogh

  THE SUNDAY POST MAGAZINE

  JULY 15, 2018

  CATRIONA ROBINSON’S SWAN SONG

  Or does Britain’s favorite children’s author still have one last adventure to share?

  Interview by Suzie Johnstone

  Catriona Robinson was one of this generation’s most beloved and best-known authors. Her series of children’s books, about a girl in a wheelchair who discovers a magical atlas that transports her all over the globe, has been read and adored by millions. She has also written several works of adult fiction, most recently Enchantment, which was shortlisted for a number of literary prizes last year.

  A notoriously private person, Catriona spent the majority of her time at her home on the Norfolk coast, but in recent years was also a guest lecturer at the University of Cambridge for their creative writing course. It was at Cambridge that I was fortunate enough to meet her. She was giving a lecture to the upcoming finalists and, from what I have heard, it was both inspiring and humble, with a sprinkle of humor thrown into the mix.

  The hotel in which we met was perhaps not what you would have expected from a woman who, by her own admission, was most comfortable in dungarees and Wellington boots. The establishment in question had a double-height reception hall, an industrial spiral staircase, and contemporary lighting. There was also a mezzanine library with recessed shelving and plush velvet furniture, which is where I chatted to Catriona over a pot of tea and a slice of her favorite lemon cake. She was wearing a pleated black skirt with turquoise silk blouse, and her hair was styled in a loose chignon. She was animated, relaxed, and even asked our waiter if she could buy the tea set, which was decorated around the rim with paintings of turtledoves, from the hotel. If I hadn’t known otherwise, I would never have guessed the woman seated across from me had only months left to live.

  You’re about to give a lecture to the next generation of writers. What is it you’ve enjoyed most about teaching here?

  I never had the opportunity to go to university myself, not least because it wasn’t as commonplace for women back then as it is now. But also because I never believed I was good enough, certainly never thought I would end up here. I am a strong advocate of the fact that all children, irrespective of their gender, race, socioeconomic background, should be encouraged to reach for the stars, to be the very best version of themselves they can possibly be.

  I have no degree, no formal literary training, and yet am now teaching at one of the most renowned universities in the world. There is no one pathway to success anymore, indeed what does the word even mean?

  What does it mean to you?

  When I first began to write, it was out of a simple curiosity for the world. A way to put down onto paper all the crazy ideas and characters I kept thinking about. But I never considered it to be anything more than a hobby and certainly never dreamt it would take me on the incredible journey I’ve been fortunate enough to enjoy. Success should never be measured by the amount of money, or things, you have, but more the sense of achievement it gives you.

  How much of your own success do you put down to happenstance?

  One could argue that life is nothing but a series of serendipitous events, both good and bad. I try to adhere to the rule that there’s a balance to this universe, this life, and no matter how much pain and hardship we face, there is always something, or someone, to give you hope.

  There’s a quote from Anne of Green Gables that I have pinned up on my refrigerator at home, which pretty much says it all: “I don't know what lies around the bend, but I'm going to believe that the best does.”

  What gives you hope?

  My granddaughter, Emily.

  You’ve spoken before about how the idea for Ophelia came from her.

  Yes. As I’m sure everyone is aware, Emily was severely injured in a car accident fifteen years ago. I used to tell her stories while she was recovering, and she liked to draw pictures of the characters. My publisher
saw something we had been working on, just for fun, and the rest, as you say, is history.

  It seems to be a real collaborative effort between you and Emily. Does that come with its own challenges?

  (Laughs.) Of course, we’re family, which means we’re always going to have disagreements. But Emily’s real talent is knowing exactly what it is I am trying to describe to the readers and, somehow, she manages to reproduce it in her pictures.

  Did Emily’s own disability influence the stories you wrote?

  Emily doesn’t have a disability, but people will believe what they want to believe. My books are there to entertain, but also to educate, to inspire. So many people stay in one place for too long, become stagnated by society, by money. But there are all sorts of wonders out there, just waiting for us to find them.

  What made you change direction in your writing, move away from children’s books?

  As a writer I’m always looking to explore new ideas, find new challenges. Ophelia and the world we created became such a huge part of our lives for such a long time that it seemed necessary for me, for both of us, to draw a line under it all. Try something different.

  Enchantment has had mixed reviews from readers, despite its literary success. How much of this do you think is due to the fact it’s aimed at an adult, rather than a younger, audience?

  It doesn’t surprise me, because people come to expect a certain style, a certain subject, from well-known authors. And yet if I’d written another children’s book, it would have been criticized for not being about Ophelia. Life is about experimentation, about exploring the magic hidden within the world. I wanted to look at the links between science and philosophy, about how it affects the human spirit. About the finite amount of time any one of us has on this planet and how, when forced to confront that, we would each change our behavior, our outlook.

  In reference to the main theme of Enchantment, if you knew this was your last day on Earth, how would you want to spend it?

  You do know I’m dying? Oh, goodness, your face, I’m sorry. Death seems to have this effect on me. I forget how hard it is for other people to deal with.

  What was the question again? Oh, yes, last day on Earth. Crikey (more laughter), wherever did I come up with that idea?

  There is a place, on the coast of France, that holds a special place in my heart, not least because it’s where I wrote my first book. There’s something about the light there that is so peaceful. I would wake early, have warm croissants and strong, black coffee for breakfast, followed by a long walk along the beach, with the sea between my toes. Then I would dive beneath the waves and feel the strength of the tide, a reminder of all the power in this world we have no control over. Fresh langoustines roasted on an open fire and champagne drunk at sunset. All with Emily by my side.

  Nothing spectacular, nothing fancy. Because when you wipe away all the layers of spit and polish, all anyone ever has are the relationships, the memories, they forge along the way.

  Do you have any advice for aspiring authors out there, no matter how young or old?

  Say yes to everything. Take the risks, regret only the things you don’t do, because mistakes are more important than success. You can’t write, you can’t connect with people if you haven’t any memories to draw on, no matter how painful they might be. You see, the things I remember most clearly from my life are those I wasn’t supposed to do, but I did them anyway.

  Did any of those things involve men?

  Aren’t all the best mistakes about love?

  Have you been working on anything new?

  There’s always something new. Another idea, another character, another story.

  Is that the reason for this interview?

  I haven’t always been so elusive, so reclusive, as it were, but rather my lifestyle has simply been a result of unfortunate circumstances. This interview is most likely to be my last and, to be completely honest, I no longer feel the need to hide behind the veil of my stories. I only hope that something good can come out of what Emily and I have created, that the end of one journey could perhaps mean the beginning of another.

  Does this mean there’s some truth to the rumors about a new series, featuring a grown-up Ophelia?

  There’s always an element of truth to every rumor. Let’s just say there is something, but I’m not yet certain it will ever be shared with the world.

  You’re famous for leaving clues in all of your books. Is this another treasure trail, another puzzle, you want your readers to solve?

  Well, that would be telling.

  Catriona Robinson died peacefully at home last month, after a long battle with cancer. She is survived by her only granddaughter, Emily, who has remained unavailable for comment.

  1

  COCKATOO

  Cacatuidae

  Emily sat by the back door, sketchbook open on the kitchen table, waiting for something to happen.

  The shadows on the lawn were slowly disappearing as the sun rose in the summer sky, and next door the church bell-ringers were warming up for their weekly practice. Everything was as it should be on a Monday morning in August, but Emily felt that there was a gap in the day, one which she was trying to figure out how to fill.

  She was stuck, waiting for inspiration to strike, but even a second cup of tea and slice of lemon cake had done nothing to shift her focus back to the task in hand. A selection of inkpots stood next to the sink, ready for when Emily decided which colors to add to the picture of a cockatoo she had drawn over breakfast.

  The problem was, the brief she had been given by her publisher was for a lifelike depiction of the bird, with no whimsy or magical elements, but whenever Emily looked at him (for he was most definitely a him, with such a proud crest on his head), she was struck by a desire to paint his feathers with all the colors of the rainbow. Her mind was misbehaving and kept going off on tangents, imagining the cockatoo being able to transform, much like a chameleon, whenever he needed to hide from whomever or whatever he was flying from.

  There was another picture in her head too, of a little girl seated in a wheelchair with the cockatoo perched on her shoulder. She was whispering to him, gently stroking his breast and watching as ripples of color passed from the bird and onto her skin. For no matter the pictures that Emily was asked to draw, her imagination always seemed to bring her back to Ophelia, the iconic character her grandmother had created all those years ago.

  “Cacatuidae,” Emily sounded out the Latin term for the bird as she wrote it underneath the branch he was perched on. She spoke slowly, feeling her way through each syllable, and realized it was the first time she had said anything out loud for days.

  The whole point of agreeing to the illustrations was that it was supposed to be distracting her from the fact she was all by herself. Naively, she had thought a new project would be all it took to fill the hours of the day, when she otherwise had nothing in particular to do and nowhere to go.

  The song on the radio changed, the velvet notes of a clarinet playing Peter and the Wolf, which filled Emily’s mind with a picture of a boy running through the snow, longing to get back home where his mother was waiting with a turkey on the table and presents under the tree.

  I’m sorry, she thought, looking at the cockatoo as she turned the radio off, before closing the sketchbook and tidying away the pots of ink. It would seem you’re destined to be decidedly ordinary after all.

  Emily had spent years creating illustrations that were anything but ordinary. Her pictures were filled with fantasy and make-believe, designed to bring to life the incredible stories her grandmother had written. But ever since her grandmother’s death, Emily had found herself unable to concentrate on anything new.

  She looked across to the room that led off the kitchen, her grandmother’s study. One wall was taken over by shelves filled with dozens of her grandmother’s red notebooks, which contained all the ideas for every book she had written about Ophelia and her pet duck. Ten books in all, no more, no less. But now the whol
e world seemed to think there was another, one that Emily knew there had never been time to write.

  How could she do this? Emily thought to herself. The doctors had said there was still time. Time to finish her work. Time to seek out another possible treatment.

  Time to fight.

  Her grandmother was the one person in the world who understood. Who had shared in the misery of losing both parents in a car crash so many seasons ago and the pain of Emily’s subsequent recovery. She was the only person who had been there throughout the years of cruel taunts from children who were supposed to be her friends.

  She had promised to love Emily, to take care of her always. But now her grandmother, the famous Catriona Robinson, couldn’t protect anyone.

  Outside came the sound of footsteps on the garden path, a pause, then a tumble of post that appeared through the letter box and landed in a heap on the doormat. No doubt more notes of comfort, of sorrow, from people Emily had never met. Handwritten notes from grieving fans—all of them detailing how amazing and talented her grandmother had been. Every one packed with personal stories of how her books had helped excite their early imaginations.

  Emily went into the hall and bent down to retrieve the post, began to sort them into piles of letters and junk, catalogs and bills, when the shrill sound of a telephone disturbed the quiet. The answerphone clicked on to record.

  “Emily, darling, it’s Charlie.” A woman’s voice crossed the distance from London to Norfolk, and Emily could picture the person on the other end of the line, seated in a large, bright office on the twenty-second floor of a skyscraper overlooking the river Thames. “Look, I’m sorry to keep asking you the same question, but I’m being pressured by the board to put out a press release about this damn manuscript.” There was a long sigh, and Emily closed her eyes, waited for what she sensed was coming. “Are you there? I know you don’t want to talk about this, but at some point you’re going to have to answer all these questions about Catriona, about her life. It doesn’t have to be in person, but you owe it to the fans—”