A Novel Christmas

by Lynsey M. Stewart

  ‘I still want the completed first manuscript.’

  ‘Gerry, I want to shelve it,’ I replied, closing my eyes and wincing at how wrong this felt.

  ‘Send it to me by the end of the week. Whatever else comes out of your time at Karensa we can deal with at a later date. I like the reclusive mountain man and I want to see the full story.’

  I heard the front door open and close, and quickly went upstairs so that Drew couldn’t hear the end of the conversation. He would only ask questions and I wasn’t sure I had the answers.

  ‘I’ll send it, but I don’t want it released. It isn’t strong enough. My other books are emotional, angsty. I don’t write about mountain men woodcutters with hard wood.’

  ‘Cal…forgive me, but you just did.’

  I held the phone to my chest as Gerry ended the call. This was a mistake. The whole idea a mistake. The Woodcutter’s Chopper couldn’t be my next, most anticipated release. It wasn’t that I turned my nose up at books with a higher sexual edge and an innuendo-filled title. I’d read and enjoyed plenty, but they weren’t my books. That wasn’t my voice. I needed to stay true to my style. Readers expected that. Now my priority had to change from sending Gerry the completed original manuscript, to finishing our love story and getting it to him by the end of the week.

  I secured my hair in a bun and came downstairs to find Drew hovering over my laptop. When he turned, he was holding the mockup cover, a face full of confusion.

  ‘What is this?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s nothing,’ I said, trying to take it from him. He pulled it back. My face fell.

  ‘It doesn’t look like nothing,’ he replied, his face a mixture of shock and disbelief. ‘The Woodcutter’s Chopper by Cal Dixon. This isn’t nothing, it’s a book cover. Your book cover.’

  ‘It’s a very bad mockup,’ I replied, laughing to try to ease the tension and show him it didn’t matter.

  ‘“He’s a recluse. An ex-pilot with a secret. Shamed and humiliated by love. Jilted by his fiancé.” What the fuck, Cal?’

  ‘I didn’t write that,’ I replied biting my lip.

  ‘Humiliation burns, but will her love burn him harder?’

  ‘Those aren’t my words,’ I whispered, shaking my head, a nervousness to my voice.

  ‘Is this what you’ve been working on?’ he asked, his face full of shock. ‘The Woodcutter’s Chopper? Jesus Christ.’

  ‘That isn’t my title. I sent three chapters to Gerry and he’s come back with a cover mockup and blurb—none of which I’ve agreed to,’ I said, trying to take his hand. He stepped back and I was crushed.

  ‘But someone has made this based on three chapters. Your words. Is the whole fucking book about me?’ he asked, his face full of disappointment and disgust.

  ‘I’ve told them I don’t want to release it.’

  ‘That’s good of you, Cal, considering it’s my life you’ve written about!’ he shouted, his head falling. ‘How could you do this to me?’

  ‘It’s not what it looks like—’

  ‘Your female character is called Karensa! You’ve stolen my life!’ He threw the papers onto the table. ‘I’ve been humiliated before, but this?’

  ‘I’m not letting them print it,’ I replied, letting the tears fall as I realised this was creating the biggest hole in the foundation of a relationship we’d only just started to create. He shook his head, folded his arms and started twisting his lip between his fingers. ‘I didn’t agree to this. I don’t want you to think that I’ve been part of it.’

  ‘Is the story about an ex-pilot recluse?’ he asked.

  I took a deep breath. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Jilted by his fiancé? Is that the humiliation part?’

  I let a tear drop. ‘Yes.’

  He nodded, twisting his lip again. ‘Where do you come into this? An author sent to write about his struggling wedding business?’

  ‘A journalist.’

  ‘Ah, a journalist. Great switch. A journalist doing what?’

  ‘Writing about…wood.’ I cringed inside. Embarrassed to be saying this out loud. Mortified that I’d let myself write something based on a life that wasn’t mine to write.

  ‘Wood,’ he repeated, his face lined in confusion.

  ‘I didn’t finish it. It isn’t a completed novel.’

  ‘I knew this was too good to be true,’ he whispered, looking towards the door, planning his escape route. My heart sank.

  ‘Let me explain,’ I pleaded.

  ‘You can’t,’ he replied, broken. Utterly broken. ‘How can you possibly explain this? People are going to be reading about me. The woodcutter recluse. Fuck. Cal, how could you do this?’

  ‘It isn’t you!’ I shouted. After trying to calm my voice, I continued, ‘I was attracted to you when we met. I was intrigued by everything I saw and heard. The shirtless woodcutting. The funny one-liners. The brooding. The caring side. That all helped build a picture for a character. A character that isn’t really you. Elements of you, but not you.’

  ‘I can’t believe I thought this would work,’ he replied, gathering his things, picking up his shoes. ‘I let my guard down. I gave you more than I ever thought I could and this is what you do to me?’ A rage bubbled underneath my upset. I watched him angrily put on his shoes, tie his laces, and shake his head. A few times he looked like he was going to say something, but then held back. Eye contact had vanished. His usual warmth was now cold and impenetrable. Yet still, I had this tiny voice whispering, reminding me of how much history had passed between us in such a short time. The early pushing away that turned into pulling me towards him. The fearlessness, the ability to choose happiness that had evaded him for so long. Had he forgotten about that?

  ‘Are you giving up on me? After everything?’

  ‘Cal—’

  ‘No. You don’t get to walk away. We need to talk.’

  ‘I can’t…I don’t know what to do. I’m so confused right now,’ he said, finally standing before pacing in front of the Christmas tree, his large shadow bleeding across the wall.

  ‘I don’t know what I can say to make this better.’

  ‘You can’t say anything,’ he replied, stepping back as I came closer. ‘I should never have started this with you. I should have trusted myself. Kept away.’

  ‘How can you say that?’ I asked, so disappointed that he was going there.

  ‘I protected myself for so long and finally I gave in.’ He folded his arms, narrowing his eyes at the floor. ‘I started to trust you.’

  ‘Drew…stop. Please. Talk to me,’ I pleaded.

  ‘This needs to end, Cal. Right now.’

  ‘No. I’m not walking away. I won’t,’ I said, following his pattern of pacing, just to get close.

  ‘Can’t you see the damage you’ve caused? You knew what I went through. The humiliation of being jilted, being left here with a business I couldn’t run. Do you think I want that splashed across the pages of a romance novel?’

  ‘It isn’t like that!’ I shouted as an idea emerged that could salvage something from this nightmare. ‘Read it. I’ll show it to you,’ I said, going over to the laptop. ‘It’s here. You can read it tonight and then we’ll talk.’

  ‘You think I want to read it? I lived it, Cal. I don’t need the abridged version.’

  ‘It’s not a word for word break down of what happened between you and Meghan.’

  ‘What is it then? A breakdown of what happened between us? Are you the journalist who changes the recluse?’

  ‘Our relationship influenced everything I’ve written while I’ve been here. Even the notes I’ve jotted down in this book.’ I picked it up and held it to my chest. ‘You want to know why? Because finally, the words I’d written were starting to become something I was experiencing for the first time in my life!’

  ‘Don’t, Cal.’

  ‘I’m going to say what I need say before you leave because that’s what’s going to happen. That’s what you always do,’ I yelled, winc
ing at my words, but just as equally needing him to hear them.

  ‘You’ve broken my trust. I took a fucking chance on us. A huge gamble. I never thought you’d do something like this.’

  I brushed away my tears and admitted defeat, knowing I would be unable to shift the heaviness that now surrounded us.

  ‘I’m glad you took a chance,’ I said, holding my finger under my nose in an attempt to stop the sobs, closing my eyes to steady myself. ‘To me, it was worth it.’ He stayed silent, unable to look at me. ‘Maybe one day you’ll find whatever it is you’re looking for or perhaps you’ll realise you lost something even bigger and better than that.’ Still silence. My lip shook, upset and frustrated that he wouldn’t answer me, knowing that this must be killing him inside, or devastated at the prospect that it wasn’t. ‘Say something. Please,’ I whispered, pulling the arms of my sweater down over my hands and holding them to my mouth.

  ‘I need you to leave,’ he replied. ‘Please. By the end of the week. As soon as you can. I won’t be able to handle this if I know you’re still here.’

  ‘Don’t shut me out,’ I said, my voice breaking.

  ‘I have to,’ he replied.

  ‘If this is what you really want, I’ll leave on the first flight out of here tomorrow. I’m not going to beg you to listen. I won’t hang around and hope you’ll change your mind in a few days once you’ve thought it all through. I’ll be gone. That’s it. Finished.’ Choking back tears, I watched him walk back to his cottage, but the words I’d just spoken fell away, and the thought of him closing the door and never seeing him again made me shout after him. ‘Drew!’ He didn’t stop. He didn’t turn, but I decided to carry on, throw the words out there, and not leave, regretting the ones I’d never said. I took a deep breath. ‘I’d hoped that I’d finally found the love I write about. The love I hoped existed. I’m just so utterly sorry that it could only be mine for the length of a few chapters.’

  He stopped, his head bent, casting a lonely figure, beaten down and morose. I watched him fighting with himself, a slight movement to turn before stopping again. A flicker of hope ran through me that he would turn around and at least give me the opportunity to explain myself further. The flicker blew out when he opened the door to his cottage and stepped inside.

  ‘I’ll make sure Karensa’s story has the happily ever after that I thought we could have,’ I whispered, falling to my knees, sobbing in the doorway, broken and exhausted, as he closed the door behind him.

  Chapter 28

  Cal

  ‘Hi, gloomy. How’s things?’ Melissa asked as I quickly grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge, groaning when I saw there wasn’t much else in there. I’d been back in London for a couple of weeks now, but hadn’t quite got used to fending for myself again. I still half expected Brian to come knocking on the door with a delivery of fresh vegetables and a box of homemade brownies or possibly find a breakfast basket outside the door of my flat. Deep down, I knew that wasn’t going to happen. I hadn’t heard from Drew since I left Karensa. I’d left a note on the kitchen worktop with my address and further contact details and knowing that he hadn’t attempted to use them made me feel all kinds of low.

  That’s why Melissa had given me the gloomy nickname.

  ‘Good. Fine,’ I lied as I opened the bottle with a small crack.

  ‘Writing-wise or Drew-wise?’

  ‘As I haven’t heard from Drew, I couldn’t possibly make further comment without the need for a box of tissues, and as I haven’t been shopping in a while, the only thing I have in my bag is a sanitary towel, and that just won’t do.’

  ‘Hey, needs must. I won’t judge,’ Melissa replied.

  ‘Sobbing into a sanitary towel. How unsavoury.’

  ‘You’re better than that, girl!’ she laughed.

  ‘But…the writing is going great. I have a few more tweaks to make and it’ll be ready. Do you want to read it?’

  ‘Isn’t that what critique partners are for?’ she asked. ‘I’ve been desperate to get my hands on it and see what you’ve decided for the ending,’ she replied.

  ‘I’ll keep it secret. Don’t want to ruin the surprise.’

  ‘Hit send. I need it in my life,’ Melissa said, peering into the laptop and shaking her finger. ‘Have you decided on the trope?’

  ‘The romance writer who can’t get the scorned man to fall in love with her. Is that a trope?’

  ‘Make it up, girl. You can do anything!’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s a meta tag on Book+Main yet.’

  ‘Contact admin,’ she deadpanned.

  ‘It’s on my to-do list.’

  ‘Can I ask your opinion on something?’

  ‘Sure. Go ahead,’ I replied.

  ‘I’ve started a little something. Probably going to publish it exclusively on Book+Main.’

  ‘That’s exciting!’

  ‘Yeah. It’s a rom-com. Very sexy.’

  ‘Five heat flames all round,’ I replied.

  ‘I wrote a line this morning, but I’m not sure about it. Listen. I want to ride you till I break you.’ She enunciated each word individually, holding a finger up to ensure I got it.

  I balanced my head in my hands. ‘Personally, I like it. It makes me imagine a strong female character who isn’t afraid to get what she wants.’

  ‘It’s M/M…’

  ‘Even better,’ I said, gasping. ‘Send it to me as soon as you’ve typed the last word.’

  ‘Will do, slightly-less-gloomy-than-the-other-day,’ she chuckled. ‘Wait, I jotted something else down in my notes last night.’ I heard her flicking through paper; a notepad came into view. ‘Do you think this is too much? He filled me up to the hinge.’

  ‘I’ve got the visual,’ I replied, rolling my eyes.

  ‘That’s what I’m aiming for.’

  ‘If it’s said slightly tongue in cheek—’

  ‘Or cock in mouth.’

  ‘That too,’ I said, arching my eyebrows. ‘Want to sprint? I’ve got around 3,000 words to write before I’m finished,’ I said, opening my notebook and sighing as I read the notes I’d made earlier about how the book was going to end. I still wasn’t sure.

  ‘Don’t rub it in. I’ve got about another 50,000.’

  ‘Actually, I’m still deciding how I’m going to finish it.’

  ‘Talk to me,’ she replied.

  ‘It doesn’t feel right to make up an ending.’

  ‘Is it any wonder? You haven’t had any closure.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s it,’ I replied, knowing full well that imagining an ending filled with promises of a better tomorrow, lifelong love and a wonderful partnership was just too hard when the reality was somewhat different.

  ‘I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but have you considered sending Drew a copy of the final book. He had such a strong reaction to The Woodcutter’s Chopper; how is he going to feel about this?’

  I sighed. She was right. It was something I’d been losing sleep over. This book was much more personal. It was our love story. The ending of the book as unresolved as it was in real life.

  ‘I’ll send him a copy. It’s the right thing to do. Although I’ve changed everything to ensure he can’t be identified, he should still get to read it before anyone else.’

  ‘That’s my girl. It’s the British manners. If it were me, I’d have released it with the tagline, Get some therapy, Drew.’

  ‘Don’t say that,’ I replied, my voice shaking. I tried to collect myself. Paste on a smile. Use some humour. ‘That definitely would identify him and then I’d have to see him in court. Lawsuits are not pretty.’

  ‘I love you. You know that, right? You’ve handled this like a fucking pro, and I’m certain you’ve written a beautiful love story. Be proud! Send him the book wrapped in a bow! If he gets his head out of his ass, he’ll read it and see what you two had. Potential. So much potential it makes my heart break,’ she said, rubbing her forehead.

  ‘I’m going
to need that sanitary towel if you carry on,’ I said, wiping my eyes. ‘Get to writing that book! If you find yourself stuck, you could always watch some gay porn. Win-win situation right there.’

  ‘Awesome. Here’s to great writing and great porn,’ Melissa laughed, waving as we ended our Skype call.

  I sat back, switching the screen back to my manuscript. I was so close to finishing it, but for the past week, something had been making it much harder than it needed to be. I had spent most of the night staring at the screen, terrified that the words were lost again, now that I had left the island. I passed the writer’s block paperweight between my hands like a juggling ball and suddenly it hit me. I put the block down, tapping it with my finger in thought before grabbing my notebook. My heart rate accelerated, my lungs felt heavy as that beautiful moment where the book starts coming together made the words seem far less complicated than before. This could work. This was the only answer. This could lay the foundation for my own second-chance love story. I had no idea why this hadn’t come to me before. I picked up my pencil, opened the notebook and wrote three words.

  To be continued…

  Chapter 29

  Drew

  ‘Nice to meet you, Jenson, Sam. I’m Drew.’

  ‘Wow, is there anything you can’t do?’ Jenson said as we shook hands. I took their bags and put them in the belly of the plane, fighting the images those words conjured up—the day I met Cal, the day my life changed. For better or for worse, I was still undecided.

  ‘I’ve been asked that before,’ I replied, trying to smile. It was harder to do since Cal left.

  ‘We’re looking forward to seeing the island. It looks beautiful in the pictures you emailed,’ Sam said.

  ‘I hope you like it. If things work out this weekend, and we all feel happy to proceed, this will be your home.’

  Jenson and I had spoken on the phone almost every day. He was an experienced wedding planner, working in a big-name hotel in London. He had a warmness about him, and although we had never met in person, something just seemed to click. Sam was also heavily involved in the negotiations and discussions about how working and living in the same place would work. He was an architect and was keen to look at the barns and how they had been converted. He would be conducting his business from the accommodation on the island if Jenson was successful in gaining the post. As far as I was concerned, it was a done deal.