by Marian Keyes
‘I hate to ask… I know this sounds a bit funny… but…’
‘Yes, you should make plenty of money. I’ll get you the best advance I can.’
‘I don’t want much,’ he said hastily. ‘Just to be published is reward enough. But we’ve had nothing coming in and it’s hard for my wife and kids…’
‘Don’t worry. I’ve the feeling lots of people will want this book and will be happy to pay for it. Give me about ten days and as soon as I have news I’ll be in touch.’
Nathan backed out repeating, ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you.’
Manoj watched him go and when the ‘thank yous’ from the corridor had faded from earshot, he remarked, ‘The honeymoon period. But how long before the abuse starts and he’s calling you up when he can’t find his tube pass?’
Jojo smiled.
‘So, is he ours?’ he asked.
‘He’s ours.’
‘Tell me about him. Anything interesting?’
‘You bet.’ Jojo related the Afghanistan story. ‘He’s what’s known in the trade as a “highly promotable” author.’ She thrust the manuscript at him. ‘Get copying. I need six perfect copies and I need them half an hour ago.’
‘You’re going for an auction?’
Jojo nodded. Love and the Veil was so wonderful, she was confident that several editors would step up to the plate and engage in a bidding war.
While Manoj inhaled photocopier fumes and groused about having a 2.1 in English and doing work that a monkey could be trained to do, Jojo drew up a shortlist of editors in her head.
First, though, she had to check in with Mark about how Sam was doing. Pretending she cared about his domestic crises was difficult. Because they were way important to Mark, she tried – but the bottom line was that every time there was a drama, Jojo lost Mark to his family. And they really were the most accident-prone bunch. His wife, Cassie, a primary school teacher, got debilitating migraines whenever she ate cheese, a fact that did nothing to deter her from tucking into a ploughman’s whenever she felt like it. Sophie, the ten-year-old daughter, was a danger to herself: in the time Jojo had been seeing Mark, she’d fallen off a pony and got a protractor stuck in her arm.
Nor was the drinking incident Sam’s first offence – he’d been caught stealing a packet of fruit Mintoes from the newsagent’s, an event that necessitated a visit to the school psychologist. Even Hector, the Avery family dog, conspired to keep them apart. The night Jojo cooked an entire Indian meal from scratch, Hector got hit by a car and was badly concussed; Mark had to go home before he’d touched his first poppadom. Then, a week later, Hector swallowed one of Mark’s squash socks and Sam attempted the Heimlich Manoeuvre on him, succeeding only in breaking one of Hector’s ribs. Once again Mark had to rush home.
TO: Jojo.harvey@LIPMAN HAIGH.co
FROM: Mark.avery@LIPMAN HAIGH.co
SUBJECT: Sam
He’s OK now. I’m very sorry. How about Tuesday night?
M
TO: Mark.avery@LIPMAN HAIGH.co
FROM: Jojo.harvey@LIPMAN HAIGH.co
SUBJECT: Tuesday
Tuesday it is.
JJ xx
TO: Jojo.harvey@LIPMAN HAIGH.co
FROM: Mark.avery@LIPMAN HAIGH.co
SUBJECT: You
Veliyoou
Veliyoou? Jojo wondered. What the hell did that mean? Veliyoou? An anagram of some sort. She puzzled over it for a few moments, then it clicked. She laughed and, after playing with the letters a little, sent a reply.
TO: Mark.avery@LIPMAN HAIGH.co
FROM: Jojo.harvey@LIPMAN HAIGH.co
SUBJECT: Veliyoou?
Well, Oiyvoule more!
JJ xx
Then Jojo phoned six of the best editors in London, told them that they’d been hand-picked and promised that a gem was being biked over. A date was set for the auction, a week hence – enough time for the editors to authorize with their higher-ups the big money she was hoping for.
And could this day get any better? When Jojo spoke to Tania Teal at Dalkin Emery about Love and the Veil, Tania said, ‘Good timing. I was going to call you today anyway, about Lily Wright.’
Lily Wright was one of Jojo’s authors, a gentle, intelligent and intuitive woman, and Jojo felt instinctively that she was one of life’s ‘good’ people. When Jojo first took Lily on, she came with her partner, Anton, to see her; they both sat nervously in front of Jojo, finishing each other’s sentences and generally being adorable. Lily had written Mimi’s Remedies, a magical little book about a white witch. Jojo had loved it and really felt it had something very special. But because it was so esoteric, she’d been unable to persuade any publisher to go big on it.
Tania had bought it for the small advance of four grand. At the time she’d said, ‘Personally I adore it, it’s better than Prozac. I have to admit that in my heart of hearts I can’t see it going mainstream, but what the hell, I’m going to try anyway.’
But although Tania had tried her best to persuade her colleagues that this book could surprise everyone, no one bought the idea. As a result, Dalkin Emery had done a small print run, almost no publicity and – surprise, surprise – so far Mimi’s Remedies had resolutely not set the world on fire.
‘What about Lily?’ Jojo asked.
‘Lovely news, actually.’ Jojo could hear her glee. ‘There’s a rave review of Mimi’s Remedies in this week’s Flash!. And we’re reprinting. The reports from the reps are good. Would you believe we’ve almost sold out.’
‘You have? Fantastic! And that’s on almost no publicity.’
‘Well, in light of the reprint I’ve persuaded marketing to run a few ads.’
‘Great! And what kind of reprint are we talking? Another five k?’
‘No, we thought ten.’
Ten? Double the original print run? The reps’ reports must be spectacular.
‘Look at what the readers are saying about her on Amazon,’ Tania said. ‘This book seems to be tapping into something special. Looks like we were right about this, Jojo!’
Jojo agreed, thanked her and hung up, high on excitement. It was always good news when, against the odds, a book started to take off, even slightly. But in this case, because the author was such a sweetie, she was overjoyed. She connected to Amazon and found Mimi’s Remedies’s site – Tania was right. Seventeen readers’ reviews and they all adored the book. ‘Enchanting… comforting… magical… I’ve already reread it…’
Right away Jojo rang Lily, who sounded stunned and grateful, then she sat back, at a sudden happy loss. What now? Lunch, dammit! She’d done enough for one morning.
She picked up the phone and punched an internal extension. ‘Dan? Free for lunch?’
‘Lunch?’
‘Where we eat food together in the same room?’
‘Oh yes. Seeing as it’s you.’
‘See you in a few.’
Dan Swann was the way Jojo imagined English men were, before she ever came to live in England. He was slight and fair and although he was almost sixty, he still looked like a boy. Best of all he wore a funny porridge-coloured tweed jacket with patches on the elbows. It looked like a family heirloom and when it got wet it smelt weird – of dog or perhaps decaying vegetation. Jojo thought it simply added to his charm.
It was he who had persuaded Jojo to join Lipman Haigh. They first met at a launch party for a Young Turk. (Yes, another one.) Dan hurtled in out of the rain, in his smelly jacket, and paused before the bustling scene. ‘Oh, Lord,’ he said wearily. ‘What fresh hell is this?’
Jojo, who was by the door, taking a moment to dry off before launching herself into the ruck, noticed the patches, the attitude, the smell. Great, she thought. A proper English Eccentric.
In dismay, Dan surveyed the room. ‘More wretched Young Turks than there are stars in the firmament.’
‘Yeah,’Jojo laughed. ‘The place is lousy with them.’
‘Lousy,’ Dan repeated. ‘The perfect word.’ He extended his hand to Jojo.
‘Dan Swann.’
‘Jojo Harvey.’
‘Miss Harvey, you remind me of my fourth wife.’
But there was no Mrs Swann, not even one. Dan’s gate swung the other way. It was why he kept agenting war biographies, he later admitted to Jojo. He couldn’t resist a man in uniform, even if he was eighty and gaga.
On the way to Dan’s office, Jojo passed Jim Sweetman’s.
‘Hey, you.’ She stopped at his door and called in. ‘You swizzed me. The smoking woman’s not a hypnotist, she’s a SHRINK.’
Jim laughed, displaying gorgeous white teeth. Jojo shielded her eyes. ‘Jeez, I’m dazzled. Do you have to do that?’
Jim laughed even more. ‘Look at my sign.’ On the wall behind his desk was an A4 piece of paper, which said in black marker
Currently enjoying
25
smoke-free days
‘Who cares how it works,’ he said. ‘So long as it does?’
‘Humph.’ That was the trouble with Jim Sweetman. He was such an accomplished charmer it was hard to stay pissed off with him. ‘But I don’t want to go to a shrink.’
‘Why not? Jojo Harvey isn’t the type of woman to have deep dark secrets. Nothing to be scared of.’
He was doing his smile again; the picture of innocent good fun. But Jojo wasn’t so sure. He and Mark were very close and sometimes she wondered how much Jim knew.
She turned away and, ‘Wah!’ went slap bang into Richie Gant. Skinny, with oiled black hair, he looked like a mean young shark, who would mug other young sharks for their mobile phones. She got away as fast as she could. Eww, I touched him.
Round in Dan’s office, Dan seemed startled to see Jojo even though it was ninety seconds since he’d spoken to her on the phone. ‘Oh yes,’ he said vaguely. ‘Eating. I suppose one must.’
From his coat-stand he removed an ancient shapeless felt hat that looked almost alive, as if it were made of moss. He pulled it tightly onto his head; suddenly he looked like he had a green beehive. Then he extended his elbow to Jojo. ‘Shall we?’
25
10.15 Tuesday morning
The first call came. ‘Monkey boy here,’ Manoj said. ‘I’ve Patricia Evans on the line. Accept or decline?’
‘Accept, accept!’ First out of the gate!
A click, then, ‘Jojo, I’ve read Love and the Veil.’
Jojo’s heart banged as the adrenalin kicked in. This was going to be good.
‘I love it,’ Patricia said. ‘We all love it here and I want to make a pre-emptive offer.’
‘It would have to be a very high offer to take the book off the table right now.’
‘I think you’re going to be happy. We’re offering £1 million.’
Suddenly her hands were hot and adrenalin was racing through her like an invading army. Jojo was thinking fastfastfast. A million pounds was crazy money, especially for a debut novel. But if Pelham were prepared to go so high, wouldn’t some of the other houses also? Maybe in an auction she could get the money higher. Higher than the £1.1 million that Richie Gant had got for Fast Cars?…
But what if she’d read this all wrong and Pelham were the only ones who were hot for Love and the Veil? What if no one else bid, or came in with a super-low offer? There was no way of knowing, but she was reminded that two agents had already turned Nathan down – clearly they hadn’t seen any potential…
Think calmcalmcalm. Sound calmcalmcalm. No shallow breathing.
‘That’s a very generous offer,’ Jojo said. Calmcalmcalm. ‘I’ll talk to Nathan and get back to you.’
‘The offer is on the table for the next twenty-four hours,’ Patricia said. Not so calmcalmcalm. Sounding quite pissed-offpissedoffpissedoff that Jojo hadn’t shrieked an immediate, ‘YES!’ ‘After that, it’s withdrawn.’
‘Gotcha. Thanks, Patsy. Talk soon.’
She hung up.
When she had this adrenalin thing going, her thoughts were cut-glass clear. Twenty-four hours to accept the Pelham preempt. If rejected, Pelham were still free to bid in the auction. But she knew from past experience that if they chose to do so it would be a much, much lower offer – kind of sour grapes. And there was always the chance that they may not bid at all. They were in first-love frenzy at the moment but by this time next week all that initial knee-jerk desperation to buy might have drained away and they could decide the book wasn’t as good as they’d initially thought, or as commercial, or whatever. Meanwhile all the other publishing houses might pass, and Jojo would be left with no deal at all for Nathan Frey. This exact situation had happened, not to her, but it had happened. A disastrous debacle; everyone with egg on their face and no one with any money.
Anyway, she could advise but ultimately it was Nathan’s call. She picked up the phone, ‘Nathan, it’s Jojo. We’ve had an offer from Pelham Press. A high one.’
‘How much?’
‘A million.’
There was a clatter – the phone might have fallen – then she heard retching sounds. Patiently she waited until he returned and asked faintly, ‘Can I call you back?’
Half an hour later Nathan rang. ‘Sorry about that. I felt a little dizzy. I’ve been thinking.’
I betcha.
‘If they’ve offered that much, someone else might too.’
‘There’s no guarantee, but we’re on the same page.’
‘What do you think? What are Pelham Press like?’
‘Very commercial, very aggressive, they have a lot of bestsellers.’
‘Eww. They sound dreadful.’
‘They’re very good at what they do.’ Which was piling them high and selling them cheap.
‘You see, I have no clue. Jojo, don’t make me do this, y ou have to decide.’ He sounded on the brink of tears.
‘Nathan, I want you to listen very carefully to me. This is a gamble. If we turn this down, we might not get as high in the auction.’
Still tearful, he demanded, ‘Do you know how much I got paid last year? Nine grand. Nine grand. Anything you get me will be beyond my wildest dreams.’
He’d turn down £1 million? What a weirdo. But he had dressed and lived in Afghanistan as a woman for six months. Go figure.
‘Don’t decide now. Wait until tomorrow.’
‘I have decided. What do I know about any of this? You’re the agent, the expert. I trust you.’
‘Nathan, a book auction is not an exact science. There’s a chance it could all fall apart and I get you nothing.’
‘I trust you,’ he repeated.
So Jojo was on her own, the decision was hers.
11.50 Tuesday morning
She’d carried on working – quite a productive couple of hours actually; she’d reviewed the cover for Kathleen Perry’s new novel and knocked it back for being too drippy; she’d rung Eamonn Farrell’s editor and told her they’d need to change publication date if Eamonn’s new book wasn’t to clash with Larson Koza’s; she’d read a horrible review of Iggy Gibson’s latest and rang to commiserate.
But all the while, just beneath the skin of her thoughts, she was playing Love and the Veil’s two opposing scenarios off against each other. Accept or reject? Accept or reject?
Pelham weren’t her publishers of choice, they were so crassly commercial that she wasn’t sure they were right for this book. But a million smackers was a million smackers. Accept or reject? Accept or reject?
Accept, she decided. Then Manoj buzzed her. ‘Monkey boy here. Any bananas you want eaten? Ungainly dancing you’d like done?’
‘What do you want?’
‘I have Alice Bagshawe for you.’ Another of the chosen editors.
‘Accept or –’
‘Accept.’ Click. ‘Hey, Alice.’
‘Jojo. Love and the Veil,’ Alice said breathlessly.
‘Didn’t I tell you it was great?’
‘It is. Completely. So much so that we at Knoxton House want to make a pre-emptive offer.’
Jojo couldn’t help smiling.
‘We want to offer a cool…’ Alice drew the words out for dramatic effect, ‘two…’
Two, Jojo thought. Two million. Thank God she hadn’t accepted the Pelham pre-empt – a full million less.
‘… hundred and twenty thousand pounds,’ Alice finished.
It took a moment.
‘Two hundred and twenty thousand?’ Jojo asked.
‘That’s right,’ Alice confirmed, mistaking Jo jo’s shock for happy incredulity.
‘Oh. Oh, Alice, I’m really sorry, we have a much larger pre-empt on the table right now.’
‘How much larger?’
‘Like, a lot.’
‘Jojo, we went to the wire on this. We can’t go any higher.’
So Knoxton House were out. Well, there were still five in the game.
‘To be honest, Jojo, I don’t think it’s worth any more than our bid. You really ought to accept the other offer now.’
‘Yeah, thanks, Alice.’
Jojo swung in her chair, deep in thought. Alice’s call had shaken her faith badly.
The four publishers who hadn’t come back to her yet, which way would they jump?
Olive Liddy at Southern Cross had had a run of flops and was desperate for a hit. She could step up to the plate with a big sum – or she could have lost her nerve.
Franz Wilder at B&B Calder was in the zone: he was Editor of the Year and had edited one of the Booker shortlist. He was all set for another hit but it could be that his huge success had blunted him and he just wasn’t hungry enough.
Tony O’Hare at Thor was a great editor, but Thor had recently had a major shake-down – firings and resignations – and was a house in disarray. They could badly use a hit but their chain of command was currently so confused that they might not get it together to authorize the money for Tony.
And Tania Teal at Dalkin Emery? Another smartie – Miranda England’s editor. No reason why she shouldn’t make the numbers.
But there was no way of knowing, not until they called her. It was out of the question for her to call them; that would trigger a major loss of confidence.
I’ve got to hold my nerve, she thought. I’ve got to keep it steady.
It wasn’t the first time she’d been in a situation like this –although never for such high stakes – but there were no precedents. Just because it had worked the other times was no guarantee that it couldn’t go horribly wrong this time.
