Authors: Julie Cohen
One Night Stand (32 page)
Six to Nine Months: Who’s Your Daddy?
31
It didn’t get tricky right away, though. With the novel done, I concentrated on cleaning.
Quite a bit of clutter accumulated in my office while I was writing frantically - notes, pens, the post I hadn’t had time to open, and, for some reason, socks - and after I finished a book I always ritually cleared away. It was as if I were clearing my head space of the old book at the same time, ready for the next one. This time, when I’d finished clearing, I decided I needed to do a proper clean of the room of the sort I hadn’t done since June had left. I took down the curtains and washed them, scrubbed skirting boards, shampooed the carpet. Hugh, who was a clean sort of bloke but who drew the line at ironing curtains, moved the furniture for me and then watched me with amazement.
‘Is this what they call nesting?’ he asked.
It probably was. Then again, it was something else, too. Every swipe of my rag was an attempt to swipe away some of the doubts I had about
Throbbing Member
.
Throbbing Member
.
I usually had these doubts after I sent off a manuscript. But
Throbbing
was different to any other manuscript I’d ever written, and so the doubts were even stronger. I kept on remembering things I’d put in it and cringing with doubt. Why’d I put in the karaoke-obsessed twin lobbyists? What was I thinking of giving the Chancellor a pet chicken?
Throbbing
was different to any other manuscript I’d ever written, and so the doubts were even stronger. I kept on remembering things I’d put in it and cringing with doubt. Why’d I put in the karaoke-obsessed twin lobbyists? What was I thinking of giving the Chancellor a pet chicken?
And the biggest doubt of all: who on earth would want to read a sexy novel with a heroine who was riddled with faults, self-conscious and insecure, easily embarrassed and obsessively tidy?
That is, who would want to read a sexy novel with a heroine who was like me?
Bryce didn’t ring. Neither did Duane. I knew they would both read it and confer before talking to me.
The fact that they hadn’t rung me meant one of two things: either it was good enough and Duane was working so hard to get it straight to the copy-editor that he didn’t have time to ring me or Bryce, or it was so bad that they were both taking a long time trying to figure out a way of informing me that my career was totally dead.
I wasn’t going to ring them. No way. I was going to enjoy this limbo for as long as it lasted because, as the hours and the days passed, I was more and more certain that not only was this absolutely the worst book that
I
had ever written, but it was also the worst
book
that had ever been written, full stop.
I
had ever written, but it was also the worst
book
that had ever been written, full stop.
The three days that passed felt like three months, particularly because I seemed to grow bigger by the day. When the phone rang I was on my hands and knees in my office cleaning the underside of the radiator, and it took me a while to stand up, grab on to the desk when I got dizzy, and then clump down the stairs to where I’d left my mobile.
‘Estelle,’ Bryce said as soon as I picked up. ‘I’ve just been talking with Duane. We cannot believe the rewrite you’ve done on
The Throbbing Member of Parliament
!’
The Throbbing Member of Parliament
!’
Here it comes
, I thought. ‘Really?’ I braced myself on the bookcase.
, I thought. ‘Really?’ I braced myself on the bookcase.
‘It’s astounding!’
Astounding good, or astounding bad? I couldn’t ask. Instead I made an interested noise.
‘And so different from your other novels! I think you’ve reached a totally different level with this one.’
‘Level of what?’ I blurted.
‘Level of everything! The pacing, the plot, the characterisation - the Chancellor is quite something.’
I was beginning to think that I was being complimented, but I still needed convincing. ‘You liked it, then?’
‘Estelle! Duane and I love it! You have utterly raised your game. This is the book that’s going to make your career, darling.’
I held the phone in both hands, tight to my face. ‘You mean it’s not rubbish?’
Bryce laughed as if I’d told a joke. I felt brave enough to push further, and said, ‘But there isn’t actually that much sex in it, for an erotic novel.’
‘It doesn’t matter. It’s very sexy, very now. Quirky enough to be different, and mainstream enough to win you a much wider audience. You clever girl. I’ll never look at Big Ben in the same way again.’
He didn’t seem to be taking the piss. I sank into the nearest chair and started breathing again.
‘But what’s the best bit is the heroine. So realistic, darling, so sympathetic. And her relationship with the Chancellor is what makes this a great read. It’s not only a rollicking adventure, it’s a true-love story.’
Relief was breaking over me in waves. ‘Oh, thank God,’ I said, and then something struck me.
‘Wait. Did you just say it was a love story?’
‘Of course! The emotion is in every line, I loved it. That scene where Lucy tries to seduce the Chancellor and can’t think of how! And I nearly cried at the ending. Now, I’ve been thinking about the possibilities for selling the rights for this one, and I think that -’
Bryce carried on talking, but I couldn’t listen to him. Because the implications of what he’d just said were putting themselves together, like a jigsaw, in my head.
Lucy was me. And the Chancellor was Hugh. And if
Throbbing Member
was a love story . . .
Throbbing Member
was a love story . . .
‘Estelle? Estelle! Are you still with me, darling? You’ve gone very quiet.’
‘I’m still here,’ I said, faintly.
My God. I must be in love with Hugh.
‘So I’ll pitch it to him at lunch next week, and we’ll see where that takes us. What do you think of that?’
‘Great,’ I said. ‘This is all great.’
This was all terrible.
I knew I
loved
Hugh, of course. I’d loved him for a long time. But being
in love
was different. It was gooshy and exclusive. It meant changing your entire life and nine times out of ten it didn’t last.
loved
Hugh, of course. I’d loved him for a long time. But being
in love
was different. It was gooshy and exclusive. It meant changing your entire life and nine times out of ten it didn’t last.
‘You sound awful, darling. Are you feeling well? Is it morning sickness or something?’
With some part of my brain, I wondered if Bryce had forgotten how pregnant I was, along with my real name. ‘No, I’m fine.’
‘You don’t sound it. Listen, I’ll ring you later and we’ll talk. Well done, Estelle.’
He rang off and I sat, phone in hand. How had this happened? Why hadn’t I noticed? Why would I do something so monumentally stupid?
Hugh walked in my front door without knocking. We were doing a lot of that lately; it was almost as if we were living together in two different houses.
As soon as I saw him, my heart leapt. Moreover, I realised that my heart had been leaping at the sight of him for some time now.
Bad news. I really was in love with him.
‘It reeks of furniture polish in here,’ he announced. ‘And you are white as a sheet.’
He flung open the nearest window and came to sit beside me.
Not what I needed. I needed some distance from Hugh in order to come to terms with what was going on inside my head, heart and soul.
‘I’ve got stuff to do,’ I said, standing up. ‘I haven’t finished cleaning the radiator.’
‘Right,’ Hugh said, standing up. ‘You are officially a crazy pregnant woman. You need fresh air more than you need clean radiators.’
‘Okay, okay, I’ll go for a walk.’ I headed for the door. ‘I’ll see you later.’
Hugh, however, came right along with me. ‘You don’t need to come with me,’ I said. ‘I’m sure you’re exhausted from work.’
‘You can’t be trusted,’ he said. ‘If you’ve been on your hands and knees cleaning radiators at seven months pregnant, who knows what you’ll take it into your head to do while you’re out on your own. Climb a tree or something, no doubt.’ He fell into step beside me. ‘Besides, it’s a beautiful day.’
It was true. Even Reading was looking pretty good. Some of the houses on our street had window boxes full of spring flowers; the trees had a haze of young green leaf against the backdrop of the red brick Victorian terraces. I headed towards the lake at the University. There would probably be ducklings.
And damn it, it felt far too good to have Hugh walking beside me, even when we weren’t talking about anything or even touching. Normally our silence would be comfortable. Today I was thinking too much not to fill it with conversation.
‘Bryce and Duane liked my book,’ I said.
‘Brilliant!’ Hugh grabbed me round my non-existent waist, lifted me up, and swung me in a circle. He set me down rather quickly at the end of it. ‘Oof, maybe I’ll wait a few months before I try that again.’
I searched my feelings. He’d just called me fat and I was still in love with him. Worse luck.
Relying on my emotions wasn’t helping me much. Maybe if I figured out logically why I’d fallen in love with Hugh, I could work out a plan to stop it.
‘I knew they’d love the book,’ he said.
‘How’d you know?’ I asked. ‘You haven’t even read it.’
‘I don’t need to read it to know it’s good. You’re talented, and you were enjoying yourself so much writing it that it’s bound to be good.’
The logical answer wasn’t so difficult to come by. I sneaked a glance at his body as he walked beside me. The man gave me unconditional support and he had a great arse. I’d fallen in love in the past for far less compelling reasons.
‘Did I ever tell you that you’re partly to blame for my new job?’ he asked me.
‘I thought it was the macaroons in the dull meeting.’
‘Partly. And partly because of you and your writing. Every day I was seeing you doing what you wanted to do, what you loved doing, and getting better and better at it, while I sat in a dull office working in I.T. Finally, I decided I’d had enough.’
‘But I was ashamed about what I wrote. I never even told anybody but you about it till recently.’
He shrugged. ‘I was proud of you.’
Agh! Was the man trying to make me fall more in love with him?
I had to talk about something else, quick. ‘So I think I’m going to make my office into the nursery.’
‘Where will you write?’
‘Well, I’m thinking it’s time I became less precious about that. I mean, I don’t need a pristine place to write, do I? People write any old where. And the baby deserves a space of its own.’
‘Are you just saying that or do you really mean it? I remember how annoyed you were when June was staying there.’
I thought about it. ‘I really mean it. I’ll get a laptop and sell the desktop. That way I can write on the kitchen table or on the couch while I’m rocking the baby to sleep.’
‘How about you put your desktop in my spare room? It’s not as if I use it for anything, I can move all the stuff out of there into the loft. If you get a baby monitor, you can write there and you’ll only be a wall away from the baby when it’s asleep.’ He grinned. ‘And we know how easy it is to hear through those walls.’
‘Ross and Rachel did that with their baby in
Friends
,’ I said, because showing my knowledge of television comedy was much safer than expressing what I was feeling at that moment.
Friends
,’ I said, because showing my knowledge of television comedy was much safer than expressing what I was feeling at that moment.
‘Or if you’re not comfortable with the monitor, I can always hang out in your house while you work in mine,’ he added.
The man was offering to give me a room in his house. That was nearly like living together. Maybe - and I stumbled over the pavement when the thought struck me - maybe Hugh was in love with me, too.
He had asked me to marry him, after all. Of course it wasn’t exactly a romantic proposal, and he most likely hadn’t meant it, but he had asked.
That counted for something, didn’t it?
I didn’t say much as we reached the university lake. Hugh told me about his day, making five hundred and sixty profiteroles for a wedding at the hotel, and we searched the water for exotic ducks. I listened extra carefully to his voice and what he said, and when he took my arm to help me around a mucky bit in the path, I analysed his touch, trying to work out if these were the words and actions of a man in love. But he sounded and felt exactly as usual, exactly as he always had.
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