The Girl From Barefoot House (48 page)

‘Is the ex likely to become an ex-ex soon? How do you describe a husband you marry a second time?’ Lily regarded Josie with a beady eye. ‘He’s obviously mad about you. He can’t take his eyes off you, in fact. And you’re just as bad, I can tell.’

‘I dunno, Lil.’ Josie sighed. ‘I took a leaf out of your book and proposed but, unlike Francie, he turned me down, at least for the time being.’ She explained about Coral, Jessie Mae and Tyler. ‘Gosh,’ she sighed, ‘I won’t half miss him. I was jogging along quite comfortably before, enjoying me business. He’s disturbed me equilibrium, Lil.’

She was determined not to make a show of herself when he left on Saturday morning. They embraced silently behind the big front door, the offices either side eerily empty.

‘I’ll miss my plane,’ Jack said after a while.

‘I don’t care. I don’t know how I’m going to live without you,’ she said bleakly.

‘You managed very well for twenty years.’

‘Not really.’ She sniffed, fighting to hold back the tears.

‘I’ll give you a call as soon as I’m home. I’ll call every month. No, every week. Oh, Christ!’ He looked at her despairingly. ‘I’ll call every single day.’

‘Once a week will do fine, and I’ll call you.’

They kissed passionately. ‘We’ll see each other at Christmas, won’t we?’ he said huskily. ‘Try and persuade Dinah to come. I’ll pack Jessie Mae off to stay with Tyler, so there’ll just be us three. Our first family Christmas together.’ He reached for her wrists and removed her arms from around his neck. ‘Goodbye, sweetheart.’

With that, the door closed and he was gone!

Dinah telephoned a few minutes later. ‘Have I timed it right? Has he gone? He called last night, just to say goodbye. He said he had to leave prompt at ten o’clock, which is why I’m ringing at ten past. I thought you’d be dead miserable.’

‘I’m as miserable as sin, Dinah,’ Josie said shakily. She swallowed hard. ‘What did you think of your dad?’

‘He’s lovely, Mum. I really liked him. I can understand why you fell for him so hard. Oh, but I wish he’d been around when I was little. It would have been great to have had a dad like him.’

‘Did he mention staying with him at Christmas?’

‘Yes.’

‘Will you go?’ Josie enquired cautiously.

‘Just try and stop me, Mum.’

On Monday, Josie threw herself back into work in the hope that it would take her mind off Jack. It worked, to a degree. She read manuscripts while she ate, in the bath, in bed, on trains. There were inevitably times when she was left to her own thoughts, and she would pray that Jessie Mae would soon get married or take up a career, and Jack would be free to spend the rest of his life with her. Until then she would just have to make do with his frequent phone calls – and seeing him at Christmas. Dinah was already looking forward to it, and Josie could hardly wait.

My Favourite Murderer
was a vivid and telling account of the conflict in Northern Ireland. There was no indication whether the young narrator, a girl, was Catholic or Protestant. She referred to ‘our side’ or ‘the other side’. The murderer was her terrorist father, whom she loved, but she couldn’t understand why she should hate other people because of their religion. Should she protect her father, or betray him, when she knew he was guilty of a heinous crime?

‘You’re right,’ Josie said to Cathy Connors. ‘It’s brilliant. Write to Lesley O’Rourke and offer her a five thousand advance. I think we’ve got a bestseller on our hands.’

Lesley O’Rourke turned out to be a pseudynom, and the writer refused to reveal her real name or where she lived. They corresponded through a box number. ‘If my address is known, then so will my religion,’ she wrote to Cathy. ‘I’d sooner not appear to be on anyone’s side.’

‘She’s probably protecting her father, too,’ Cathy said,
showing Josie the letter. ‘I bet the book is autobiographical. Shall I slot in publication of the hardback for January? Richard’s already preparing next year’s catalogue.’

‘Yes. I’d like to get it out as soon as possible. It’s got something meaningful to say, not that it’ll make any difference to Northern Ireland. I don’t think anything will.’

William Friars’s
Death By Stealth
appeared in hardback in September, and was slated by the critics. Josie tried her best not to be pleased.

Later that month Val Morrissey rang from New York. Close-Up Productions had offered one hundred thousand dollars for the film rights to
Miss Middleton’s Papers
. ‘So our little enterprise has paid off in spades, eh!’ he said triumphantly. ‘Now, William Friars’s
The Blackout Murders
. I’m not convinced a thriller set in the Liverpool blitz would sell in the States, but I’m intrigued by this guy’s uptight private eye. I’d like to give it a go with a couple of thousand copies – see how the cookie crumbles. The usual advance applies.’

‘I’ll contact both authors. By the way, I bought two plane tickets for Los Angeles this morning. My daughter and I are spending Christmas with my ex-husband. Pity New York’s on the other side of the country. We could have met up.’

He guffawed delightedly. ‘It so happens
I’m
spending Christmas in Los Angeles – Long Island. Where will you be based?’

‘Venice. Is that far?’

‘Twenty, thirty miles. Chickenfeed. I’ll only be staying a couple of days, but we could meet for a drink.’ He expressed envy for what was obviously an amicable
divorce. ‘My ex-wife and I are still conducting the Third World War.’

Josie rang off and called a dazed Julia Hedington, who seemed less concerned with the money than the fact that well-known actors would be speaking
her
lines. ‘Do you know who will be in it?’

‘It won’t have been cast yet.’ She promised to let her know as soon as she heard.

‘I hope it’s Meryl Streep and Al Pacino. They’d be perfect.’

Josie asked Esther to send Julia a bouquet of roses, and dictated a letter to William Friars. Barefoot House still owned the rights to his earlier work. He replied by return of post, a stiff, condescending letter conveying his willingness to be published in America but expressing dismay at the small advance.

‘You’d think he was doing us a favour,’ Josie said disgustedly.

The downstairs dining room, so far unused, was converted into an office. Three new desks were ordered, and all the paraphernalia required by a modern business in the eighties. A second secretary arrived to assist the overworked Esther. Another editor was hired, Lynne Goode, happy to transfer from her job with a large London publisher to work for Barefoot House, as well as a young woman straight from university whose first job it was to study rights, because requests for foreign rights, book club rights, audio rights, large print rights, even TV rights, were flooding in.

Sometimes, when everyone downstairs had gone and she was alone, and the deathly silence was broken only by the creaks and groans of the old house, Josie would feel quite literally terrified by what she had created. It was getting too much, too big, too successful. She
wouldn’t be able to cope. She would shiver, imagining the whole edifice one day tumbling down about her ears.

But next morning the postman would deliver a mountain of post and manuscripts, the staff would arrive, the phone would ring for the first time, and would probably ring a hundred times again before the day was out, and the calls could be from anywhere in the world.

This is mine, she would think with another shiver, this time of pride. All mine. It would never be as good as sex. But it came close.

Christmas at last! The plane tickets were already tucked inside the handbag she was taking, her passport had been renewed and one acquired for Dinah, and her suitcase had been packed for days. Jack said the weather in Los Angeles was magic – brilliantly sunny and warm.

‘We’ll buy summer clothes there,’ she said to Dinah. They phoned each other constantly. ‘I’ll treat you. American clothes are gorgeous, and dead cheap.’

‘Just imagine, sunbathing in December!’ Dinah sighed rapturously. ‘It’s snowing in London at the moment.’

‘There’s a blizzard blowing in Liverpool.’

‘We can swim in Jack’s pool!’

‘You can, luv. I’ve never learned. I’ll just sit in the sun and watch.’

‘Oh, Mum. I can’t wait!’

‘Me neither.’ She was longing to see Jack again and lie in his arms. For weeks now she’d been useless in the office, her stomach on fire with anticipation, her mind miles away in sunny Los Angeles.

Two days before they were due to leave, Josie felt an ominous tickling in her throat. Then her joints began to ache, and she had a throbbing headache. On the day they
should have flown to Los Angeles, she was in bed with a virulent attack of flu.

‘I’ll catch a flight to London tonight,’ Jack said instantly when she called and told him in a cracked voice she wouldn’t be coming.

‘You’ll do no such thing. The weather’s awful here, and you’ll only catch my germs. Dinah’s coming to look after me.’

‘Are you sure? Are you absolutely positive? I’ll be there like a shot if you like.’

‘No, we’ll come to you as soon as I’m better.’

‘If you say so.’ He sounded disappointed, and she was always to regret not taking up his offer to come and visit.

‘Did Jack say I called on Christmas Day as we had arranged?’ Val Morrissey enquired early in January.

‘Yes. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. I didn’t think to let you know. Jack said he explained what had happened.’

‘Are you better now?’

‘Still a bit weak, that’s all.’ Josie smiled at the receiver. ‘Jack said you came in for a drink, anyroad.’

‘I did indeed. Great guy, your ex. Great constitution, too. He drank me under the table, but it had no effect on him.’ There was a pause, and Josie assumed he was about to discuss their mutual business interests, but he continued, ‘That girl, Jessie Mae. She’s his stepdaughter, right?’

‘Right.’

‘I hope you don’t mind my asking, but how old is she?’

Jessie Mae had recently had a birthday. ‘Twenty.’

Val whistled. ‘Wow! She looks fourteen, but acts older. Do you think it would be okay if I made a move?’

‘What sort of move?’ Josie asked mystified. ‘Oh, I see. You mean you fancy her?’

‘That’s a cute way of putting it,’ he laughed. ‘Yes, I do. It’s not often you meet a real old-fashioned girl like that.’

‘I’m afraid Jessie Mae and I have never met, but I’m sure Jack would have no objection if you made your move.’

‘You’d love her,’ Val Morrissey said enthusiastically. ‘In that case, I’ll send some flowers, and I’m sure I can think up an excuse for going to L.A. in the near future.’

She didn’t mention the conversation to Jack, who reported that the guy from New York, whose name he had forgotten, was inundating Jessie Mae with flowers and phone calls. ‘She’s quite chuffed. What she needs is a father figure, and this guy’s still on the right side of forty. I’m sure Coral would have approved.’

Josie didn’t say that
she
approved wholeheartedly. If Val Morrissey married Jessie Mae, Jack would have no excuse when she badgered him to marry her. And badger him she would, even if it meant going to Los Angeles and
dragging
him to the altar.

The reviews for
My Favourite Murderer
were glowing. One critic wrote, ‘The saying is that “small is beautiful”. Barefoot House, the diminutive publishing company based in Liverpool, seems to prove this point with every book they produce, but never more so than with Lesley O’Rourke’s compelling tale of violence in Northern Ireland.’

Three companies made offers for the film rights, and vied with each other, increasing their offers until the final bid had reached half a million pounds.

Lily arrived just as Josie was reading the letter. She had phoned that morning to ask if they could lunch together.
‘Please, say yes, it’s rather important. I need someone to talk to.’

Josie showed her the letter. ‘Just look at this! It makes me go all funny. Half a million
pounds
.’

‘Very impressive,’ Lily said dully. She sank in the chair in front of her friend’s desk.

‘What’s up? You don’t exactly
sound
impressed.’

‘I’m pregnant.’

Josie gasped. ‘You can’t possibly be. You’re forty-six. You’ve made a mistake, Lil. It’s probably the menopause. You can have the same symptoms.’

Lily gestured impatiently. ‘It’s been confirmed. I’m bloody pregnant. Five months gone, if you must know. I mean, I’m a grandmother twice over, Jose. I’m not exactly thrilled at the idea of providing a new aunt or uncle for me grandkids. And I’ve just got the boys off me hands – Simon’s at school, and Alec’s at playgroup. I’ll feel daft, buying nappies and stuff at my age.’

‘What does Francie have to say?’

‘Oh,
him
! Well, you know Francie. Nothing seems to shake him. The thing is, it’s all his bloody fault.’

‘What did he do?’

‘What the hell d’you think he did to make me pregnant?’

‘Maybe he thought you were still on the Pill,’ Josie said reasonably. ‘
I
did.’

Lily scowled. ‘I came off the Pill months ago, didn’t I? There didn’t seem much point. Me and Francie aren’t exactly Romeo and Juliet these days. I don’t know what got into him the night this happened.’ She pointed to her bulging stomach, which bulged no more than it had done six months ago – the visits to the gym hadn’t lasted long. ‘He must have been drunk.’

‘Did Francie know you weren’t taking the Pill?’

‘I didn’t tell him, no, but you’d think he’d have noticed the box wasn’t on the kitchen window-sill any more.’

The telephone rang. Josie went and told Esther to get someone else to deal with it. She returned to her office. ‘Come on, Lil, let’s go to lunch and get a bit pissed. It’ll do you good.’

‘I’m not supposed to drink,’ Lily said sulkily. She got to her feet, a bulky, shapeless figure with dull, listless eyes. Josie felt sad, remembering the bright-eyed young woman she’d accompanied to Haylands Holiday Camp.

Lily aimed a kick at the chair. ‘Oh, I suppose I’ll just have to have it, won’t I? But I’m not looking forward to it, I’ll tell you that for free.’

Neither was Josie nor, she suspected, was Francie or any other people likely to have anything to do with Lily over the next few months. She’d made a huge meal out of her four other pregnancies, and was likely to turn this one into a banquet.