The thought of never reading a new Georgia Rory novel made her feel like she was tumbling down a hill, unable to stop. She’d never again experience the joy of carrying a copy home from the bookshop in a small, shiny bag, or sinking into a fresh story.
Liv could also imagine the earthquake of shock that would hit Essie’s fans when they found out the terrible news five and a half months from now. She was sure they’d experience her same feelings of disbelief and loss.
Not feeling ready to say goodbye, she selected a bench and sat down with a stiff back. A few folded pieces of paper for Essie’s service lay around, and she picked one up.
In Memory of Elsbeth Smart…
For a second, Liv thought she’d stepped into the wrong service until she saw the black-and-white shot of Essie. It was one she hadn’t seen before.Essie Starling must be her pen name, she realized.
If Essie’s death was registered under a different name, she supposed others wouldn’t recognize it. Maybe the hospital staff hadn’t even known they were operating on a bestselling author.
When Liv heard someone else enter the room, she glanced up to see Anthony appear at her side. His lips were tight and his eyes were watery.She wondered if solicitors usually got this emotionally attached to their clients.
‘Hi,’ she said, as he sat down next to her.
‘Hello, again.’
She handed him a service sheet. ‘I didn’t know Essie’s real name, did you? Elsbeth is so pretty.’
‘Yes, I created the document.’
Liv paused at this. Wouldn’t the funeral service people usually do that? It was beautifully done, maybe part of Anthony’s mission to keep things private.
A man whose moustache and skin matched the grey of his sharply pressed suit walked along the aisle towards them. ‘I’m the funeral director. I’m sorry for your loss,’ he said, looking around him. ‘Um, are you expecting more guests?’
Liv shook her head. ‘It’s just us.’ She eyed the unoccupied seats, too. ‘It’s pretty dead in here.’ When she realized what she’d said, she clamped a hand to her mouth.
He smiled at her kindly. ‘I understand this is a private ceremony, so please take your time. I’ll leave you in peace. Mr Pentecost, may I have a word?’ he added.
Anthony slipped out of his seat and the two men talked together for a while. Liv noticed how the funeral director placed a comforting hand on Anthony’s arm, as if he’d lost a close relative. She wondered just how well the solicitor had known Essie.
As she waited for him to return, she had a sudden urge to dosomething. She couldn’t stand this feeling of no one else knowing Essie was gone. There should be wailing, shuffling and hymns sung off-key, followed by sniffling and hushed condolences.
Liv felt like frogs were jumping in her stomach, the same sensation she experienced when she’d arrived at Essie’s block of flats for her job interview,three years ago. She could clearly remember standing on the pavement with one hand pressed to her belly and the other clutching the confirmation email she’d printed out. She kept checking the time, date and location, not quite able to believe she was about to meet Essie Starling, the reclusive creator of her favourite books ever. The author hadn’t been seen in years and Liv washere.
Essie’s assistant at the time was called Jane. She met Liv outside and escorted her up to the flat. ‘So, you’re here for a job with Essie?’ Jane said stiffly.
‘Yes, I’m a cleaner,’ Liv said.
Jane’s demeanour warmed a little. ‘Oh, right. I thought you were another assistant.’
‘Does she have a few?’
‘One at a time, but we don’t last for long.’
Liv felt her legs go shaky. ‘Why’s that?’
‘You’ll see.’ Jane let her inside and opened the writing-room door. ‘Olivia Green is here. I’ll bring tea,’ she announced before darting away.
Essie didn’t turn around. She continued typing and Liv wondered if she was hard of hearing. After several moments of awkward silence, Liv cleared her throat and smiled. ‘Excuse me, Ms Starling. I’m Liv, here about the cleaning job.’
Essie spun around suddenly, staring Liv directly in her eyes. ‘Iknowwho you are.’
Liv’s smile stiffened. She was in the presence of a goddess and the paper in her hand stuck to her sweaty palm. ‘And I know who you are, too,’ she joked. ‘Everyone does.’
Essie’s gaze swept over her so intensely Liv felt like fingers were prodding her skin. ‘You remind me of someone,’ the author said.
‘Someone nice, I hope.’ Liv gulped.
