Liv’s palms were clammy as she tried to return the manuscript pages to their correct order. Essie employed a revolving door of personal assistants. As one exited, another one showed up. Liv had overheard her firing her last one, Matilda, and was never sure whyshewas the only employee left standing.
She couldn’t afford to lose this job. Her husband, Jake, was fighting to stop his family business from going under,and her son Johnny was joining his older brother Mack at university this summer. He needed enough stuff to fill a small truck. Liv’s wages were on the modest side, but every penny counted in the Green household. If she was going to be dismissed, she hoped it would be quick, like ripping a plaster off a hairy knee.
Returning the manuscript to its shelf, Liv’s eyes narrowed when she saw something glinting behind a trophy. She carefully reached up and plucked out a small label-less glass bottle. As she lifted it to her nose, the sweet smell of juniper made her stomach churn.
It was the fifth miniature gin bottle she’d found that week, not to mention the full-size vodka beside Essie’s bed. Liv sighed and pushed the bottle into the back pocket of her jeans. Really, where did Essie think they disappeared to when she left them around the place? She wondered if the author had been drinking while reading her own manuscript, and why.
Her pulse performed a quickstep as she padded along the hallway towards the writing room. She said a mental goodbye to the designer side table, books and huge display of lilies.
Before she entered the writing room, Liv clenched her fists.You’ve been through worse, she told herself, trying not to think back to her childhood when she was scared and alone in a strange bedroom clutching her Georgia Rory books for comfort.
Think. What would Georgia do?
Essie’s writing room looked like it had been transported from a cottagey holiday home, a contrast to the starkness of the rest of her flat. Her desk was made of old oak, and there was a wall of dark wooden bookshelves displaying more editions of her books.
‘Be seated,’ Essie said, without looking up from her notepad.Her cut glass English accent had a slight American twang, which made Liv feel very ordinary. Essie was only ten years older than her yet their age difference felt like a generation.
Essie turned and steepled her long, slim fingers. ‘So?’ she said.
Blood thumped in Liv’s ears, but she had a touch of Georgia’s bravery running through her veins. ‘I only read a few pages of your manuscript.’
Essie’s face was still and unreadable. ‘You know my work is off-limits.’
‘It wasn’t in your writing room, and I couldn’t help myself.’ All of her emotions felt on edge. ‘Are you going to sack me, or not?’
Essie’s mouth twitched into a brief smile, then settled back just as quickly. As she stroked the handle of her vintage teacup, her stare seemed to laser through Liv’s skin. ‘No, I’m not going to dismiss you.’
Relief flooded Liv’s body. Before she could say anything, Essie continued, ‘I’d like your opinion on something.’
Liv’s stomach jittered, and she wasn’t sure if it was with fear or excitement. ‘Oh, okay.’
Essie opened her top drawer and took out a magazine, theChicago Globe Literary Review. She tossed it towards Liv and folded her arms. ‘My agent sent this recent review to me, forFew and Far Between,’ she said. ‘It’s dated April Fool’s Day. I assume it’s not a hoax.’
Liv gulped. She wasn’t good with dates, always forgetting birthdays and anniversaries, but the author was highly superstitious about them. She read a section of the critique, for the novel she’d just been listening to. It was a fair summary, albeit with a weary tone of voice.
1 April, 2019
The complexities and delicate emotion of Starling’s earlier work are missing in this flat novel.The writing is uncomplicated, and the story unoriginal. Georgia Rory’s feistiness has been replaced with a dithering reticence and lack of direction. Once a writer of considerable promise, Ms Starling continues to let her once considerable talent fly south. It is therefore no surprise she avoids the public eye. Nevertheless, her devoted fans will undoubtedly buy the book in their millions, guaranteeing her yet another bestseller.
Liv quickly considered what she should say. Forget about being caught reading during work hours – saying the wrong thing about the review would surely cost her this job. Did she try to flatter Essie? Should she use a conciliatory tone, or a firm, resolute one? Whatever she said would be judged.
‘The truth, please, Olivia.’ Essie tapped a fingernail on her desk. ‘And get straight to the point.’
Liv ran her tongue around her mouth to get rid of a metallic taste. She tapped into Georgia’s mindset once more and tried not to falter. ‘I think your earlier books had a warm, easy charm, like you really enjoyed writing them. However, if I’m honest, like you’re asking me to be—’ She hesitated. ‘I… sometimes feel you’ve lost your true passion for Georgia.’
Essie raised a palm, as if stopping traffic. ‘And the pages of the manuscript you read?’
Liv lowered her eyes. ‘Kind of the same thing.’
‘I see,’ Essie said through gritted teeth.
‘You asked for my opinion…’
‘And you gave it to me. Thank youverymuch, Olivia.’
Liv fidgeted in her seat, already regretting her frankness. An electronic blast of ‘Paperback Writer’ by The Beatles sounded from her phone, vibrating loudly between her backside and the chair.
Essie’s neck stiffened like a cobra. ‘You should answer that.’
