Liv didn’t really believe in guardian angels, but she could still sense the author’s presence in the flat, like how a headmistress can make pupils straighten their ties simply by walking down a corridor. It was a sensation that gave her comfort and also a shot of fear.
A memory of Essie dropped into her thoughts, as if the writer planted it there.
Around a year ago, she’d been dusting the shelves in the writing room when the author had lifted her chin. ‘If you had to describe the art of writing, Olivia, what would you say?’ Essie said.
Liv froze with her cloth in her hand at this unexpected query. They’d never really had a proper conversation before, other than discussing Essie’s cleaning preferences. Why would the author askher? Was it some kind of trick question?
Anything sensible flew out of Liv’s head and she garbled the first thing she thought of. ‘I’d say it’s a bit like wading through mud without wearing Wellington boots,’ she said.
Essie tilted her head and considered this for a while.
Liv wished she could take it back. She was horrified Essie might take her silly comment seriously.
‘I agree, somewhat,’ Essie said. ‘Personally, I think it’s more like being on board a small yacht on the ocean, looking over the side and glimpsing something shiny on the seabed. It shimmers and then vanishes again, so you don’t know if it’s a precious ring, or just the tab pulled off a drink can.
‘Others around you might tell you it’s a piece of rubbish and to ignore it. But you can’t stop thinking what it might be. You drop into the water and kick your feet to stay afloat. Touching and holding the shiny thing takes precedence over anything else.
‘You dive down until your fingertips brush against it, pushing it further away. Wet sand blooms and obscures your view. You rush back to the surface spluttering for breath with salt water running down the back of your throat. Yet, you keep on diving until you finally wrap your fingers around the shiny thing. It’s finally yours, and you clench it in your fist and hold it to your heart.’
Liv had never heard Essie talk so much before and her cheeks felt fiery at her own flippant answer. She’d had a unique opportunity to impress Essie and had messed it up. ‘So, are you holding something precious, or is it just rubbish?’ she asked.
Essie smiled enigmatically. ‘I have no idea. And that’s the thing, Olivia. You never know if the thing glinting on the seabed is something special or not, until you force yourself under water and hold it in your hand. Andthat’swhat writing is like.’
Liv had no idea what to say. She clutched her cleaning cloth and when her words didn’t emerge, Essie turned away. The moment was lost between them.
As she relived her own disappointment in herself, Liv’s backbone stiffened. If she had the opportunity to answer the question again, she would say something smarter to Essie. ‘Writing is like a life belt keeping me afloat right now, when everything else seems to be pulling me under. I don’t want to dive and search around on the bottom of the seabed. I want to swim to a beautiful shore.’
This time she pictured the author smiling and nodding.
And if Essie believed in her, Liv had to find belief in herself, too.
But she wondered why and when Essie had stopped diving for her own treasure.
A week after meeting Anthony in the museum, Liv’s new contract arrived in her inbox. She surreptitiously opened the email as she trundled her cleaning cart through the Platinum office. A suited man passed her and mumbled, ‘The ladies’ loos need cleaning.’
Someone had been sick in a sink and Liv gritted her teeth while tugging on her rubber gloves.She pledged to hand in her notice right after this shift.
After she finished wiping the basin, the door to the bathroom swung open and the woman in the cream skirt suit tottered up to the mirror again. She averted her eyes from Liv and searched in her bag for something. A sweet wrapper and a crumpled receipt fell to the floor. The woman opened a mirrored compact and powder sprinkled into the sink Liv had just cleaned. The woman swept aside her litter with the side of her foot and reapplied her lipstick.
Liv felt something switch inside her, as if someone had turned the power back on after a blackout. As the woman turned on her heels and made to exit the room, Liv snatched up her rubbish from the floor. ‘Excuse me,’ she called out.
The woman looked back, her eyes sweeping over Liv before settling on the embroidered logo on her chest.
‘You forgot something.’ Liv strode towards her and held out the wrapper and receipt.
The woman eyed them, as if they were dog dirt in the middle of her lawn. ‘It’s not mine,’ she said.
The something inside Liv started to boil over. ‘You need an optician. Clearly there’s something wrong with your eyesight.’
The woman smirked. ‘I don’t think so.’
Liv spotted her handbag wasn’t fully zipped up. She shot out a hand, pushed the litter into the gap then zipped it. ‘In case you need them,’ she said with a smile.
‘Don’t you dare touch me.’ The woman shrank back, her top lip curling. ‘It’s yourjobto pick things up. I’m going to report this. What’s your name?’
Liv glared at her defiantly. The spirit of Georgia Rory felt alive within her.She made a show of peeling off her tunic before slinging it over one of the cubicle doors. Her notice period had just ended super early. ‘My name is Liv Green,’ she said. ‘And in the future, don’t judge a book by its cover.’
At the Cardinals’ house, Hannah had covered the dining table with cosmetics and set up a ring light and tripod for her iPhone. She studied her own face reflected on the screen. Liv noticed her cheeks were bright pink, as if she’d fallen asleep in the sun.
