Liv liked the way that sounded. She was too embarrassed to tell Essie that she’d always wanted to write and had a couple of partially finished novels in her bedside cabinet at home that she’d never shown to anyone. Or how she’d secretly taken a creative writing course but had dropped out after a fellow student tore her story to shreds in front of the whole class. The instructor had said she was talented and should stay, but the uninvited criticism ripped Liv’s confidence apart.
She wanted Essie to know that cleaning didn’t make her leap out of bed in the morning with glee. She had left school when she was sixteen, not because she wasn’t motivated, or unintelligent, but because she needed to help out her mum both financially and around the house. Furthering her studies hadn’t been an option.
At the same age Essie was popping champagne corks for her debut book deal, Liv was walking down the aisle in a secondhand wedding dress. Mack arrived when she was twenty-two, still young enough to attract disapproving stares on the maternity ward.
As a girl, cleaning was something Liv used to do with her mum. They sang together as they squeezed grapefruits and mixed the juice with salt. Domestic work was the obvious option when Liv needed work. Being able to spot fluff behind a radiator, a dropped piece of Lego, lost earring, or stray biscuit crumbs – in the same way a shark might detect fresh blood – was an art form Liv had mastered.
She didn’t say any of this to Essie. ‘I’ve always loved reading,’Liv said instead. ‘When I was seven or eight years old, I remember going to the local park. All the other kids were playing on the slide and the swings. They were laughing and having fun and I stood alone, wondering where the wordroundaboutcame from. I thought I must be a bit weird.’
Essie dabbed her mouth with a napkin. ‘I can relate to that.’
‘You can?’ Liv said, delighted.
‘I always knew I wanted to write, just as some people know they want to be nurses or police officers,’ Essie said. ‘You need formal training for those vocations, but with writing you need an idea for a story and the resolve to get on with it. Books don’t write themselves.’
Liv’s neck pinkened at her own incomplete work. ‘I used to read under the covers using a torch at night, and I studied the acknowledgements in each book, to see who the writer had thanked. All those names of agents and publishers seemed like a secret society I wanted to sneak into.’
‘I suppose I just see it as work.’ Essie gazed above Liv’s head for a while, her chin tilted as if deciding on something. ‘Perhaps you could take on some extra tasks for me,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ Liv said immediately.
Essie fixed her with a bemused stare. ‘I haven’t told you what they are yet. Would you be interested in assisting me with Georgia?’
‘Me?’ Liv pressed a hand to her chest. She felt her heart beating hard. ‘How?’
‘After reading my review, you observed that Georgia is a little… stuck. I’d like your input.’
Liv tried not to nod her head too many times.Wow, she thought to herself. Was this really happening? Essie wantedherhelp with her books?She ignored Jake’s voice when it dropped into her head urging her to ask for a pay increase. Although she could really use one, it felt cheeky to ask. She had no idea how much extra work Essie wanted her to do, and this was a golden opportunity to get involved with her favourite book series of all time. It was something others could only dream of, and she wasn’t going to spoil it by appearing greedy. She reached for a scone and ate it too quickly. ‘Of course,’ she said.
‘I should clarify, I’ve never askedanyonefor this kind of help before,’ Essie said. ‘Not even my assistants…’ She looked over the top of her glasses, making the task feel even more prodigious.
Liv swallowed nervously. ‘That’s fine. I understand.’
‘Splendid. I’m going away for a night or two and I shall give it some thought. We can reconvene on Thursday.’ Essie batted a crumb off her sleeve and put her glasses back on. ‘Now, we should both get back to work.’
Liv wanted to ask Essie where she was going. She hoped it was somewhere nice, perhaps a luxury spa or a retreat. She had been looking rather pale and thin recently and could do with a break. ‘A writer’s work is never done,’ she quipped, then wished she hadn’t.
Essie smiled tightly. ‘Quite,’ she said.
Liv returned to her work. She listened toGarden Spellsagain as she mixed together water, lemon juice and a few drops of lavender oil. She cleaned all the windows until they sparkled and sunshine spilled into the rooms. She boxed up the remaining sandwiches so the bread wouldn’t curl, and found a container for the cakes. As she waltzed around Essie’s bedroom with the vacuum, she noticed a small Louis Vuitton suitcase that she hadn’t seen before parked in the corner of the room.
When she’d finished working, Liv tidied her cleaning stuff away. The writing-room door was ajar, and she gave a small rap. Essie sat at her desk staring out of the window. Her right hand rested on a yellow notepad. When she turned, her eyelids looked lilac and heavy.
‘I’m leaving now,’ Liv said. ‘I’ve boxed up the afternoon tea for you.’
‘You may take it with you.’ Essie waved a hand. ‘I’ve finished with it.’
‘Really? Thank you. The boys will love that. Mack can enjoy a little feast before he returns to university.’
Essie tapped a finger on her notepad. ‘I’ll give thought to our conversation and note things down.’
Liv felt giddy and warm inside. This could be the start of a beautiful friendship. Essie might even offer to mentor her own writing. She tried not to let her imagination run away with her, but could already picture chatting to Essie about Georgia over a vintage teacup. ‘I promise to do my best,’ she said.
‘I’m sure you’ll try.’ Essie stared straight at her, eyes full of intent. She paused and parted her lips, as if about to say something important.
As Liv smiled and waited, an expectant tingle ran down her spine.
But then a veil seemed to fall upon Essie’s face. Her eyes became slits, and she pursed her lips so they resembled prunes. ‘That is all, Olivia,’ she said.
