A lump swelled in Liv’s throat so large she had to rub it away. She thumped the top of the desk, and it sent shock waves through her body.
She welcomed an ache of hatred towards Essie. Yet, she couldn’t help still loving her, too. And it was impossible to separate the two streams of emotion. They were both part of her, tangled and knotted together.
She could feel Essie’s pain and longing for Grant, because she shared it, too. It was all-consuming and never-ending.
Is a meeting of minds greater than a meeting of bodies?she asked herself.
Was Anthony wrong to believe her dad and Essie had an affair? Could she blame the solicitor for how he acted, especially if he loved Essie?
Liv couldn’t think straight. Somehow, she knew Essie’s letter was only part of the story and there had to be more.
She scoured the walls again, taking in more photos. Here was Essie sitting on a wall with a dog in her arms, and huddled in a towel after swimming. An image showed her holding a bouquet of white roses. It sat alongside an acceptance letter from a publishing house. Liv wondered if her dad had sent Essie congratulatory flowers.
There were a couple of photos Liv had never seen of him before. It was surreal seeing the face she missed so much in this setting.
She thought of him ruffling her hair and holding a finger to his lips as she sneaked into his lecture theatre. ‘Pick a good seat, sweet pea.’ When Liv closed her eyes, she could feel his hand, warm and reassuring on her shoulder, and the tickle of his hair against her cheek. And she couldn’t help smiling to herself.
Seeing him again, and sensing him beside her, made her feel that not everything was broken.
When she noticed a desk drawer was partially open, she pulled it towards her. Inside was a small bundle of letters, fastened with a rubber band. She saw her father’s signature on one of them and tugged them out. With her hands shaking uncontrollably, she unfolded the first letter.
19 November, 1988
Dear Elsbeth,
I can’t tell you how wonderful it was to see you today. Thanks for your encouraging words about my lectures. Not many people find character arcs as riveting as I do (I’m sure I heard snoring at the back), and it’s heartening to discover another fanatic.
I read your manuscript for The Moon on the Water and this is strong, intuitive writing. Well done. Many readers relish an adventure and the opportunity to step outside their lives for a while. You should definitely submit this widely to publishing houses. I’m happy to help, if you need it.
My daughter, Liv, always has her nose in a Nancy Drew book. Her dream is to be a writer, too. She’s showing real promise, though is reticent to recognize her own talents. If you ever meet her at one of my lectures, please do encourage her and help her to realize her potential. I think you’d both get along.
Keep writing!
All my best,
Grant
Liv’s jaw hurt and she stopped reading. ‘He told you about me,’ she whispered. ‘Dad asked you to help me become a writer.’
Had Essie been doing what Grant wanted her to do? To nurture his daughter and help her achieve her potential and dream? Did she give her six months to do it, until November the first?
Liv remembered the note she found in Essie’s flat.The greatest day of my life was also my worst.
November the first was the publication date for Essie’s debut novel, and also the date Grant died. Twenty years later, Essie won the Constellation Prize and learned Hank had fathered a child behind her back. Superstitious about dates, it was both bitter and sweet in Essie’s mind.
Liv’s love for Georgia Rory and her in-depth knowledge of the character had always shone through. On her deathbed, Essie hadn’t wanted her beloved heroine to be passed on to anyone else. Who better than the daughter of the man she loved, who dreamed of writing, to complete the last book of the series?
November the first.
What better date was there for a deadline?
What better date was there for Essie to officiallydie?
Standing there, Liv felt like the curtains had opened at the theatre. The red velvet swished away to reveal the performers onstage. The spotlights turned on.
She opened up a few of the other letters and read them.
12 February,1989
