‘Understood,’ I tell her as I gather my portfolio and stand from the mushroom stool, head held high.
Team Wilder lives to fight another day.
And who knows… I might meet this impossible brief and set the world alight in the process.
Or it’ll blow up in my face. And completely wreck my career, reputation and all my prospects.
An all-or-nothing-type situation.
Not my favourite type of situation, not by a long shot.
There’s a knock at the door, and Rory peeks his head around. ‘Lenka, your ride is here and your suitcase has already been loaded into the car. The driver said there’s a lot of traffic so we should get going ASAP.’
Lenka grabs her purse and claps her hands together. ‘Wonderful – never too early for Champagne en route to the Paris Book Fair.’
Rory glances over. ‘Sorry to rush off; you can see yourself out?’
I give him a quick nod and a thumbs up in acknowledgement. Lenka is already wearing her sunglasses and making her way out of the door, not even stopping for a goodbye. Oh well, I guess I can’t expect everything. She’s already moved on, so it’s time for me to do the same.
And then they’re gone.
And I know I should follow them straight out that door and join the rest of the workweek exodus. But there’s just this one thing I need to do before I go.
I approach Lenka’s bookshelf and take hold of the antique edition ofForest Fableswith care, lightly running my fingers over its timeworn cover. I take a deep breath and open it to the very first page. The melody of my mother’s voice echoes in the rhythm of the lines, the music of the verse. In my mind’s eye, I follow her gentle finger, tracing beneath the words on the creamy paper, voices that appear to drift in the air and characters that seem to move before my eyes. The words on that page captivated me as a child, beckoning me to build a world all my own.
As I glide my finger across the aged page, my mind races with the possibilities. I feel my heart quicken as I read the words, each syllable speaking to me like a lost friend. The hum of the past seems to dance in the air around me, and I let out a shaky breath, remembering how this book saved me when my mother died and I was orphaned and placed in a children’s home. It brought me comfort, love, security and hope. Every word was an invitation to explore unknown places, forget what was too real and instead create a world of my own that was so much better than the one I lived in every day. A world where good always overcame evil, where love conquered all and where anything was possible if you just believed.
That’s a cute idea, an uplifting notion, an existential life-hack, isn’t it?
Whether or not it’s true doesn’t matter; Iwantto believe it again.
I desperately need to believe it.
I flip through the pages with eagerness, my heart seesawing between hope and anxiety. Whatever awaits me, I have to take the chance.This may not be my fairy-tale ending, but for now, it’s enough to simply turn the page.
CHAPTER 4
THE DETOUR
I step out onto the busy street, ideas swirling around inside my head. The sun is beginning to lower in the sky, and the River Thames sparkles in its golden light. Lenka’s words are ringing in my ears: ‘We need to see your creativity unleashed. Daisy, blow our freaking minds.’ I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. The nerves I felt about meeting Lenka are now replaced by a sudden surge of energy and, dare I say, excitement.Wait till I tell Ash… that things are finally on the up. That I’m solvent and successful. Okay,potentiallysolvent and successful.
My brief is clear: to give everyone everything that they want and everything that they don’t yet know they want but will love when it arrives. That’s it!
Oh, and bake in spiritual experiences and miracles and global commercial appeal.
And deliver it all in six weeks.
I blow out my cheeks at the enormity of it all. I know it’s a big ask. ButI’m parking all bubble-bursting factoids till later. Way later.
Today, I’m pocketing it as a win. I’m still in the game. One life left. Level up.
I start walking towards home with a new determination in my step. I know that this is my chance to make something truly special – something that could potentially change the entire landscape of art and storytelling forever. I look at the people around me – the way they move and interact – and imagine them as animals in a strange magical land. Each twist and turn in the street suddenly looks like it could lead somewhere extraordinary – somewhere outside our normal understanding of time and space.
The blaring horn of a car breaks my trance, snaps me awake, back to the reality I know so well. I scan the area for anything extraordinary, but all that stares back at me is the same-old inner-city street with its regular attractions: a tanning salon on one corner and a run-down greasy spoon. The smell of exhaust fumes from passing cars taints the air, and the sound of laughter from kids playing in the skatepark is drowned out by traffic noise.
I take a deep breath and try to clear my head of all its jumbled thoughts. I need to focus, to see past this mundane landscape and into another world – a place where anything is possible.
In the distance, I see the dual carriageway clogged with traffic, jammed cyclists and frustrated drivers. Up ahead, roadworks are in full swing. It hasn’t even been a week since the city’s latest anti-road-toll rally ended, and already the protesters’ tents and placards are back en masse. A few feet away, a white van spills out a dozen young men and women carrying stop-the-war signs, chanting and marching towards the street corner ahead.
