‘The second run of your proofs arrived this morning,’ she says in a hollow voice. ‘I signed for them.’
My novel,Graveyard Heart, is out in six months’ time. The first run of bound proofs for pre-publicity was apparently quite in demand, so my publisher produced another one.
It’s a love story, unashamedly romantic. A complete departure from anything I’ve written before. But it also came to me unnervingly easily – almost as though the novel was fully formed in my head, and all I had to do was transcribe it. That first draft felt like the purest, truest thing I’d ever put on a page.
‘I read it,’ Andrea says.
I’ve been nervous about this for a while, trying to work up to handing her my laptop or a proof, then backing out at the last moment. Mostly because I think I know exactly what she will say.
She’s been supremely patient so far, respecting my privacy, seemingly concluding this is just the way I like to work. But I guess she got tired of waiting.
I swallow. ‘Great. What did you think?’
At this, she laughs. But it is not a warm laugh. In fact, it’s the kind of sound a person might make just before they whip out a blade and shank you.
‘I think you’ve known for a long time what I would think. In fact, I can see why you’ve not let me near that bloody manuscript since the day you started writing it. If you were going to publish a book about your ex-wife, the least you could have done was warn me.’
This is the accusation I’ve been dreading.
‘Andrea. It’s not about Rachel. I promise.’
‘That you’re not even surprised I’ve said that tells me everything I need to know.’
‘Andrea, Iswear—’
‘Do you think I’m stupid?’
‘Of course not. You’re the opposite of stupid.’ I crouch down in front of her, try to take her hands. But she shifts away from me.
‘Did you imagine I wasn’t going to figure it out?’
‘Andrea. You have to listen to me. That book isn’t about Rachel.’
‘God. Even now, you can’t admit it. Which means you’re either deluded, or a liar. And don’t even get me started on going to her father’s funeral. And wearing the watch she gave you. And your wedding ring, for nearly a full decade after you broke up. And so on, and so on. Well, good luck trying to win her back, I guess. You know it’s actually kind of pathetic?’
Her words hit me like bullets, one after the other. ‘Okay. Look. I’m sorry. I know there’s boundaries that have been crossed, and I accept that. I get that I’ve been insensitive at times. But it was never intentional. Hurting you is the last thing I want, Andrea.’
‘Is murder still bad if you apologise?’
Assuming this to be rhetorical, I stare miserably down at her packed bags. ‘Please don’t go.’
Apparently unmoved, she folds her arms. ‘Why not?’
‘Because. I love you. I don’t want to lose you. Because I’ve felt more comfortable, more myself, with you than I have with anyone in a really long time.’
‘Well, I’m afraid I wasn’t put on this earth to make you feelcomfortable, Josh.’
‘That isn’t what I meant. Could we at least just take a moment and talk about this? Why don’t we get some sleep, and go out for breakfast tomorrow? Just the two of us, no phones, and we can talk.’
She gazes at me for a long moment. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Please just give me a chance to—’
‘I’m not in the habit of seeking out public humiliation. And that’s what publication of this book will be for me.’
I shut my eyes. ‘That’s not what I’m trying to do. I swear. I love you, Andrea.’
‘So why have you been at pains to stop me reading that manuscript?’
