‘You know full well what I’m talking about!’
Everyone turned to see why Charlotte was yelling right as I realised exactly what was in her hand. Oh no. Oh no no no no no.
‘Why was the manuscript for the next Este Cox book on your bed?’ she demanded, the crumpled pages in her hand covered in recognisable scribbles and scrawl.
‘It wasn’t on my bed,’ I replied, one foot in the flowerbed, one foot out. ‘It was in a bag, beside the bed.’
‘It was on your bed,’ Joe corrected very quietly. ‘I might have taken it out the bag when you were in the shower and forgot to put it back.’
Mum crossed the garden at lightning speed, wearing her ‘not in front of company’ frown as I attempted to end his life with a glare. ‘Sophie, Lottie, what’s going on?’
‘I have no idea,’ I said, eyeing the stack of A4 in Charlotte’s hands and still waiting for my brain to come back online but it was taking far too long to reboot.
‘There’s only one explanation I can think of,’ my sister challenged, ignoring our mother and stepping forward to flap the manuscript at me, cooling my red face with an accusatory breeze. ‘Are you going to make me say it?’
It was right there, the truth, on the very tip of my tongue. But I couldn’t speak the words, I wasn’t ready.
‘Lottie, please don’t,’ I pleaded softly as Bryan,Carole, CJ and all the rest started to drift down towards us. ‘You’ve got the wrong end of the stick.’
‘Both ends of a stick are the same, Sophie,’ she snipped back. ‘It’s a stick.’
‘What Sophie means is, it’s not her manuscript.’
Joe took a defensive step in front of me, blocking out my irate sister. He glanced over his shoulder to give me a meaningful look but I had no idea what the meaning might be.
‘Then why was it in the cottage?’ Charlotte asked, switching her suspicious stare from me to Joe.
‘Because it’s mine,’ he declared. ‘I’m Este Cox.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
‘I have the manuscript because I’m Este Cox,’ Joe said again, chin lifted high and proud. ‘That’s why it’s in the cottage. It has nothing to do with Sophie.’
The very large, open garden suddenly became very small and very closed in, and I couldn’t seem to fill my lungs with enough air to keep me upright. Joe held out a steadying hand, eyeing me with concern.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
‘No,’ I replied. ‘What are you doing?’
‘You’re Este Cox?’ Charlotte asked before he could reply, big brown eyes bulging out of her head.
Joe pulled back his shoulders to emphasise his majestic stance. ‘That’s right. And I’d appreciate it if you kept it to yourself. As you know, I have chosen to remain anonymous for a reason.’
‘This isn’t happening,’ I muttered, looking for somewhere to put down my wine glass and also myself. My legs weren’t going to hold me up much longer.
‘You wroteButterflies?’ Mum asked as she gently pulled the messy manuscript out of Charlotte’s frozenfingers. I held my breath as she scanned the pages. Surely she would recognise my notes in the margins? Surely she would hear my voice on the page?
‘Yes?’ Joe looked over at me again, sounding slightly less sure of himself this time.
‘And this is the sequel?
‘That’s right.’
She shuffled the pile back into a neat stack and handed it to him. ‘Then this is yours.’
‘But Mum—’ Charlotte protested.
‘But nothing,’ she replied sharply. ‘You shouldn’t have been going through Joe’s things. Or should I say Este’s.’
