“Darling, I’m sure he was just joking and took it too far. You know what boys are like.” Her nose scrunches and eyebrows flick up, like she’s expecting me to giggle or agree. As I silently brood whilst we walk down the cobble street, her focus is fully on a text conversation. “Fantastic. Willow is with them. She’s going to let us in.” She exclaims cheerily, but upon hearing her friend's name, I instinctively deflate.
“I’m just going to call it a night.” Twirling my hands clumsily, I give up trying to make up an excuse to go home.
Still fully immersed in her text conversation with her other best friend—Satan as Phin calls her—she quickly taps away on the device before stopping in the street. “Rob, sweetie. I know you have your headphones in your bag and an audiobook already downloaded. You’re a nine bedtime kinda gal. Quite frankly I was pushing my luck to get you to stay out this long.”
Scrunching my nose, I chuckle and bring her into me for a hug as we say our goodbyes. I hope she never starts to question how we’re friends, because when I prefer being in bed super early, she’s the biggest night owl I know. She practically skips back to the venue, turning to remind me of our big plans this weekend. I frown because I don’t have the foggiest what she’s referring to. Did I agree to hang out or go to some event this weekend? I bloody hope not. My social battery is close to being fully drained.
Digging in my tote bag where I dumped my phone, I bring it out, only to see that my book agent is ringing me.
Bollocks.
Groaning to a stop in the middle of the street, strangers thin out around me, as I hang my head and hit accept. I can’t put off the inevitable, this phone call needs to happen now becausesince having my debut detective novel published, I’ve come up with absolutely nothing for the next two books I’ve been contracted to write.
“There’s my lovely author. How are you?” Aurora gives off a terrifying Miranda Priestly vibe, unless you’re one of her clients then she’s as soft as a teddy bear buttering you up.
“Oh you know me, drowning in episodes ofPoirot. Not all bad though, it’s given me plenty of inspiration.”
“Fantastic! You crime writers. I forget all you need sometimes is to be one with Agatha Christie and you all suddenly feel fresh as daisies. I’ll be quick—I know you didn’t want any calls today and I am truly sorry. Have we made any progress on that outline for book two?”
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose before I set off walking towards Clifford's tower, my usual route home. Usually I feel so much joy walking through the city of York, everything I need under one polluted sky, free of stars. I don’t mind the rush of people, a busy pace that I’m so used to having to keep up with two particular blonde siblings. They’ve always propelled me forward, but lately it feels like I’m floating, prepared to fall into the next hardship alone. Despite fighting back hard on the whole codependency thing, I’ve wondered if I feel less grounded lately because of Phin's unexpected departure.
Unable to bring myself to be honest with her, I grit my teeth and form a tight smile she can’t even see. “It’s coming together, just working on the crisis in act two and then the resolution will be the same as always. Detective Featherton gathers them in a location to reveal all.”
She hums with approval. “Maybe add distress to the situations this time and don’t be afraid to leave a little cliff hanger in there, tease them for the final book.”
Ah yes, book three.Another novel I have no fucking clue how I’ll write. My debut came together in the span of two years, thewriting process slow for reasons I still struggle to come to terms with. Flashes of blonde hair, darker than his siblings assault me and I want to cower in on myself, my breath hitching the only tell that I’ve been mentally taken somewhere else for a brief moment. Aurora continues to talk about my book deal, terms of my first book tour and once I hand over my outline draft for the second book, the deadline for at least four chapters. I hum and say yes mindlessly, steps picking up on an automatic route home. Dodging drunk students as I go, the buzz of their chatter over music from outside bars fizzles out to the rush of traffic. The grass around the tower is dry and crunchy under my shoes, bringing a smile to my face as I remember all the early mornings sitting up that hill with new friends I eagerly welcomed for once. I wanted the full university experience and this time Phin didn’t even need to make friends for me. I remember heartfelt speeches as we watched the sun rise, colder times watching fireworks and even races. Such simple acts of unconditional joy, from one silly, big hill.
The feel of the city is enough to ground me for now, but I’m pretty sure the turn in conversation would have been enough to bring me crashing back to earth.
“You‘ve already said no to his offer, but Jasper just wants to put the true crime deal back on the table. He wants you to really mull it over. He has that friend at theBBC, you’d probably get a documentary out of it if you wanted.”
Today of all days, I do not want this conversation. “Aurora, I’m not a non-fiction writer. I don’t want to write about true crime, especially not about that.”
“I know, Iknowyou said no initially, but with it being the twentieth anniversary of the case, your story would sell like hot cakes. Please don’t think I’m being insensitive, we all know how hard today must be on you. I arranged for flowers to be sentover. I just really don’t want you to miss out on such a good opportunity to get your name out there and tell your story.”
“My story doesn’t need telling, the case was closed. We all know the outcome.”
She pauses, calculating her next move to get me on board. “What about a survivor twist? Tell the case from your perspective as a child and how it changed your life. We’ve had plenty of emails from different podcasts wanting you on.”
“I’m not going to go on a podcast and talk about how my Mother was murdered whilst I was sleeping down the hall!” I spit, instantly regretting losing my cool and I get a couple of hesitant glances my way as my eyes start to fill.
“Say no more, I’ll tell him to never bring it up again. You’ll have some free slots here and there on the tour, so maybe do look into some podcasts you’d like to feature on for Detective Featherton. Speak next week, once you’re back.” she says chipperly, completely unaware of the turmoil she’s left to fester the streets.
All day I’ve managed to distract myself, because even twenty years later I'll never forget the day my mum was ripped from this earth. It never gets easier and I’ve still not learnt how to get on with my life. I used to think I was but a simple and sensitive creature, but now there is a tough layer plastered to me. A complex labyrinth I can’t help but unleash on anyone who tries to step too close. It took all my courage to send out enquiry emails and thank my stars, I only received a handful of rejections, but with great feedback. Quicker than I ever dreamed I was offered a book deal with my favourite publishing house—they’d wanted my full manuscript out right. My debut was out there in the world, yet even the idea of that same audience being let in on the horrors that fell upon not only me, but Lily’s family too, would just be too much. I could never take the podcast deals, the book or documentary. It would all be too real.
Want to know the suspenseful plot twist? Their mother and my own were both murdered weeks apart by Mr Claythorne; their father. Today is the anniversary of my mum’s death.
With a practised pleasant tone, I wish her goodbye and consider hurling the device over the side of the bridge as I cross it, until it starts to ping repeatedly.
Dramalama:Where are you?
It is past your bedtime young lady.
Has someone managed to drag the eighty year old that usually resides in your body out?
Hellooooooo I can see you’re reading all these messages?
Ok, so I can see you’re out with Lil from her Insta stories. Thanks for the invite.
