I see from your letter that your writing background is primarily in newspapers and non-fiction periodicals, which does rather come across in your work. The prose is spare, clean and readable, and you write emotion well where it is included, but I did feel that I would like to venture more into Lindy’s head at times. I have taken the liberty of noting these on your manuscript. I would be grateful if you could return the revised draft along with the enclosed contract under our standard terms, which commissions another five stories in the Lindy series. Should these prove popular with readers, as I do not doubt they will, I would be very keen to discuss the possibility of a serial. Do let me know when you and your agent (if you have one) would be free to visit my offices in London.
Once I have received your revised manuscript, I will arrange for the other half of your payment to be sent to you.
Sincerely,
Phyllis Flagg (Mrs)
Editress,The Girl’s Own Paper
Bobby almost swooned for the second time that afternoon when she read ‘the other half of your payment’. She snatched up the contract that had been enclosed with her manuscript.
Yes, it was true. The fee was to beeight poundsper story for first publication rights, whatever that meant – eight pounds each! And they wanted another five stories, and a Lindy serial to follow perhaps. That meant nearly fifty pounds for the storiesin total, and who knew how much for the serial? Bobby could hardly imagine such riches.
She didn’t know what to do. Her heart was jumping about like a mad thing. She started pacing the room.
She needed to lie down. No, no she didn’t. She needed to get an agent. The letter said she ought to have one. Where did one find agents? Was there some equivalent of a marriage bureau for writers where they paired you with one? What to do, what to do! Should she walk to the Bull, where they had a telephone, and ring up Charlie at work? Oh Lord, she was all of a flutter! It was like a dream, but it was real. It was real, and it was happening to her, now. Marmaduke was squirming inside her, as if he, too, was fidgeting with excitement.
A glance at her watch showed her she couldn’t telephone Charlie, as he’d be on the bus back from Skipton. Still, she had to tellsomeone– right away, this instant. She might burst if she didn’t.
Not even bothering to change out of her pinny and headscarf, Bobby threw on her overcoat and hurried to her sister’s.
Chapter 32
It took Bobby rather longer these days to walk the half-mile to Cow House Cottage. She hadn’t realised how much she relied on Charlie’s arm for support until she reached the packhorse bridge and had to stop to catch her breath.
She felt like she weighed a million tons. If she had been thinking clearly, it might have occurred to her to commission one of the boys playing football near her cottage to take a note over for a sixpence fee, and get Lilian to come to her. But she had been too impatient to wait.
She knew her sister would be in. It was Tuesday, the night of Tony’s Home Guard parade. Lilian always made sure she was at home to prepare his sandwiches and Thermos.
Bobby frowned as she descended the track to the cow house, however. Even at the top, she could tell that there was an almighty racket coming from the place. The door stood open, and sounds drifted out to her – raised voices, the baby screaming. The voices belonged to Tony and Lil. And there was something on the ground outside – some sort of animal, it looked like, although it wasn’t moving. What on earth could be going on?
Bobby sped up, at least as much as she was able to. She wondered Reg and Mary hadn’t come out to investigate. The row must be audible from Moorside. She wouldn’t be surprised if it could be heard even as far as the Parrys’ house.
No sooner had she thought of the Parrys than a pale, frightened face belonging to Jess peeped round the cow house door. When she caught sight of Bobby, she came running up the track and flung herself into her arms.
‘Jess, sweetheart, what on earth is going on?’ Bobby asked, hugging her tightly.
‘It’s Mr Scott,’ Jess whispered. ‘He’s gone mad, Bobby. He keeps shouting and shouting. I ain’t never heard him shout before. Aunty Lil told me and Florrie to take Annie over to Mary, only Mary ain’t in, nor Reg. And Dad’s gone out in town with that Miss Simpson so he ain’t in either. He was supposed to come for us soon. I was looking to see if he was coming and I saw you.’
‘Where’s Florrie?’
‘She’s watching Annie. Aunty Lil told her to. But Annie won’t stop crying and Mr Scott won’t stop shouting and me and Florrie don’t know what to do.’
All thoughts of the exciting news that had filled her brain moments ago had been forgotten now. Bobby took the child’s hand and hurried with her to the cow house. As she drew closer, she saw that what she had taken to be a sleeping dog was in fact Lilian’s fur coat.
‘Oh God, no,’ she muttered.
She could hear what Tony and her sister were saying now.
‘Just tell me how long it’s been going on,’ Tony was demanding.
‘Tony, please, not in front of the children. Calm down and we’ll discuss it sensibly.’
Tony gave a hollow laugh. ‘Sensibly! Bit late for being sensible, don’t you think?’
Bobby hurried in with Jess. Florrie was there, white and frightened, with the screaming Annie in her arms. Tony was standing over Lilian in his Home Guard battledress, white with rage and hurt.
‘What on earth is going on?’ Bobby demanded. ‘I could hear you yelling halfway over the bridge, Tony.’
