‘The more trauma the better,’ he says, and there’s that wince again, followed immediately by the pinch in his own heart.
‘I was thinking the opposite,’ she says. ‘I was thinking that maybe what this narrative needs is for us to lean a little harder on the romance.’
He’s been expecting this. He’s surprised it hasn’t come sooner. They’ve explored plot lines with marriages in trouble, with feuding friends reconciling, with one passenger thinking about his long-ago lost love as he plunged, he assumed, to his death. It’s bad enough that they’ve had to pair up a couple of passengers. So obvious. A little cinematic, and not in a good way – in an angling-for-a-film-deal kind of way. And now Jess seems to be suggesting that she wants to dig deeper into their story. Surely, she’s not going to suggest a third-act breakup and a grand gesture at the end? He knows, though, that in pairing him with Jess in the first place, this is exactly the kind of thing Nathan had in mind. Alex takes a deep breath in, then a slow breath out, aware of Jess watching him intently as he does so.
‘Okay,’ he says eventually.
‘Okay?’
‘In exchange for some additional trauma.’
Her turn, now, to breathe in deeply; his turn towatch her as various emotions cross her face: fear, thoughtfulness, resignation. Something like the stages of grief.
‘Deal,’ she says. ‘It’s only fair. We can at least try.’
He hadn’t expected her to agree so readily.
‘We’re really only at the drafting stage,’ she says. ‘Who knows what Nathan will cut. We might as well throw everything at the wall and see what sticks.’
Ah. This explains it. Jess is clearly aware that Nathan won’t cut the romance. She might, however, think he’ll cut some of the near death, the injury, the heartbreak. But Alex knows he won’t. Trauma is, after all, where Alex shines – ‘intricate examination of the psychology of suffering’ is a phrase that has been used in reviews of his novels. ‘Insightful empathy,’ another. This is what his fans come to him for. Romance – not so much. But maybe Nathan is right: maybe romance will bring Jess’s fans along for the ride. Maybe this book will be his most successful yet, the one that entices a whole new audience. The key will be to tread delicately, so as not to alienate his original readers.
But Alex also knows the pain of editing. The pain that Jess feels when a character is plunged into hot water is the pain he feels when a carefully drawn character is removed or an intricately plotted storyline is cut. Editing is a logistical nightmare for a thoughtfully written book, the kind where each part of the plot links together, each character’s storyline propelling the others’. Removing planks is intellectual Jenga, requiring just as much care. If you edit out the wrong thing, the whole structure crumbles, even when that thing does not appear to befoundational. Weaving in new plotlines isn’t without its risks or its difficulties. So it’s best if once they’re in, they’re in for good.
‘I’m fairly certain the added trauma will stick,’ he says. It will have to.
‘We’ll see.’ She’s smirking; she knows that in some sense she has won. And their old rivalry – the chemistry of that competitiveness – is back. He relishes this. It seems less dangerous than other kinds of chemistry, and almost, though not quite, as enjoyable. It’s going to be a good session, he can tell already – brainstorming new angles for the plot, maybe zooming in on characters who until now had only been in the background.
In his pocket, his phone vibrates. Should he ignore it? He should probably ignore it. Allow the creative buzz he can feel bubbling in the pit of his stomach to take over the afternoon, enjoy the creative process with Jess. But when – aside from those addle-brained days in Godalming – has he ever been able to ignore a ringing phone? It could be someone from his family. Someone might need him.
Jess is looking at him, waiting for him to continue their verbal sparring. Expectant. And he very much wants to be able to concentrate on that. But he knows he can’t concentrate until he has picked up his phone and at leastcheckedit’s nothing urgent.
‘Hold that thought,’ he says to her, and reaches into his pocket. His heart sinks when he sees the name: Francesca. Sister number three. ‘I’m sorry,’ he tells Jess. ‘I have to take this.’ He doesn’t focus on her face; he doesn’t want to see the disappointment there, doesn’twant to see her wish he would give her his full attention, when that’s all he wants to do himself. He stands up from the table, paces a little until he finds a spot in a recessed corner.
‘Hello,’ he says into the phone, and has to stop himself from adding,What do you want?But once Francesca starts speaking, he softens. He loves all his siblings; he can’t say no to any of them. They all know this. Do they take advantage? Maybe. But is he glad they do? Also maybe.
‘Hey,’ she says. ‘How’s my favourite big brother?’
‘I’m fine, thank you,’ he says, evenly. Instead of,I’m a little annoyed that you’ve interrupted this moment, actually. ‘You?’
‘Oh, you know.’ She laughs, but he can tell it’s forced, an attempt at bringing light-heartedness into a stressful moment. And he knows there are a lot of stressful moments in Francesca’s life, that she barely has time to breathe, let alone eat or shower, with three under-fives at home. She’s logged dozens, if not hundreds, of hours at A&E for asthma attacks and various injuries sustained through overly rambunctious play. ‘Never a dull moment around here.’
‘I’m guessing you’d saw off your right arm for a dull moment.’
Another laugh, this one even hollower. ‘Any chance you’re free to babysit on Saturday? It’s our anniversary, and Steve wants us to go out.’
He notes the phrasing of this –Steve wants us to– and imagines that the last thing Francesca feels like doing on Saturday is squeeze her still-tender body intoa pre-pregnancy dress, put on some uncomfortable heels, and apply some make-up in-between pumping milk for that evening’s bottle and soothing her eldest, promising him that Mummy and Daddy will be back before he knows it and Uncle Alex will take good care of him in the meantime. She has obviously decided to pick her battles, though, and to do whatever is necessary to ensure her marriage doesn’t splutter and die, suffocated by nappies, Calpol and unending piles of laundry. And if she can do that in her sleep-deprived state, of course he can help out for a few chaotic hours. Francesca knows this, and Alex knows she knows it.
Plus, he can’t think of a single reason to say no. What else would he be doing? Writing? Brainstorming with Jess? He spends three-quarters of his time doing one or the other of those as it is. And although he doesn’t love the chaos of small children, he loves his nieces and nephews, and he loves his sister.
‘I’m sure that can be arranged,’ he says.
‘Thank you.’ He hears palpable relief in her voice. The stakes for this dinner might have been higher than he’d realised.
Back at the table, he apologises profusely for the interruption, catching Jess’s gaze and holding it. Trying to communicate,Let’s get back to where we were, banter-wise.
‘Everything okay?’ she asks, her frown communicating concern and readying itself for empathy.
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Just been called up for emergency babysitting, that’s all.’
