‘Look, Alex.’ Nathan twists his wedding ring, clockwise and then anticlockwise. In other men – men like Alex – a gesture like this might reveal suppressed anxiety or marital trouble. But Nathan is one of the most confident people Alex knows, and one of the most happily married.I pray every day for you to have what I have, Nathan had said to him after too many glasses of prosecco at his second book launch, nodding in the direction of his wife, Priya. For Nathan, playing with a wedding ring is just playing with a wedding ring. That simplicity, that innocence – they are things Alex deeply admires. Maybe even envies, if he’s entirely honest.
‘I know it’s hard,’ Nathan says now. ‘You’ve written these brilliant books, and you’ve spoken out aboutnot believing in writer’s block, and now here you are, having taken four years to finish a book because you’ve struggled with writer’s block. I know you hate asking for help. I know you hate accepting it when it’s being offered to you. But I also know you wouldn’t want to put anything out into the world that isn’t your best work – isn’t as good as you can possibly make it. And here I am, offering you a solution. Offering you, potentially, a lucrative book deal for the next novel, if you can get the nuances of this one right.’
What Nathan isnotsaying is abundantly clear: their continued partnership is also at stake. This stings Alex perhaps more than anything else – the idea that he could be dropped not only by his publisher, but by one of his oldest friends. Partnering with Nathan in his writing career has had nothing but upsides for both of them until now – aside, that is, from the creeping, niggling fear that Alex has, at best, jumped the queue by knowing the right people, that he’s a nepo-writer of sorts. Now he is seeing other issues: the fear of letting Nathan down, of disappointing him and even, perhaps, being exposed as a fraud to him. Anyone can write three great books. That’s just dumb luck. But if you can’t sustain it for the long term, did you ever really know what you were doing? Was Nathan right to take a risk on him?
Besides which, more prosaically, royalties from his last three books can’t keep him fed and watered forever. There have been translation deals in Italy, Germany, even in the difficult-to-crack literary market that is France; this past year, he received the maximum amountallowed from the British library system on the basis of how many people have borrowed his books. But all of that, he knows, will eventually slow to a trickle. He might have to give up skiing trips. He might have to eat out less often, forgo the black daal from Dishoom which he likes to consume no less than monthly. He might even have to move away from Hampstead, and that can’t be countenanced.
So he sighs, and he says, ‘Fine.’ And then he says, ‘But I can’t be held responsible for my actions.’
There’s that smile again, at the corner of Nathan’s lips. ‘Deal,’ he says, holding out his hand for Alex to shake.
‘Deal,’ he replies, against his better judgment.
Chapter Five
Jess
All day, Jess feels unsettled. The builders have mercifully paused whatever torture they’re inflicting on the walls next door, but still, she is just as distracted as if a drill were currently perforating her brain. Her latest book review is coming out flat, uninspired, when this particular book deserves so much better. It deserves to fly off the shelves, and Jess wants her review to inspire that kind of shopping spree. But all she has is a load of clichés – clichés, in fact, likeflying off the shelves.
It’s no mystery why she’s so frazzled. She’s tried all her usual techniques to move past how she felt in the meeting with Nathan – patronised, rejected, disbelieved, with hope waved in front of her eyes and then immediately withdrawn when it became clear Alex couldn’t work with her. She’s put on her favourite feel-good 90s playlist full of the songs she and her mum used to dance around the house to when she was growing up. She’s looked at TikToks of Europe’s most beautiful train journeys. She’s clicked around Pinterest, looking for inspiration for her next holiday, the one she’s hoping to convince her best friend Lily totake with her before – after three years of marriage – she inevitably disappears off into the land of People With Children.
And still, Alex’s words and attitude bother her. It bothers her that he looks down on romance, even though she should be used to this kind of attitude in the book world by now. It bothers her that he doesn’t seem to understand the role of humour in fiction, and in life. And it bothers her that this cutie from the bookshop has turned out not to be the man of her dreams, after all.
It’s probably for the best. He’s older than her – she’d have guessed thirty-three, but Google has put her right: he’s thirty-five. The dimple she’s seen in photos gives him a boyish feel, and ridiculous elbow patches notwithstanding, he looks good for his age – for any age – with no sign of hair loss or male pattern baldness. A little bit of grey, perhaps, but if anything, the salt-and-pepper specks in his almost-black hair are annoyingly attractive. He’ll be wanting, no doubt, to settle, to have kids. She’s only twenty-eight, and not ready for that yet. True, the hustling for freelance gigs and the running around the country to bookshops events and festivals can get a little stressful, a little exhausting. It’s also true that in the not-too-distant past, she’d stood inside Waterstones in front of a face-out copy of Sophie Kinsella’sThe Burnout, swallowing back the prickle of inconvenient tears which she managed to stave off with the hasty booking of a solo holiday to Corfu. But she’s not ready for the settling, for the kids. It feels like there are more adventures to be had out there in the big wide world first.
Yes, it’s definitely for the best that Alex isn’t The One. But it still bothers her that the universe played this cruel trick. There were choirs of angels, after all. Does that not count for anything anymore?
Thank goodness for Lily, who has responded to her SOS WhatsApp with a good-natured series of GIFs and an invitation for dinner.Gareth’s out at a work thing this evening, she’s written.I’ll make you your favourite pasta dish and we can talk, or watchThe Great British Sewing Bee, or haveThe Great British Sewing Beeon in the background while we talk. Whatever you like.
Lily, as always, is a gem.
As promised, Lily has made what she calls her Magic Pasta – magic because it’s so simple, yet so tasty. She refuses to divulge exactly what’s in it – beyond bacon, courgette, cream, herbs of some kind – even though it has now served its ostensible purpose: she’d always said the only way to get the recipe was to marry her, and Gareth had taken her at her word. Lily made it for him on their third date, and now here we are, four years later, Lily successfully coupled up, Jess still begging for the recipe so that she can work her own magic on an unsuspecting man.
She takes a deep breath and begins this particular instalment of recipe begging.
‘So,’ Jess says, twirling her fork in the linguine. ‘I thought I’d found a worthy recipient of your find-a-husband pasta.’
‘Magic Pasta,’ Lily corrects. On this, she is very particular. The proper terminology must be adhered to.
‘Magic, find-a-husband pasta.’
Lily takes a sip of wine, perhaps fortifying herself. ‘I feel we’re getting sidetracked onto your usual pleas for my recipe. Tell me about this worthy recipient.’
Jess has saved all the crucial information for a conversation in person. Her WhatsApp was deliberately cryptic. ‘Not worthy, as it turns out.’
‘Okay.’
‘I almost got a book deal today.’ It is only a slight exaggeration of the facts. And Jess has always wanted to say, ‘I got a book deal.’ This is close enough.
‘That sounds exciting. But what doesalmostmean?’
‘It’s a long story.’
In preparation, Lily refills their wine glasses, and then Jess talks. She is aware of the length of her own monologue, and regularly checks Lily’s eyes for signs of glazing over, but she seems to be following, with appropriateoohsandaahsand cries of,That’s outrageous, and,How could the universe be so cruel?
‘But you’re going to do this, right?’ Lily says, once Jess pauses for breath and a large swig of Pinot Grigio.
Jess looks at her sternly, thewere-you-even-listeninglook that Lily has always called her teacher glare.
