“Alison, hold your horses,we’renot proving—or indeed trying—anything. The mother, Kate, was here purely on an exploratory mission. To be honest, I don’t think the possibility of legal action had even entered her mind until Christine got in her ear...”
“Good old coz. If there’s a tile loose on the path, you can bet Christine will find someone to stumble over it.”
“Stop it, she’s not that bad. But, for once, I’m thinking she might be right with this one. Kate’s daughter almost died, and she still might. And when you think it could have been prevented...”
“Jesus, this is why I hate these freakin’ hippy conspiracy theorists. You know me, I’m all about personal liberty, but honestly, they should all be rounded up and forced to take a needle themselves. Grr.”
Declan had to smile. “Don’t hold back on saying what you really think, Allie. One thing’s for sure, though, with something like this, there are bound to be some very strong opinions on either side.”
“It’ll be amazing! Parents up and down the country will be going nuts over it. The media’ll be salivating, the Health Service will be hand-wringing and the internet will probably explode! Oh, Declan, you have to do it.”
He sighed deeply and ran his hands through his hair. Glancing out the window, he said, “It’s not that. I wouldn’t be looking at this as a way of raising my profile. It’s something else. I don’t know how to describe it...” He swallowed hard. Declan especially didn’t want to try to explain this to his sister. “It’s the mother, Kate.” He looked down as he said the name and then glanced up to meet Alison’s eyes. She was giving him a warning look. “No, it’s not like that.”
He knew that she was thinking in the most basic of interpretations: that Declan was attracted to Kate. Not that Kate was unattractive, but the woman was going through unimaginable suffering.
“Obviously, she’s really vulnerable at the moment, but there’s something else, too. She’s tough. And honestly, she’s been dealt a shit hand.” He recounted to Alison all about Kate’s husband, her job situation, the whole nine yards. “I want to help her. And for some reason I sort of feel...responsible...for helping her get out of this. She said earlier that she wasn’t a victim, and I believe her. I just wonder how many times you can get kicked when you’re down before that spirit becomes broken. What’s more, she didn’t come in here guns blazing and looking for immediate recompense the way that most people do when they feel they’ve been wronged. If anything, she’s skeptical and hesitant about the process. And I do feel that she—and certainly her daughter—truly have been wronged in this situation. And I want her to feel that she has someone in her corner. If this is what she wants to do, that is.”
Declan sat back in his chair and cupped his chin in his hand, trying to decide if there was more to say. He was struggling to find the words.
Alison raised her eyebrows. “I’d forgotten about your Knight in Shining Armor complex.”
He waved off her words. “No, it’s not like that. I really do feel that this is definitely a case worth exploring. It sounds like Kate’s heading for a tough future, assuming her daughter comes out of this even halfway OK. And based on what I learned about her this morning—” he paused a little, realizing he was speaking his thoughts aloud at this point “—I think she’s going to need an outlet—a distraction of sorts—something to work toward to help her get through it. I could be wrong, but she just strikes me as that kind of person.”
Alison shook her head. “You know, Dec, Dad always said you weren’t suited to law and, for once, I think he was right. Too much of a bleedin’ heart.”
20
Madeleine honestly could not believe it.
She twirled a finger through one of her curls as she listened delightedly on the other end of the phone line. The woman’s name was Joanne, and she was an editor for one of the big UK book publishers with offices in Ireland. And she (along with everyone else in the company, apparently) wanted to publishMad Mum’s articles in book form.
“We’re all just really big fans ofMad Mumand we would absolutely love it if you would consider publishing all your blog posts together in one collection with us.”
Madeleine forced herself to breathe. She was so excited she thought she was going to fall down. “Wow,” she replied. “That is...that is just incredible. I’m a little taken aback, to be honest. This isn’t a joke or something?”
Joanne laughed. “No, Madeleine, this is absolutely on the level. One of our publicity managers has been following your blog since she was on maternity leave last year, and she was talking about you all the time when she came back. Of course, we’ve seen a couple of your appearances onMorning Coffee, which, as I’m sure you know, have had a phenomenal response. We also think you’ve hit a bit of a zeitgeist with your funny, down-to-earth approach to motherhood—women are sick of being lectured to—and we want to introduce your writing to a whole new audience. Which we know we can do in book format. Mother’s Day of next year would be an ideal time to publish with the obvious gift element, but, to be honest, I think it’s the kind of thing that would do well at any time of the year.”
Madeleine was seriously flabbergasted. She’d known that visitor numbers to her blog had spiraled upward following her recent TV slots, but she’d had no idea that her errant ramblings would attract the attention of a top publishing house. It would be amazing to see all of her blog posts and articles together in one tome, let alone see what the kudos of publishing a book would do to her overall profile.
“So what do you think?” Joanne continued. “Naturally, you’ll want some time to think it over. And of course have your agent look over the offer. Do you have someone representing you at the moment, and if not would you like me to make any introductions?”
Crikey. Now an agent was being suggested, too. This really couldn’t have gone any better. All those hours slogging over pieces she had no idea would ever end up being read, let alone cultivate a following like the one she had now. And eventually growing that audience enough to attract offers from businesses. And now, it seemed, publishers.
She relished the thought of a top publicist bringing her name up at an editorial meeting because they, of all people, happened to love her blog.
She wanted to punch the air like a teenager. A really excited teenager. But instead, she took a deep breath and cleared her throat so as to come across like the serious businesswoman she was. “That would be brilliant, Joanne, thank you. This does sound like a very interesting opportunity forMad Mum. And I look forward to reviewing all the details.”
“Absolutely,” agreed Joanne. “And just so you know, I dropped my daughter on the head once, too.” She chuckled. “I think every mother has at one time or another, but none of us were prepared to admit it until now. I’ll have the offer couriered over to your home today as well as a list of contacts for some great Irish agents we work with.”
As she hung up the phone, Madeleine felt like dancing. This was unbelievable!
Her entire day—her entirefuture, even—had changed just like that.
* * *
I scrawled my signature on the line that Declan indicated and then pulled my hand back, as if I had just been burned. I noticed how messy my writing was—usually my cursive script was much more precise and orderly. This looked like it was written by someone else entirely.
Perhaps it had.
