Ghostwriting (4 page)

My best friend — my editor

Ghostwriting

SUE WAS THREE when I met her and has been my dearest friend for the thirty-something years we have known each other since then. Every major event in my life she has witnessed, and in every endeavour and with every achievement she has been there to support me and hold my hand. She has accompanied me on many a wondrous journey both actual and imaginary. If not for her, my passion for storytelling wouldn't have developed and may never have been realised. For ten years Sue was the only soul who knew of my talent.

I have made a point of letting my readers know about my D in English on my School Certificate. I can't spell, I wouldn't read, I was dyslexic and a rebel to boot.

Sue was the reason that I first put pen to paper, because when she went overseas, I had no one to tell my tales to and Sue had no one who could tell her stories. She rang to suggest that I try writing a story
down and posting it to her. The tale was truly terrible and I didn't write more than ten pages. Soon after, however, I wrote my first full-length manuscript,
Everything We Know
which became my first full-length film script (more about the films later).

As I underwent the transformation from storyteller to story writer, so did Sue transform from eager listener to frustrated reader. After browsing over the first sentence of my second serious manuscript, she said, ‘Better get me a red pen.'

Sue's blood, sweat and tears are strewn throughout the pages of
The Ancient Future
, thanks to her battle to correct my spelling misconceptions and re-teach me the English language. She also taught me how to stick to the flow by making huge cuts to the text! The only reward for all her hard work was the good belly laughs some of my more creative spelling mistakes and Freudian slips have given her over the years. This is why
The Ancient Future
is dedicated to her.

After many years of working in the arts, Sue returned to university to complete courses in Visual Art and Earth Sciences where she achieved Distinctions in both.

Her studies have been put on hold for the moment. In December 2001 I attended the birth of Sue's first child, a baby daughter who she named Madeleine. Now Sue has a whole new learning experience into which to channel her energies.

Sue never dreamt of being an editor, but she's stuck with editing my work now. One day, when Sue finishes studying and parenting, and settles on a calling in life, I hope there will be an opportunity to return all the favours that she has done for me in my lifetime. She never doubted I could make it as an author, she never doubted that I could do anything! I've never doubted her either.

 

‘Ghostwriting' was first published in June 2000, in an anthology entitled
Mystery, Magic, Voodoo and the Holy Grail
. My agent, Selwa Anthony, gave me the title and asked me to write a tale, but the story itself had been brewing for a long time before Selwa gave me the reason to pen it.

The idea was derived from one of my own worst fears — dying and leaving a manuscript unfinished. I imagined my restless ghost plaguing poor Sue to finish the manuscript.

With this in mind I really had to dedicate this story to Sue, even though she was not all that inspired by it on the first read. She said it was the radical mood swings of the heroine that annoyed her, but I know it was the subtle nightmare underlining the premise of the story that bothered her most.

Stage One: Shock

AMY REALLY DIDN'T want to be at this wake. The question on everybody's lips was, ‘Is the manuscript complete?' Amy was the only living soul who knew the answer, and as that was common knowledge, she was doing her best to fade into the background. ‘No comment' was the standard response recommended by Olivia Clairmond's agent and solicitors, and Amy was happy to follow their advice.

Even as Olivia's editor, Amy wasn't entirely sure if the renowned author and spiritualist had finished her long-awaited novel,
The Grail Seduction
, before she'd unexpectedly up and died. Since finding her employer keeled over the box containing the precious manuscript, Amy hadn't found the time to go searching for the missing summary chapter. Amy
knew Olivia had been working on the conclusion, and she still felt confident of finding it amidst the paper jungle in the author's office.

With a glass of red wine in hand, Amy was leaning comfortably in a quiet corner, partially hidden by a large palm tree. But even this extreme measure did not conceal her from Asta Martin's hawk-eyes.

‘They're like vultures,' commented Asta, moving to share Amy's hiding spot. ‘I don't know how much longer we're going to be able to keep them in suspense.'

Amy averted her eyes; now even Olivia's agent was on her case. Wasn't anybody here to actually grieve the passing of this great woman? True, Olivia had few close friends, mainly due to her constant travelling in the pursuit of knowledge. But her investigations into the nature of being and human awareness had inspired countless people the world over. Amy wasn't too sure she believed everything Olivia put forward in her texts, but editing her work always gave Amy plenty of food for thought.

‘I'll get to the search first thing in the morning, Asta, just like I promised.'

‘Amy, sweetie, I wasn't having a go at you,' Asta assured her. Taking up one of Amy's hands and squeezing it, she smiled warmly. ‘You take all the time you need, I'll keep the scavengers at bay.'

Amy returned Asta's smile with one not quite so heartfelt.

Suddenly Amy's eyes skipped to the door. Asta followed her gaze to discover the source of her distraction.

A young man, dressed in comfortable, colourful clothes, stood in the doorway. His beaming smile lit up the room as he entered, and an air of happiness and goodwill accompanied him into their midst.

‘That's Olivia's son, Liam,' Asta observed. ‘Have you met?'

‘Briefly, before the service.' Amy's sights remained fixed on the young man as her smile warmed. ‘All these years I've worked for Olivia, and I never knew her son was so gorgeous. I saw pictures, but …' Amy gave a shrug, motioning to Liam with a dumbfounded look on her face. ‘You can't capture what he has on film. It has to be experienced firsthand.'

‘Much like his mother,' Asta added.

‘He's not married, is he?' Amy couldn't resist having a snoop, and Asta was sure to know.

A sympathetic frown wrinkled Asta's brow. ‘Sadly, no.' She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘I think he's gay. Don't quote me on that,' Asta spoke openly once more, ‘but it's more than likely.'

Amy wasn't about to take that observation as gospel. ‘Is that what Olivia told you? Or do you say that because he's a ballet dancer?'

‘No.' Asta dropped her voice to a whisper again as she spied Liam heading their way. ‘It's
just that I've only ever seen him accompanied by men.' Asta gave a firm nod, before turning to address Olivia's son.

‘Liam, my sweet.' Asta took hold of both his hands, then kissed his cheek. ‘You're putting on such a brave front.'

‘It's not a front,' he informed her honestly, the large smile never leaving his face. Liam's piercing ice-blue eyes turned Amy's way. ‘Here's the woman I've been looking for.'

Amy was pleasantly surprised to hear this.

‘I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to steal you away for a moment,' he announced, taking hold of Amy's hand.

Amy was wondering at this point if she'd fallen asleep in the corner and was dreaming up this marvellous little development in an otherwise miserable day.

‘Excuse us.' Begging their leave with a slight bow for Asta's benefit, Liam guided Amy out from behind the plant, and the way he did this made it seem as if they were going to tango, rather than walk from a room full of mourners. ‘After you.' He motioned for Amy to take the lead.

Stage Two: Denial

In the huge library of Olivia's mansion, Amy was greeted by afternoon tea for two.

‘I could get you a stiff drink, if you'd prefer.' Liam had noted Amy's bemused expression as he closed the door behind them.

‘No.' She was quick to correct his misconception. ‘A cup of tea is exactly what I need.' Amy, feeling herself going weak in the knees, took a seat on the lounge beside the box that contained Olivia's manuscript. Not that Amy noticed the box. She was far more interested in this mysterious gypsy in flowing robes come to save her from this nightmare.

Everything about Liam was so completely unexpected, even the fact that Amy found him attractive. He was, you might say, too good-looking, too confident, too fit, too open — everything Amy usually found suspect in a man — but he also radiated a kind of presence that eliminated any doubt one might have about him. Amy felt Liam was quite genuinely too good to be true.

He must be gay, she decided, or some lucky woman would have snatched him up by now.

Liam took a seat on the lounge opposite her and poured the tea. ‘I have something that belongs to you,' he said, gesturing toward the box.

‘What?' Amy was horrified, knowing how much the manuscript was bound to fetch. ‘Don't be ridiculous.'

‘Did you happen to look at the box on the morning you found my mother?' Liam inquired
casually, as he placed Amy's tea in front of her on the table.

‘Well …' Amy considered the question rather odd. ‘No … I was not quite myself that day, I —'

‘Look at it now,' Liam urged. ‘There, on the lid.'

In the place he indicated, Amy found her name scribbled, or at least part thereof. AMY FIN it said.

‘That is what Mother was writing when she died,' Liam said. ‘The marker was still in her hand when the paramedics got here. Apparently she wanted you to have this manuscript.'

Amy was forced to laugh. ‘I really don't think she valued my services that much.' When she'd recovered from the shock of the suggestion, she adopted a more serious tone. ‘You're the one entitled to all of Olivia's royalties. She left them to you.'

‘But not this book,' he corrected, ever so politely. ‘Or she would have scribbled my name on the box.'

Amy, still not convinced, shook her head.

‘Well, there is one other possibility, of course.' Liam took a sip of his tea, stalling to give Amy a chance to realise what that other possibility was.

Amy simply shrugged so that Liam would come out with it.

‘Since you have yet to find the last chapter of the book, perhaps Mother was trying to write AMY FINISH — finish the manuscript?'

‘No!' Amy stood, so panicked by the suggestion that she felt the urge to flee. ‘No way. I couldn't
possibly. Olivia was a spiritual guru.' Amy raised a hand to the heavens, then dropped it heavily at her side. ‘I'm … I'm just her editor.'

‘Hey, time out.' Liam had not expected Amy's reaction to be this adverse and so he rose to calm her. ‘I thought that inside every editor there was a writer dying to get out. I didn't mean to alarm you.'

Amy felt foolish then; she had overreacted.

The final chapter of Olivia's damn book had felt like a looming curse ever since it had been discovered missing. Poor Liam was not to know he had voiced her deepest fear.

‘Well, I guess there's no need to warn you that I'm prone to unexpected mood swings.' She smiled, attempting humour, although it was true that her moods were somewhat erratic. She then seated herself.

‘It was just a thought I had, nothing more. I'm sure you'll find the summary in Mother's office somewhere.' Liam returned to his seat and his tea. ‘And if you do, the manuscript belongs to you. If you don't find the elusive chapter, then I suppose all rights revert to me, agreed?'

Amy was both disturbed and delighted by this proposal. ‘That doesn't sound like a very good deal for you,' she chuckled, thinking his line of reasoning absurd. ‘The rights revert to you anyway.'

‘What a cop-out.' He shook his head, faking a disappointed expression. ‘Do you know what my mother's greatest fear was? To die leaving a —'

‘Manuscript unfinished!' Amy stood, enraged; that knowledge had been plaguing her too. ‘Right, that does it! I'm going to find that bloody chapter.' She set off upstairs toward Olivia's office.

Four hours later the wake was over, the mourners had departed and the missing chapter was still at large.

Tired and tormented, Amy rested her head on the desk, conceding defeat.

‘I'm sure it's here somewhere, we've just got to keep looking.' Liam tried to sound encouraging. ‘But not tonight, hey? Fortunately, the director of the production I was performing in managed to find a replacement for me at short notice, so I'm in Sydney for a couple of weeks. It will probably take me that long to get Mother's affairs in order, so be my guest for as long as you need. I'm sure you'll find what you're looking for tomorrow and then you can edit it, hand it in and make yourself a killing. Sound good?'

Amy looked up at Liam in disbelief. Where did his never-ending supply of good cheer come from? He'd buried his mother this afternoon and yet he showed not a trace of grief. ‘Are you okay, Liam? You're not one of those people who hide their negative emotions under a smokescreen of confidence and charisma, are you?'

Liam had to laugh at this. ‘What a question!'

Amy immediately wanted to retract it. ‘Sorry.'

‘I'm not suddenly going to spin out on you, if that's what you mean.'

‘It isn't,' she assured him. ‘I just want to make sure that you're okay with Olivia's death.'

‘Of course I'm okay with it. She's allowed to die, isn't she?'

Amy was puzzled. ‘But won't you miss her?'

Liam shrugged, casting his sights around the cluttered office. ‘She's still hanging around.'

A chill came over Amy as he said this, and she noted how dimly lit the room was and how quiet.

‘She could never rest in peace with this final chapter unresolved.' Liam noticed Amy was looking spooked. ‘Sorry, am I scaring you?'

‘A little,' she confessed.

Liam clapped his hands together to dispel the eerie mood he'd created, and his beaming smile returned. ‘I haven't put you off staying, have I? It seems silly for you to have to come back in the morning when you're already here.'

Amy shied away from the idea. ‘I haven't any clothes and —'

‘You can borrow mine,' he insisted.

‘Are all your things so …' she screwed up her nose, ‘bright?'

Liam nodded, figuring that Amy wore black all the time and that it wasn't just a mourning thing. ‘You know what they say about people who feel the need to always wear black?'

Amy shook her head. ‘What do they say?'

‘They either have absolutely no idea where they're at, or they have total command of their life … Which are you?'

After a thought Amy laughed. ‘I think I need to get some new clothes.' Then, resigning herself to accepting his kind offer, she said, ‘Thank you, I will stay.'

Stage Three: Anger

After a late dinner and a couple of hours in Liam's company, Amy was too full of food, drink and merriment to be bothered about Olivia's ghost. She collapsed into bed around midnight and was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

The following morning Liam went into the city to attend classes, and Amy set to her quest. A cup of tea in hand, she climbed the stairs to Olivia's office, located in the mansion's large attic room.

Four equilateral triangles rose to form a pyramid structure in the ceiling. Due to this, the walls were of minimal height and so were the windows. Double French doors at one end allowed some natural light to penetrate the room. Through these, a little balcony overlooked the surrounding houses to the harbour and city beyond.

Amy opened the doors to air the room, and switched on the overhead light. She was of a mind to
start at one end of the office and systematically sift her way through every little slip of paper until she found the pages she sought.

But as the hours passed, Amy's optimism dwindled and the anxious feeling she'd had since Olivia's death seethed in her stomach, twisting it into knots. By the time she'd sorted her way through to the desk, Amy was completely exasperated.

‘Goddamn it.' The tears started to well. ‘Those pages have to be here.' Frustrated, Amy reached the bottom of the paper pile on the desk and discarded the whole lot on to the floor. On the beautiful mahogany desk, now cleared of its clutter, Amy spied an irregularity in the lovely polished finish. Focusing more closely on the black marks, she realised it was marker scribble, much like that on the top of the box containing the manuscript. Amy began to tremble as she made out the jagged letters ‘ISH'.

 

Liam was struggling through the door, juggling his dance bag, keys and a couple of bags of groceries, when Amy came charging down the main staircase and began rummaging blindly through her handbag for her car keys.

‘What's happened?' Liam dropped everything to block her escape. ‘Are you all right?'

Amy did her best to avoid him, but when she couldn't get past she backed up. ‘I'm being set up and I don't want any part of it. Olivia would never
have entrusted me to complete her greatest work! Hell, I couldn't delete a comma without consulting her first. She hated the way I reworded her sentences and she never supported my aspirations to be a writer.' Amy panted in the wake of her little outburst, taking a moment to get a grip. ‘Sorry, that had to be said … I feel better now.'