Lily
'Caitriona had been gravid with dread for so long and now her fear was made flesh in the fourth baby affected. She did not need any further proof. She knew. She had known for a very long time. This level of cancer was unusually high and something was causing it…'
They were not listening. I was in a bookshop in Sheffield, on my killer three-week promotional tour for
Crystal Clear
and the eighty or so women crammed into the room were inspecting their nails, counting the carpet tiles, planning tomorrow night's supper — anything to while away the boring time until I had finished reading.
I took a quick look at my audience; the cluster of women in their white robes; the trio who had been asked to move to the back of the shop because their tall pointy hats were blocking the view; the gang of friends in the front row all bearing home-made wands, a riot of glitter and fluff. Of course, there were also many ordinary women in the room; however, the over-the-top ones tended to catch the eye.
It had been the same all week: at every reading lots of people had made a big effort to look like something out of
Mimi's Remedies
. But at the risk of sounding ungrateful, I wished they would not. It made me think, What have I created? (And it diverted attention from
Crystal Clear
, the book I was very much hoping they would buy.)
Another bout of restless shifting reached me, perched on my high stool, and I decided to cut the last page of the reading: I had done so on every other night also. I was simply too aghast at their manifest boredom to prolong their agony.
'Caitriona picked up the phone. This call was long overdue…'
I let a little pause build up, to let them know I had finished, then said, 'Thank you,' and quietly lay down the book on the lectern. Polite applause ensued and when it had died away I asked, 'Does anyone have any questions?'
One woman leapt to her feet.
Don't ask it
, I begged.
Please don't ask it
. But of course she asked it. It had been the first question at every reading on every night of the tour.
'Will you be writing another
Mimi's Remedies?'
The approval of the room was almost tangible. Everyone nodded.
I
was going to ask that
, hung in the air, like a whisper.
Good question. Yes, very good question
.
'No,' I said.
'Awwww,' the room went, as one. Their tone was not mere disappointment, but hurt, almost anger. The front-row line of home-made wands waggled in agitation and the three 'witches' at the back removed their pointy hats and held them to their chests, as if showing respect for the dead.
Desperately, I tried to explain how
Mimi's Remedies
had been a one-off, written as a response to being mugged.
'But couldn't you try getting mugged again?' another woman asked. Joking, of course. I think.
'Hahahah,' I said, my smile stapled to my face. 'Any other questions?' I touched the copy of
Crystal Clear
beside me, just to remind them why we were here, but nothing doing. The ensuing questions were all, without exception,
Mimi's Remedies-related
.
'Is Mimi based on you?'
'Is Mimi's town a real place?'
'Did you do any training as a white witch before you wrote the book?'
I tried to answer graciously but I was starting to hate Mimi and it was leaking out in my answers. Then came the signing and the line snaked gratifyingly towards the back of the shop. But instead of picking up lovely hardback copies of
Crystal Clear
, everyone fetched from their handbags copies of
Mimi's Remedies
which were so battered they looked as if they had been fought over by marauding gangs of cocker spaniels. I felt slightly sick.
However, I could not help but be humbled by the warmth of every single person who came to the table. 'Thank you for writing
Mimi's Remedies
…'
'I loved this book…'
'It saved my life…'
'I've read it at least ten times…'
'I've given a copy to all my friends…'
'It's better than anti-depressants…'
'Better than chocolate…'
'I couldn't wait to meet you…'
I was presented with wands, home-made fudge, spells written on little scraps of paper and an invitation to a Druidic marriage. Most people asked to have their photo taken with me, like they had that day with Miranda England so long ago.
If my career had not depended on
Crystal Clear
selling well, I could have enjoyed their kindness and savoured that I had created something which had touched so many lives. But the fact was, my career
did
depend on
Crystal Clear
selling well and of the eighty or so people who had come to the reading, only two had bought copies. The previous night in Newcastle, only three copies had sold, the night before in Leeds only one had gone, the same number in Manchester, and in Birmingham at the start of the week, not a single copy had been shifted. This was not good. And nor was the news from the best-seller list. On the walk back to the hotel I turned on my mobile and prayed with every fibre of my being for a message from Jojo. Saying that Dalkin Emery wanted to offer me half a million pounds for my next book, I thought, indulging in a sudden desperate flight of fancy. Or anything, anything at all. She had sent Tania the seven chapters of my new book over a week ago now, surely she must have some news? But the horrible electronic voice intoned
You Have No New Messages
so I rang Anton who was at home with Ema. 'Heard anything?'
'Jojo rang — she didn't want to ring you at your reading — but she has nothing to report. Tania didn't get back to her this afternoon and she thought it was better not to badger her.'
I swallowed hard. Today was Friday. That was it until Monday. A whole weekend to endure, wondering what our future was.
The extent of Anton's and my miscalculation appalled me. Clearly we should have signed the contract with Dalkin Emery back in May when it was offered to us. But at the time things were going so wonderfully that it was unthinkable that a few short months down the line, my new book would be selling badly enough to signal the end of my writing career.
In retrospect I could see that Dalkin Emery had begun their retreat from me as long ago as August. Tania's hissy fit over the cover was triggered, I subsequently discovered, by some of the major trade buyers getting the wobbles when they discovered
Crystal Clear
was as different from
Mimi's Remedies
as carrots are from Adolf Hitler's moustache.
Nobody ever said anything. I was never told officially that orders were being reduced and that Dalkin Emery had lost faith in me, but I intuited it from the forced cheer in their greetings and the wary expressions in their eyes. However, this reality was so bloody that I kept pushing my hope to the forefront. If I did not acknowledge how dreadful the situation was, then perhaps it was not.
The bottom line was this: if Dalkin Emery decided not to renew my contract, not only was my career in publishing over, but Anton, Ema and I would probably lose our home; the loan to buy our house had been given on the condition that we paid the bank a lump sum of a hundred grand when I got my new deal with Dalkin Emery. We had no other sources of income. All we had was my next royalty cheque, which wasn't due until March, almost five months away. The bottom line was: no new deal equalled no money to pay the lump sum equalled no house. I went back to my lonely hotel room and had a large gin and tonic and a bag of cashews from the minibar. I was exhausted — it had been a tough week of early starts, countless bookshop visits and so many local radio and press interviews they had all blurred into one - but terror had me in its grip and prevented me from sleeping.
To cheer myself up I thought,
Anton has left me for the head waiter at the Fleet Tandoori, I have gangrene of the foot and everyone is complaining about the smell, and some soothsayers in Tibet have decided that Ema is the next Dalai Llama and she's going to be taken from me, to a Himalayan eyrie, where she will sit cross-legged in orange robes and say wise, incomprehensible soundbites
.
I lay on my bed, drinking gin and savouring my misfortune.
How awful… especially the smelly gangrenous foot. And the wise, incomprehensible soundbites.
I waited until I felt really dreadful, then did the mental equivalent of jumping out of a cupboard and shouting, 'Gotcha!'
Yes, I thought, a slight but definite uplift in my gloom, this reverse psychology thing definitely works. Then I noticed I had drunk three gins and that the mood improvement was probably thanks to them.
Jojo
Wednesday morning
When Jojo's period arrived, ten days late, she was actually a little embarrassed; she wasn't usually a drama queen. Because the test had continued to be negative, she'd never fully believed she was pregnant, so she didn't feel like she'd lost a baby. But she was vaguely interested in what had caused the delay: anxiety about Mark leaving Cassie? Waiting too long for the vote on the new partner? Work stress? And, yeah, there was
lots
to be stressed about.
On Lily Wright's second week on sale, there had been an improvement, but nothing like enough. She 'shot' from 168 to 94, selling a paltry 1743 copies. Considering there wasn't a railway station in the land that wasn't plastered with ads for
Crystal Clear
, this wasn't good.
Dalkin Emery were way rattled. They'd printed a hundred thousand hardbacks — an initial run, so they'd thought at the time, the first of many — but now were already calculating the hit their Profit & Loss was going to take.
On the third week, Lily got as far as number 42 in the chart but celebrations were premature, because on her fourth week, she slipped back to 59.
Jojo continued to push Dalkin Emery for more ads and further discounting. Patrick Pilkington-Smythe obliged and that was scary. The rule was that agents pushed and marketing men resisted. To be on the same page meant things were bad.
Then
Book News
ran a snide little piece on the situation and although Dalkin Emery insisted that it was still too soon to call and that sales would pick up nearer to Christmas, Jojo knew that privately they were not optimistic.
What was really wrecking her head was that Dalkin Emery were clicking her around on Lily's new contract. They weren't saying they
wouldn't
re-sign her but Tania kept stalling, saying that she needed the higher-ups in Dalkin Emery to read Lily's new book, before they could make any decision. Jojo had thought that showing Tania the new book was a mere formality but now she knew Dalkin Emery's game: they were hedging their bets, watching to see how
Crystal Clear
performed, before deciding if Lily Wright was still a viable investment.
Poor Lily had dragged her sorry ass around the country, doing one gnarly reading after another. Daily, either she or Anton phoned, their voices small and scared, as they asked, 'Is there any news? Any word on the new deal?'
They were horrified that Dalkin Emery were taking so long but the situation was too delicate for Jojo to force.
Several times she reassured them, 'Tania has promised me a decision by the end of the week.' But the end of the week would come and a phone call from Tania Teal wouldn't and somehow over four weeks had passed, without an offer coming through.
Jojo felt very, very badly for Lily. No one liked watching a much-hyped book bomb but in this case there were serious consequences for Lily's career. Advising Lily to wait for a new deal had been a gamble. Now it was clear she'd miscalculated the odds: after a disaster the size of
Crystal Clear
, chances were that Dalkin Emery wouldn't sign her for any more books. And nor would any other publisher.
Tuesday afternoon, end of November
'Tania Teal on line one.'
'Accept!'
This was the call, Jojo knew. The one that would condemn or save Lily Wright.
'Tania, hey.'
'Sorry, Jojo, it's no go on Lily Wright.'
'Slow down a minute —'
'We're not going to renew her contract.'
'Tania, you cannot be serious. Have you read her new book, do you know how great it is —'
'Jojo, I'm going to say what everyone is thinking.
Mimi's Remedies
was a one-off, a one-hit wonder. Readers' loyalties are not to Lily Wright the author but to
Mimi's Remedies
, the book.
Crystal Clear
is the biggest disaster we've ever had.'
'OK, the hardback sales are slow but you know what this means?' Jojo forced herself to sound wildly cheerful. 'The paperback will go through the roof! Just like
Mimi's Remedies
did! I guess it was too soon to publish Lily in hardback. Writers have to build a fanbase before hardbacks are a dead cert. Coupla books' time, that's when her hardbacks will really fly.'
Tania said nothing. She was not a fool. And too many people had shouted at her; she would not be swayed.
'I think the book Lily is working on now is great,' Jojo insisted.
'If Lily Wright wants to write another
Mimi's Remedies
, I'd be happy to publish it,' Tania said. 'Otherwise, it's no go. I'm sorry, Jojo, I really am.'
Despite her frustration, Jojo understood. Tania was probably getting it in the neck from everyone at Dalkin Emery. She had accepted a book, bigged it up to the entire company as the publication of the year and it had exploded in her face. Her career trajectory had been knocked sideways by the disaster. No wonder she was being careful.
'Lily Wright is one of the hottest authors around,' Jojo said. 'If you don't want to publish her any longer, there are plenty of others who will.'
'I understand, and good luck with it all.'
'Your loss,' Jojo said, clattered the phone back and sat in gloomy contemplation. One of the hottest authors around, indeed. If things continued the way they were going, Lily Wright would have to start wearing a bell around her neck.
She buried her face in her hands. Rats. Now she had to tell Lily and she would prefer to shoot herself in the head. With a sigh, she lifted the phone again. Better to get it over with.
'Lily, I've heard from Dalkin Emery about the new contract.' Very quickly, before Lily had time to get any false hope, she said, 'I'm so sorry but it's bad news.'
'How bad?'
'They don't want to buy the new book.'
'I can write another.'
'Unless it's another
Mimi's Remedies
, they don't want to renew the contract. I'm so, so sorry,' Jojo said, and meant it.
After a period of silence, Lily said quietly, 'It's OK. Please, Jojo, it's really OK.'
That was Lily all over: too sweet to start yelling and blaming. 'I feel lousy that I didn't get you to sign with them last May.'
When they still wanted you
.
'Don't feel bad. No one forced me to wait,' Lily said. 'It was my choice. Mine and Anton's. Just one thing? Is there any hope that
Crystal Clear
might still resuscitate at this stage?'
'There are still some ads to run.'
'Perhaps if
Crystal Clear
rallies at the last minute, they'll change their mind. Or someone else might want to publish me.'
'Attagirl. That's the spirit.'
Then Jojo hung up, wiped out. Passing on bad news was as much a part of the job as delivering good stuff, but she was feeling more shitty than she had in a long, long time. Poor Lily.
And, on a selfish note, this wasn't such a great time for Jojo to fuck up. She didn't often make mistakes and hated when she did. But with the partnership decision coming up, this miasma of high-profile failure was not welcome. She was still in line to generate more income than any other agent this year but the gloss was gone from her crown a little.
The following morning
Jojo called up the best-seller list, trying to type with crossed fingers, praying for a last-minute reprieve. Miracles did happen — although only a sap would have expected it here.
She scrolled down, down, down, down… then stopped.
'Well?' Manoj asked, his fingers crossed too.
Jojo sighed. 'like a stone off a cliff.'
Her phone rang and she knew who it would be: Patrick Pilkington-Smythe. We're calling a halt on Lily Wright's ads. We've been throwing good money after bad.'
'Pulling the plug? Too bad. That last pre-Christmas push could've made all the difference.'
He gave a bark of incredulous laughter. 'Never say die, do you, Jojo?'
'Calling it like I see it.'
Patrick said nothing. He'd been in this game a lot longer than Jojo had. Pretending things were alright didn't mean they were. The crater-sized hole in his marketing budget was witness to that.
Deeply subdued, Jojo hung up. She didn't believe it either.