Page 38 of The Payback Plan
‘What about you?’ she asked, sitting on the single chair. ‘Is it coming any easier?’
Oliver shook his head. ‘Not really.’
‘Okay.’ She nodded like she understood but clearly, she didn’t. ‘Do you know why that might be? Maybe it’s not the right scene to be working on right now? What if you worked on a different scene? You know you can bounce ideas off me if you want?’
Oliver would rather eat Pavarotti’s hamster pellets than do that with someone who had no experience with this kind of work. ‘Thank you for the offer but creatives’ brains work differently to other people’s.’
Oh bloody hell, he sounded like a self-important wanker. He winced internally.
She quirked an eyebrow. ‘How many words have you written so far?’
‘In total?’
‘Uh huh.’
Oliver’s gaze dropped to the word count in the lower left corner. Oh Jesus. He cleared his throat. ‘Fifty-nine.’
She smiled but he could see it was strained. ‘And how many words have you deleted these past three days?’
‘Probably about fifty-nine hundred.’
She nodded. ‘Right.’
‘It’s a process…’
‘It’s a shockingly inefficient process.’ Looking at him like he was a mildly annoying student and she was the teacher – a curvy, freckly fiend of a teacher – she pursed her lips. ‘Have you ever thought of ditching the laptop and using pen and paper? One of the authors I VA for, she always hand writes her first draft. Says it helps her tap into her creativity better than using a screen.’
Oliver blinked. How very primitive…And she called him inefficient. She’d be suggesting he use a typewriter next! ‘Yeah, I don’t think that would work for me.’
She quirked an imperious eyebrow like he’d got the answer wrong and was moments away from a rap over the knuckles. ‘Why not?’
‘If the universe had wanted us to hand write, it wouldn’t have given us Steve Jobs.’
Rolling her eyes at him, she regarded him again for long moments as she absently chewed her bottom lip, looking at him like he was a problem to be solved. Like he was Maria von Trapp and she was the Mother Superior.
‘Okay.’ She nodded then as if she knew the answer. Standing, she announced, ‘What you need is a change of scenery.’
Oliver frowned. ‘A change of scenery?’
‘Yes.’ Striding over to the door that opened out directly onto the beach, she threw back the curtain. It had been shut since winter had thrown its stormy tantrum at the beginning of the month. ‘You need to get out there, walk a little. Blow some cobwebs out. Use your phone to record if anything comes to mind.’
Casper, who had been about as inert as neon since he’d entered the house last week, suddenly sat up, leaped to the floor and rushed to the doors, his nose pressing to the glass as he gave an excited bark, his tail wagging like a freaking fan.
Oliver cast an eye at the grey weather. ‘I don’t think that would help.’
‘Well, you won’t know until you try, right?’ She slid a hand to her hip and stared him down like he was being truly recalcitrant now and she was on her last nerve. ‘Don’t look at it as trying to write your book. Just, take the dog for a walk.’ Casper barked again. ‘Throw a ball for a while. You never know what might shake loose.’
And therein lay the problem. Oliver wasn’t sure he was ready for what mightshake loose.He had no doubt that writing his father’s biography was something he was capable of doing. He just wasn’t convinced heshoulddo it.
It had been eighteen months and he didn’t think that was enough distance to go poking at all the old bruises.
‘I might be recognised.’
She eyed him like he was being a total twat which, of course, he was, but him going out there to confront stuff felt a little too emotionally perilous.
Swivelling her head, Paige peered out of the smoky glass of the sliding door. ‘There’s three people out there. Wear a beanie. You’ll be fine.’
Oliver glanced at Casper, who wagged his tail furiously. He was clearly going to be no back-up. Flicking his gaze to Pavarotti for some solidarity, Oliver was confronted with a shit ton of hamster judgement. He quirked an eyebrow at the rodent.Really,dude?Criticism from someone addicted to Dib Dabs?
