Page 33 of Knowing You
‘Is that what it is?’
He grins. ‘If you prefer, we don’t have to label it. Have you ever heard of Chapter Battle? It’s happening in Camden Town next Saturday afternoon. Writers stand up and read out their first chapter. The winner is the one who gets to the end without being booed down. It starts just after lunch. I think you’ll find it fun.’
‘It sounds brutal.’ But what an unusual idea. ‘I know a cafe there that does a great brunch.’ It used to be one of Lenny and my favourites. I’d have maple syrup pancakes whereas Lenny would pretend to love trendy mashed avocado and poached eggs on toast. He wasn’t so keen on the Camden vibe. It was too bohemian for him and not enough designer labels. But he’d heard that celebrities ate there, so it was often our weekend trip of choice. The chances of Lenny being in the area were small. On the grapevine, I’d heard that Alpaca Books would be holding an all day meet and greet event, on that date, starring its top erotic romance authors with champagne and luxury goody bags and male pole dancers. There would be too many Instagram opportunities for him and Beatrix to miss.
‘Perfect. We’ll meet for lunch first. Let’s email this week.’ He kisses me on the cheek and checks I’m okay getting home. I watch him stride into the distance and, feeling like royalty, treat myself to a black cab. Smiling, I have to move my phone away from my ear as Bella squeals when I tell her the evening was a great success.
Chapter 14
I love my job, but Monday mornings are a challenge even for me. Many authors work at the weekend. They have no concept of time if inspiration strikes and for those that hold down other full-time jobs, they set aside Saturday and Sunday for writing. This means they also carry out their administrative tasks on those days and my inbox is usually full when I get in. Today is no different and I scroll down, glad it isn’t yesterday morning. I woke up feeling jaded after the alcoholic cocktails I’m not used to drinking. I re-readAlien Heartsafter a long bath before heading to the Sunflower retirement home.
I’ve given my friends an old laptop I’d held onto after shelving it for a more compact model. Everything’s getting smaller these days. Like girlfriends. Or so it seems. It didn’t take me too long to set up the Vintage Views website, since I’ve often helped authors and interns. Then we set up a Twitter account. Pauline will be able to show the others how to use that. Plus she and ex-receptionist Nora can touch-type and have offered to write up the blog posts. Due to her arthritis, Kath is grateful, along with other residents who are keen to write guest posts.
‘So what’s the subject of the first post?’ asks Irfan and yawns as he sits down opposite and passes me a mug of tea. He turns on his screen.
‘Nora’s is on how Mills & Boon has modernised and moved with the times. Kath’s will be next. She’s reviewing a non-fiction self-help book about coping with anxiety. Pauline has taken control of the Twitter account and I told her what I could about hashtags. There’s so much to explain like how to use gifs and add tags to blog posts, but for complete beginners, they’re doing brilliantly.’
Irfan stares at his computer.
‘Everything okay?’
‘What? Sorry, Violet… have you looked at your inbox yet? Something’s just dropped in.’
I click onto the relevant page. There’s a new, unopened email at the top. From Felicity.
Dear Irfan and Violet,
I’d like a brief meeting with you both this morning, if possible, to further discuss the loss of Gary Smith. 11 o’clock if that suits. Please RSVP to let me know.
Best,
Felicity
I look up at Irfan. ‘We haven’t had time to prepare our notes about the other authors and everything else Felicity wanted to know, like how we support them on social media and what we do to strengthen the editor/author bond.’
‘It’s too late now. I’ve got a meeting with marketing first thing and then must brainstorm with design about the cover for the latest Little Starfish story.’
For me, though, the next two hours pass slowly – surely Felicity didn’t truly doubt the children department’s efficacy? We had seven books shortlisted for prizes last year and have continually innovated, including putting together a starter pack to help debut authors get the most out of signings and school events. With the help of the publicity department, we’re proving increasingly successful at getting interviews into the national media. Many of those have brilliantly raised authors’ profiles.
It makes me realise just how much I want, no, need my job and how important this makeover of mine would be if I ever found myself back on the job market fighting against other editors to get a position.
By the time eleven o’clock arrives, I have a mental list, at least, of why what happened with Gary was just a blip.
‘After you,’ says Irfan and gives a brief look to the ceiling as we head towards Felicity’s office. Like the side room, the walls are made of glass so that she can see through to the open plan area. The pinched look on her face doesn’t alter as we go in.
‘Sit down, both of you,’ she says and nods towards the two chairs on the other side of her desk.
I’ve always liked Felicity. She is honest and down-to-earth. When she hired me, she said I still had a lot to learn about publishing, but my passion for children’s books won her over. During the interview, we’d had an animated discussion about whether it had been the right decision for Enid Blyton stories to be edited for a modern audience. She is also a huge fan of Paddington Bear and we chatted about whether the recent films had done the character justice.
If she were an item of stationery, she’d be a stapler. Uncomplicated and unassuming but holding everything together.
Felicity pushes away her keyboard and rummages underneath her desk. My stomach rumbles. I haven’t had time for breakfast and now wish I’d accepted one of Irfan’s low-sugar biscuits. Felicity sits back up, gets to her feet and hands us a bag each.
‘This isn’t the redundancy equivalent of a retirement clock, is it?’ mutters Irfan and cautiously peers in.
His face adopts a quizzical look. I inspect the contents of my bag. There’s a box of chocolates in the shape of a bookshelf, a beautiful gilt peacock notebook and mug that says Best Editor in the World on the side with an arrow pointing upwards.
‘I do hope you’ll both accept my apologies for what I said about Gary,’ she says and rubs her forehead. ‘I was completely out of order. Truth be told, I was having a bad week with one of the kids. And discovering that Beatrix Bingham was instrumental in poaching him… well, let’s just say the wholeEarth Gazerdebacle still feels raw. I shouldn’t have taken it out on two of my best editors. I apologise. I let my professionalism slip.’
