Page 112 of We All Live Here
“Not your own, darling. I thought you could be her ghost.”
“Her what?”
“Her ghost. She can’t write for toffee. She tells you the stories, you turn it all into a wonderful book. We know you can write, and you’re a marvel at shaping anecdotes. And I think it would be great fun—she’s a namedroppernonpareil.”
When Lila doesn’t say anything, Anoushka adds: “It doesn’t pay fantastically, I mean not like your advance for the other thing. There wouldbe no royalties. But we can use the success ofThe Rebuildto demand a written credit. Some people quite like that, you know, especially if the writer has a bit of prestige. I think we could negotiate a fairly decent standalone sum.”
“I would write someone else’s memoir?”
“Exactly! It would keep you in the game until you know what you want to do next, and keep you employed for a few months. And if it does well, you’ll be in demand for more of them. A nice little money-spinner and your personal life doesn’t have to be anywhere near it. Shall I put your name forward?”
“Is she nice?”
“Darling, she doesn’t have to be nice. She’s a hoot. It’s all good material.”
This is Anoushka-speak forShe is an absolute nightmare.
“Who is it?”
Anoushka whispers the name of a well-known soap actress, whose battles with alcohol and tempestuous relationships have been well documented in the tabloid press. You would not believe the sexual escapades, Anoushka says, in a voice that could be conveying shock or awed admiration, it is not clear which. She mutters something about Saudi princes, something else about an A-list movie star, and possibly the words “guinea pig.”
“Uhh…maybe,” says Lila, uncertainly, having decided not to ask for clarification. “I guess you could put my name forward. I’ll think about it.”
“Good-oh! I’ll get on to her agent.”
Lila thinks about the ghostwriting for the rest of the day while she’s sorting out the house. She looks up a few interviews with the actress. The subtext of each isabsolute car-crash. She tells the girls when they get home and they express mild interest, distracted by their various electronic devices, in the way that they usually do about her writing projects. But when she asks them over supper what they think about possibly moving house, their response is immediate and dramatic.
“Why? I don’t want to move.” Violet’s eyes widen and she drops the iPad onto the table.
“I just thought…well, now that Bill has gone back to his house, and Gene has…Gene’s going to be working elsewhere, maybe we could buy a smaller house. It would be more economical. And easier to look after. You know how things are always going wrong here.”
“But where would we go?”
“We’d stay in the area, just get somewhere a little smaller. Maybe three bedrooms instead of five. Maybe something modern.”
They glance at each other swiftly and Lila is not sure what passes between them. “It would be a nice change?” she says gamely.
“I like our house,” says Violet.
“I don’t want to go anywhere else,” says Celie, scowling. “This is our home.”
“I don’t want any more change,” says Violet. “There’s been too much change.”
Her voice wobbles and she looks so close to tears that Lila backs down, says it was just an idea, hugs her daughter and says it’s fine, it’s all fine, that they’ll stay, that nothing is going to change.
And when Anoushka calls the next day to say the actress is absolutely delighted, thatThe Rebuildis one of her favorite books, and she would love to meet Lila to discuss it next week, Lila says, with as much enthusiasm as she can muster, that she’s delighted too.
Right now, the girls’ stability is the most important thing. The actress doesn’t have to be nice. And hopes she misheard the thing about the guinea pig.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Celie
Mum has spent at least an hour in the bathroom getting ready. She’s done her hair in waves with the curling iron, like she used to do when she was getting interviewed for one of her books, and she is wearing her dark pink velvet trouser suit, the one she only wears for special things, mostly because Truant’s hair sticks to it. She doesn’t look like someone going to a primary school play, but when she casually mentions that Jensen is going to join them, Celie swiftly puts the pieces together. When he arrives, in smart jeans and a dark blue shirt, Mum keeps smiling shyly at him, and being weirdly over-animated, but pretending to Celie that nothing’s going on. It’s like she thinks Celie is actually blind. But Jensen is all right. He doesn’t seem the kind of guy Martin’s mum went out with before her current boyfriend, who made itclear he didn’t like having her kids around, and always held the remote control so that Martin couldn’t watch his own programs.
My mum keeps doing this stupid fake laugh when Jensen says something funny. It’s actually embarrassing.
Martin’s response is immediate.
