Annie Lyons - Not Quite Perfect

‘Joanna, this is Emma Darcy, our most talented editor.’

Joanna looks Emma up and down as if seeking to identify a new life form and thrusts out a bony hand like a poison dart. ‘And this is my most talented author, Richard Bennett,’ she retorts.

And there he is. Of course. As if God, Beelzebub and his wizards, and the spirit of Joel Riches were all conspiring as one against Emma. The man from the train.

Rachel looks at the kitchen and tries to ignore the Weetabix-encrusted carnage. She presses the button on the washing machine, waiting with impatience for it to release the laundry. She can hear Alfie and Lily shouting their usual morning chorus of ‘I hate you’s’ and decides to let them resolve it for themselves, like the books tell you to. She unlocks the back door and picks her way across the dewy grass. She is just prising apart a mass of trousers and socks, when she hears the phone ring.

‘I’ll get it!’ calls Lily. Rachel curses. Moments later, her daughter pads into the garden.

‘My socks are wet and it’s Grandpa,’ she announces. Rachel accepts the phone and waves her daughter away with the international semaphore sign for ‘Go and find some dry socks.’

‘Hi, Dad,’ she says at last.

‘Morning, daughter number one. Your mother was fretting so she made me phone you,’ he says with a chuckle.

Rachel laughs. ‘I’m fine thanks, Dad. It was lovely to see you all yesterday, despite the apple tree incident.’

‘Yes and how is the little man this morning?’

Rachel can hear her mother talking in the background, directing operations. ‘He’s absolutely fine. No lasting damage. What’s Mum saying?’

Edward doesn’t speak for a moment, as he tries to listen to two separate conversations. ‘Sorry, Rachel. Your mother wants to know if you and Steve are all right?’ says Edward. Rachel hears her mother exclaim at his lack of subtlety.

She laughs again. ‘We’re fine. Why?’

‘She wants to know why,’ Edward reports back to his increasingly exasperated wife.

‘Oh for heaven’s sake, Edward. Give me the phone will you? Honestly, if you want something done in this family. Rachel?’ says Diana as she takes the phone.

‘Yes, Mum?’

‘Now don’t you “yes, Mum” me. I know what you and Daddy are like when you get together. I simply wanted to check that everything is all right between you and Steve.’

‘I’ve just told Dad we’re fine. Why do you ask?’

‘Steve has asked us to have the children on Saturday night.’

‘Oh right, yes, well we just want to have a little time on our own as a married couple.’

‘Yes all right, Rachel. There’s no need to be coarse. So I don’t need to worry then?’

Rachel contemplates this question and then immediately rejects the idea of telling her Mother about Edinburgh. ‘No, of course not.’

‘Well good, because I’ve got enough to worry about with this wedding of your sister’s. I’ll hand you back to your father.’

‘Rachel? Sorry about that. You know what your mother gets like when she’s been listening to the Today programme. Two hours of John Humphries and she just won’t let things go,’ says Edward.

‘It’s all right, Dad. I know.’

‘You know you can always talk to your old dad, if there is anything, don’t you?’

‘I know, Dad. Thanks. Look, I’ve got to go.’ Rachel replaces the phone and glances at her watch.

‘Kids! We’re –’

‘Yeah, yeah, we know. Late again!’ says Lily. ‘It’s OK, we’ve done our shoes and coats. We’re a bit more organised than grown-ups, you know.’

‘Well thank you, Lily,’ says Rachel through gritted teeth, grabbing her bag and ushering them out of the door.

It’s fortunate that Emma is not the sort of girl who blushes. She does her best to shake hands with Richard without betraying what can only be described as her almighty cock-up. Looking at him properly for the first time, she notices his dark brown eyes and the dimple that appears when the subject is amused. The subject is now extremely amused.

‘Hello, Emma. So good to see you. I feel as it we’ve met somewhere before? Or maybe not?’ He plonks himself down into the nearest chair, grabs a pastry and grins at her. Happily, no one else seems to notice this display.

‘Coffee anyone?’ asks Miranda.

‘Tea thanks. Lapsang souchong if you have it – with lemon,’ says Joanna.

‘Yeah. Coffee’s fine. Milk, no sugar thanks,’ says Richard folding his arms behind his head in a ‘so what can you offer me?’ type way.

‘Of course. I’ll get Andrea to do the honours,’ says Miranda disappearing.

Emma is panicking inwardly like a child whose mother has left the room, but she fights the urge to throw herself on the floor and beat the carpet with her fists, offering Joanna a seat instead. Joanna looks horrified and turns to inspect the chair, dusting it with a manicured hand and perching awkwardly, as if this is the first time she’s sat down in her life. All the while Richard is eyeing Emma with vast amusement.

‘So,’ booms Miranda on her return, ‘thank you for coming today. We’re tremendously excited about this book and hope you decide that Allen Chandler is the best home for it. Emma has prepared some data on the current market, our comparable titles and what we can offer Richard.’

‘Oh come on, Miranda, never mind that. This is a brilliant and original book. We all know that. Every other publisher is telling us that. Great. Fantastic. We’re thrilled. But what are you prepared to pay?’ Joanna’s voice is direct, fierce and as terrifying as her reputation. Emma gulps. No one speaks to Miranda like that. Her eyes betray thunder, but her smile remains fixed.

‘No Joanna, it’s OK, I think we should hear what Emma has to say.’ Richard’s voice is amused and almost mocking.

‘Do you?’ Joanna says in surprise. ‘Oh all right then. Let’s hear it.’

Emma’s heart is in her mouth. ‘Right, well I’ve prepared some data.’

‘Yes, yes. Miranda said that. Let’s see it.’

She passes round the pages.

‘Ooh, PowerPoint®. How modern!’ says Richard, and Joanna sniggers.

‘The first slide shows what we view as the benchmarks for this title and sales data to support,’ says Emma ignoring them.

‘ Life of Pi ? The Book Thief ? Surely The Red Orchid is better than these?’ says Joanna looking unimpressed.

‘Well, I think so, yes. If you look at Allen Chandler’s own, comparable titles from the past five years we have exceeded sales of these industry benchmarks, and I see no reason why we can’t go even further with The Red Orchid .’

‘How?’

‘Well, it will obviously be picked up by the key retailers and reviewers.’

‘Ha! A Waterstone’s 3 for 2 and four inches in the Guardian does not a bestseller make.’

‘Well, then there’s the awards.’

‘Yes, but there’s no guarantee, is there?’

‘Of course not, but –’

‘What I want to know is, how are you going to make the UK’s most talented and original author since McEwan into an out and out bestseller?’

‘As I’ve said –’

‘But you haven’t said. It’s all hot air and promises you can’t keep, isn’t it?’

Richard is grinning, enjoying the spectacle, but for Emma it is turning into another fight with her mother. She is waiting for Joanna to tell her to go and tidy her room.

‘No, it’s not all hot air and promises,’ says Emma surprising everyone in the room including herself. Joanna looks at her sharply. ‘In the past ten years the fiction market has changed beyond recognition.’

‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ yawns Joanna.