Annie Lyons - Not Quite Perfect

‘Publishers are under incredible pressure to deliver profit, but are being squeezed by the demands of agents and authors for ever higher advances.’

‘And I suppose that’s my fault, is it?’ Joanna wants to spar. Emma won’t bite.

‘There are a whole host of publishers who will offer you more money than they can ever earn just to win your book.’

‘And?’

Emma address her directly now, refusing to be cowed. ‘And, those with the fattest cheque books don’t necessarily have what you need to turn a book from an emerging talent to a bestseller to a classic.’

‘Oh please impart your wisdom. What would that be?’

‘One word: Passion.’

Joanna snorts with derision. Miranda is watching Emma with what she detects is a glimmer of pride. Emma takes courage from this and addresses Richard directly. ‘Your characters, particularly Alexander and Newton, are the lifeblood of this book. They leap out and grab you by the throat, and Alexander’s unrequited love for Stella is one of the greatest love stories ever told. It’s a story that will stay with readers for ever.’

Richard’s eyes are fixed on Emma now, calm and steady. He has lost his earlier cockiness. He opens his mouth to speak but Joanna butts in. ‘Listen, I’m sure you’re a great editor and it’s lovely to hear that you’ve read and loved this book. Ya di ya big deal, but what are ya gonna pay?’ She spits out the last six words with venom.

Miranda clears her throat. ‘Joanna, I think it’s time we drew this meeting to a close.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Yes, so am I. I think we have been upfront, honest and seeringly enthusiastic for Richard’s book. If it’s all about the money, it’s not for us. Shall I see you to the lift?’ Miranda appears calm but the area of neck just below her ears has reddened.

‘But I thought –’ Joanna blurts.

‘Then you thought wrong. If other publishers are prepared to let you throw your weight around and patronise their editors, then more fool them. I, for one, am not.’

Joanna opens her mouth to speak but stops when she sees Miranda’s face. She raises herself up on her bony twig legs and pats her immobile hair. ‘Come on, Richard, let’s go to another, less short-sighted publisher.’ Joanna Uppington breezes out of the room on a waft of Chanel No. 5.

Richard is still staring at Emma.

‘Richard!’ shouts Joanna from the corridor.

Richard jumps up ready to follow, but stops at the door and turns to address Emma and Miranda. ‘I’m sorry, I have to erm, it was lovely to meet you –’

‘Richard!’ screeches Joanna again.

Richard holds up his hands and smiles like a defeated man. ‘Bye,’ he says and darts out of the door.

‘Tell me his written word is better than his spoken,’ says Miranda after a moment.

‘It is. Unfortunately,’ says Emma with a sigh. ‘Why does Joanna behave like that?’

‘Because, my dear, she is a bully and frankly we’re better off without them both.’ Her phone chirps and she glances at it, looking weary. Emma feels guilty. ‘It’s Digby. I better update him.’

Emma takes this as a signal to leave and tries to creep back to her desk unnoticed. She realises that the god of shit days has got it in for her as she turns the corner and Joel appears out of nowhere. Emma jumps. ‘Jesus, Joel!’

‘Ahh, thanks for the accolade, you can just call me Joel though. Sooo, how’d it go? Ooh. Not so good eh?’

‘I don’t know. We’ll just have to see.’

‘Ouch. That bad eh? You should have asked me to come along, Em. I would have been happy to help.’

Emma bristles at his familiar use of her name. Realising that homicide is probably not the best course of action, she tries to muster some dignity and shambles back to her desk. Almost immediately, Ella is by her side confirming that the Joel bush telegraph is fully operational.

‘Come on,’ she says, ‘we need Oreo cookie cheesecake and we need it now.’

The over-enthusiastic librarian has her hand up a surprised looking crocodile puppet as Rachel arrives hot and flustered at the library. As the highlight of pre-school entertainment in this town, the tiny space is packed with fifty or more mums and dads and their wriggly offspring. Rachel attempts to park her double buggy by the door.

‘Can’t park there, love,’ insists a red-faced man with a bunch of keys on his belt.

‘Can’t I?’ says Rachel irritated.

‘‘ealth ‘n’ safety innit?’ he insists.

‘Right. Fine.’ Rachel can’t be bothered to argue and steers the buggy round to ‘Large Print’. She turns round to see that Alfie has escaped, while is sister is still calmly disembarking. ‘Lily, where’s Alfie?’

‘I don’t know,’ says Lily with a complete lack of concern.

‘Oh shit!’

A large lady in her sixties who is dressed like a duchess tuts loudly in Rachel’s direction.

‘Sorry, it’s just that I’ve lost my –’

‘Boo!’ Alfie jumps out from behind a Catherine Cookson display.

The woman is unimpressed. ‘This isn’t a crèche, you know.’

Rachel wants to respond but Alfie is tugging at her leg,

‘Let’s go and see Joe, Mummy.’

‘All right, darling. Silly old bag,’ mutters Rachel.

Lily giggles. ‘Silly old bag!’

The woman looks around and Rachel smiles trying to look innocent. ‘Bye!’

After a row of ‘sorry’s’ and side-shuffles, she reaches Sue and Christa and their respective sons, Joe and Roger. ‘What did I miss?’ she whisper to Sue.

‘Just a couple of ‘Bobbins’ and an energetic ‘Sailor Went to Sea’.’

The librarian, a bony woman of indeterminate age, is now handing out musical instruments. Alfie shakes his sleigh bell enthusiastically resulting in a glancing blow to Roger’s bemused face.

‘Alfie! Say sorry.’

‘Sorreeee,’ sings Alfie with a grin.

Roger looks unsure, but then joins in as Joe takes this as a cue for an impromptu sword fight.

‘Boys! Stop it!’ commands Lily. ‘I can’t hear the lady.’

The boys comply and Sue smiles, impressed. ‘Got her mother’s way with men, has she?’

‘I wish. Wait until I tell you what Steve’s got lined up for us.’

‘I’m hoping it’s an all expenses paid trip to 5-star luxury beach resort with hot and cold running nannies but from your face, I’m guessing not.’

‘Ok, mums, dads, boys and girls, are we ready to be jingle-jangle scarecrows?’

‘Tell you over a latte,’ says Rachel with a rictus, ready-to-sing grin.

Emma lets Ella take her by the arm like some doddery old dear and they make the short walk to Auntie Mabel’s, the favourite haunt for any day when they’re in need of a consolation doughnut or celebratory bun. Emma has always thought it a shame that there is no Auntie Mabel: The proprietors are Simon and his partner David and they happily dispense cake and wisdom as a favourite auntie would.

‘Ohmygod. David? Look at that face. Bad news, is it sweetie?’ says Simon as the bell above the door signals their entrance.

Emma lets out an enormous sigh in response and nods, adopting the look of a dejected child.

‘Oh my darling, bring those puppy dog eyes here. Uncle Simon will make it better.’ He embraces her and guides them to a table covered with a red check cloth and tomato-shaped ketchup bottle. ‘Here, have Audrey’s table. I’m guessing it’s two caps and two cheesecake?’

‘Simon, you’re as perceptive as a girl and yet such a loss to the female race!’ says Ella.

‘Ah but gorgeous girl, I am seriously high maintenance and would spend much longer in the bathroom than you. Apart from that and the aversion to fannies, you’d turn me in a heartbeat.’