Rosie James - Letters To Alice

And then, and then…he had thrown away all his good fortune. The devil had had the last laugh. What a waste. What a dreadful waste.

‘The difference,’ she said now to Alice, ‘is that in books you usually do get a happy ending – even if it takes a long time to happen – because that is what readers want. What they expect. But…it’s different in real life. You can never count on anything. You have to take what comes your way. And survive it.’

Alice pursed her lips. ‘One day, I am going to write a book, Mama, a proper book,’ she said. ‘Not just my short stories, but a long book, with all sorts of things happening to everyone…and I will give it a really happy ending! I’ll give them all exactly what they want and it’ll end with a great big party!’ She turned her head to look at her mother. ‘Do you think I could do it, Mama…would it take a very long time to write?’

‘It probably would take a long time,’ Ada said, ‘but I’m sure you’d be more than capable, Alice. One day, when you’re older. Because you’ve always loved writing, and all your short stories are like little novels in themselves, aren’t they…and they’re very good. They all have a beginning and a middle and an ending – and I always love reading them – and not just because you’re my daughter.’

Alice hugged her arms around her knees, already imagining her first best-seller in the shops. ‘I would like my book to be bound in red,’ she said, ‘with the title and my name in gold lettering.’

‘I’m sure that could be arranged,’ Ada said.

‘Yes, but how am I going to get started?’ Alice said, beginning to get worried now that her plan looked possible. She hadn’t even thought of a plot for this tome yet!

Ada smiled briefly. Her little daughter had never suffered from the childhood malaise of boredom because there’d always been her exercise books and pencils to keep her occupied. Almost as soon as she’d been able to write, Alice had made up poems and stories. Had so easily seemed to occupy the lives of the characters she invented in a way which had sometimes surprised her mother.

‘Well, I’ll tell you what we could do,’ Ada said. ‘Why don’t you choose one of the short stories you’ve already written – or make up another one – and we’ll send it off to a publisher. How does that sound?’

Alice’s eyes widened. ‘What – you mean a real publisher? Someone who would print it and put it in the shops? Oh Mama! ’

‘Now, don’t get carried away, Alice,’ Ada said, smiling. ‘I’ve noticed that there is a small publishing house near the centre of town, and all we would ask them to do is to read your story, and give you their opinion. Tell you where you might have gone wrong. It’s not very likely that they would publish it straightaway,’ she added gently, ‘ because it takes time to learn how to be successful. But they would be professional people who understand what people want to read, and they would tell you where you might have gone wrong. See? And that would be a start, wouldn’t it? But ambition is the main thing you need, Alice, and you’ve got that, haven’t you? You’ve always wanted to be the second Jane Austen!’

Alice’s heart quickened as she imagined a glittering future for herself in the book world. ‘I’ve already got a new idea for a story,’ she declared, ‘I’ve just thought of it! And I’m going to start writing it as soon as I get home from school!’ She turned to her mother. ‘But will you read it first, before we send it off to the publishers, Mama…to make sure I haven’t made any mistakes?’

Ada took Alice’s hand and squeezed it. ‘No, I won’t read it first,’ she said, ‘because it would have to be all your own work – nothing of mine. If you make a mistake it won’t matter. Everyone makes mistakes. All you need is determination to succeed and persistence, and you’ve got all that, Alice. I know you have.’ And after a moment, Ada added,‘Never give up on your dreams, Alice. Always tell yourself that one day they could come true.’

Thoroughly wide awake, her imagination darting all over the place with heroes and heroines and blighted love lives, Alice went back to her original question about her parents.

‘You know…you know you and Papa?’ she said. ‘Did you and Papa really love each other, at once, straightaway I mean? Did you know that you were meant for each other?’

Ada turned her head and looked at Alice. ‘Yes, Alice, we really did.’ She paused. ‘I know we did,’ she added quietly.

Alice was in an enquiring mood. ‘Do you think that the professor loves Mrs. Carmichael as much as you loved Papa?’ she asked. ‘He’s so often away at the Infirmary, Mrs. Carmichael must be awfully lonely sometimes, mustn’t she?’

‘Loneliness is something everyone has to put up with at times,’ Ada said. ‘It’s not the worst thing in the world.’ She paused. ‘Now then – where had we got to with Jane Austen?’

At once, Alice began reading, stumbling only very occasionally with a difficult word, and Ada, only half-listening, thought of Stanley, and what might have been. There might even have been a brother or sister for Alice. If God had intended it.

Presently, aware that Alice was getting tired, she said gently, ‘I think that we’ll let that be the last chapter tonight, Alice. Well done – you read beautifully.’ She turned to switch off the small bedside lamp. ‘Good night, Alice, God bless you.’

‘God bless you, Mama,’ Alice replied, snuggling down contentedly. Then, yawning, ‘Which bedroom do they sleep in – is it the one underneath ours…the professor and Mrs. Carmichael, I mean?’

‘Oh I really don’t know. Go to sleep, Alice,’ Ada said.

But Ada did know. The professor and Helena occupied the main bedroom, the one with its own dressing room, immediately beneath this one. And Ada imagined them, perhaps even now, lying there together…such a handsome couple, he tall and strong, so utterly, completely masculine…and Helena – slim, perfect, beautiful. Beautiful for him.

The Fiction Editor, Allbright Publishing,

St. James’s Square, Bristol. – 13 thDecember 1930

Dear Sir,

My name is Alice Watts and I am ten years old – well, nearly eleven, actually – and I have great pleasure in sending you a short story which I have written, in the hope that you may agree to publish it. It is about five hundred words long.

I have been writing short stories all my life, and one day I hope to attempt something much larger, perhaps like Jane Austen, or one of the Brontë sisters. I know it will take a long time, but I am prepared to work hard and not to give up on my dream.

I wish everyone at your publishing house a very happy Christmas.

I hope you are well.

Yours faithfully,

Alice Watts (Miss)

Alice put the letter in the envelope, hoping that she had said the right thing. “There’s no need for me to advise you on letter-writing,” Ada had said earlier, “because you have had plenty of practice already.” All Ada had done was to give Alice the address of the publishing house, and to explain that to find an approximate word count for her story she should multiply the number across the top by the number down the side.

As Alice stuck the postage stamp on the envelope, she wondered briefly whether she should have put “yours truly” or “yours sincerely” – but, after all, this was a business letter, and she knew that “yours faithfully” was how it was done in business.

Dear Miss Alice Watts

Thank you so very much for sending us a copy of your short story, which my colleagues and I thoroughly enjoyed reading.

I hope it will not depress you too much that we cannot agree to publish it on this occasion, simply because we feel that a little more work needs to be done on it. We would suggest that you employ far more dialogue in the story, showing us, rather than telling us, what you wish to convey. You write in a very impressive, grown- up way, Miss Watts, and all your characters are charming. Let them speak for themselves!