Page 24 of One Last Thing
‘Yes, I do.’
‘I was calling to tell you I read your manuscript.’
I wince at just the mention of the book, which is never a good sign. ‘Oh. I didn’t think you’d read it so quickly. That’s very sweet of you.’
‘The latest Dawn Dixon? You know I’ll cancel all my plans for that.’
‘Dare I ask what you thought?’
‘You said in your message it wasn’t very good,’ he reminds me.
‘That’s right.’
‘And I agree it wasn’t your best.’
Even when you know the truth, the truth still hurts. I keep my smile fixed in place.
‘I have some notes,’ he continues. ‘I’m no editor as you’re well aware, but I do know you better than most people.’
I shoot him a look. ‘The notes are that personal?’
‘Yes, they are. My first question is, did you like the characters?’
‘I’m sorry?’ I laugh, caught off guard.
‘Did you?’ he asks, frowning at the camera. ‘I used to dread you writing a good book when we were married because you’d always lose yourself in it. You’d be so consumed by these characters, sometimes you absorbed some of their traits without even knowing it. They were real to you. It made getting on with our daily lives difficult, because you’d be distracted by whatever was going on in the bookyou were writing at the time. You would get frustrated and angered at your creations and their actions, but you were always fiercely defensive of them. However, these characters—’ he gestures at something out of the phone’s view on his kitchen table and I realise he likely printed out the pages. He doesn’t like reading on a screen‘—I don’t see you fighting for them.’
‘That’s because they’re fictional, darling.’
‘You know as well as I do that that makes no difference, I’ve already said why,’ he replies, quick as a flash. ‘You don’t love them, Dawn, and it shows. You don’t really care about why they’re doing what they’re doing or who they’re doing it for. You’ve written them because you have to. Consequently, this story, excuse the cliché, has no heart.’
I exhale, slumping back in my seat. ‘Goodness. The reviews are in and they’re scathing.’
He shrugs. ‘No point in beating around the bush. May as well be honest. I’m a dying man, so I have nothing to lose,’ he says with an impish grin.
It stings when he talks like that and I do my best not to flinch. It’s his way of handling it, to be flippant and comical about it and I respect that.
‘You know this about the book already,’ he continues confidently. ‘It was all in your message. You weren’t proud of it when you sent it.’
‘No, I wasn’t,’ I admit quietly, my shoulders slumping. ‘Damn it. I don’t love it when you’re right, Henry, and it’s even worse when you’re wise.’
He gives me a warm smile. ‘I’ll email the rest of the notes.’
‘Thank you. I’ll be sure to ignore the majority of them.’
With a light laugh, he shakes his head. ‘All right, business completed. On to other matters. Are you going to Stana’ssixtieth bash? I hear she’s gone all out with the arrangements. It’s going to be extraordinary.’
‘Oh, I’m sure, knowing her. Unfortunately, I’m unable to attend that one, but I may be willing to change my mind if you’re telling me you’ve RSVP’d a “yes”?’
‘Afraid I’m not quite feeling up for a big party, but you, Dawn, have just accidentally informed me that you are available to go and yet you’re avoiding it,’ he says smugly.
‘I’m not going, Henry.’
‘Why not?’
‘You know why not. It’s . . . easier for me to take some down time.’
‘You’re not taking down time, Dawn, you’re hiding,’ he observes, as I look down at my hands in my lap. ‘I understand why – better than most – and it’s okay to do so for a bit, but I think it’s time you realised that there’s nothing from which to hide.’
