Page 42 of One Last Thing
‘I am.’
Squealing with delight, she grabs her husband’s forearm and squeezes it, her eyes fixed on me. ‘Can you tell us anything about it?’
‘I would be in a lot of trouble if I did that,’ I chuckle, lost in this warm, fuzzy feeling of being important. I remember saying that sort of thing in the past, when it was true.
‘Oh wow! How exciting. I really do love your work,’ she says, gazing at me in such awe it makes me blush gratefully.
‘Are you a writer, too?’ Rick asks Megan.
Megan shakes her head. ‘I’m a consultant for financial services.’
‘But she is a great storyteller,’ Nico insists, prompting a hardened glare from Megan and a surprised look from the rest of us. ‘She made up stories when we were kids.’
‘Yeah, we werekids,’ she emphasises, her cheeks flushing pink.
He clicks his fingers. ‘An adventure book. That was what you wanted to write, wasn’t it? A children’s fantasy story.’
I snort softly but noticeably, and I honestly don’t know why. I’m furious at myself for a kneejerk reaction that is going to cause trouble, whether it’s valid or not.
Megan turns to look at me, fire flickering in her eyes. ‘Why is that funny?’
‘Oh, no, it’s not funny. It’s only that you always gave me the impression that you weren’t into . . . that sort of thing.’
‘What sort of thing?’ she fires back, her expression neutral, her voice steady.
She’s much better in a battle than I am. Sharp, meticulous, swift responses.
‘I mean the arts. Unsteady career paths and all that. You know, I thought you disapproved of things that weren’t serious. Writing books, say.’
‘You’re an author and you’re saying that writing isn’t serious.’
‘Oh, you know what I mean,’ I say with a light laugh, desperate to abort this mission.
‘Not really.’
I tilt my head at her. ‘You’ve never shown any interest in writing, that’s all.’
She blinks and drops her gaze, her fingernail tapping at the side of her cup.
‘I wrote a book,’ she says suddenly.
I stare at her, stunned.
‘That’s wonderful!’ Rick cries, oozing with relief that our conversation can be interrupted and the tension lifted by an outsider. ‘Good for you.’
‘Did you publish it?’ Mandy asks brightly.
‘No. No one wanted it,’ Megan tells her, before taking a large gulp of her wine.
Nico looks at me, his eyes appealing for something. But I don’t know what to give.
‘Most authors have their first book rejected, but with some persistence, they get there! That’s what they say, isn’tit?’ Rick says. ‘Dawn can persuade you to try again. I have no doubt whatever you write next will hit the mark.’
Megan smiles at him politely. ‘It was a very long time ago.’
She changes the conversation, asking Rick about the wine tour he’s embarking on this week, and he and Mandy happily tell her all about it, even inviting us all to join them. I pretend to be invested when really all I can do is steal glances at my daughter, wondering why she would keep the fact that she was writing a book from me. I’m disappointed on her behalf that she faced rejection, yes, but more than that I feel annoyed at her for not telling me that we had something in common. I find myself mourning the conversations we might have had. Conversations that might have made all the difference.
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