Page 19 of Plot Twist

I paused.

‘Not just now. I don’t think you need to be part of my impromptu therapy session. Especially when I turned up on your doorstep asking where Ivy’s mum is and wondering why you weren’t a woman,’ I said, my cheeks flushing again. ‘I’m sorry about that, too, by the way. Bringing Ivy’s mum up.’

I watched Riley closely for his reaction, but he simply smiled and shrugged it off.

Bellinder Cottage, with its wooden floors, thick rugs and cosy corners, displayed countless pictures of Ivy as a baby and as a toddler. There were a few pictures of Ivy with Riley, too. But there were no pictures of Ivy’s mum anywhere in the house. I’d kept an eye out for them the whole way around.

‘More wine?’ Riley asked.

‘Yes please,’ I agreed, and he topped up my glass. ‘Do you want to talk about our books instead? Since it’s the start of our writers’ retreat? I have to earn my keep after all.’

I was joking, kind of, but there was pressure. Especially now that I’d made such a dramatic, over-the-top entrance, I had to make sure this stayed on track and Riley wrote the second bestselling novel that he’d signed for with his publishers.

Riley leaned back in his chair and put an arm above his head, in a way that showed his muscles off in all their glory. Who knew yoga could be so good for arms? I blinked the thought away.

‘I’m seriously stressing, Becca. I need to get this book drafted over the summer. My agent is breathing down my neck. The publisher’s been asking questions. I’ve written the synopsis and tried a few chapters but that’s about it. I keep deleting every attempt. I’ve tried to plan but you know I’m rubbish with that. I’m a pantser.’

‘You’re not a pantser,’ I said reassuringly, wondering if it was a typical Irish expression that I’d never heard.

‘No, I am. It’s a writers’ term. You’re usually either a plotter, mapping everything out, or a pantser where you fly by the seat of your pants. I’m a pantser,’ he explained.

‘Oh, I thought it meant you thought you were pants,’ I laughed. ‘I get it now. I’ve never heard of that. So, wait, you actually don’t plot, you just dive in and write? How does that even work? I have pages and pages of notes and chapter outlines. I write notes about notes. I even drew Anna and Rosie’s family trees.’

He smiled. ‘Ah, yes. You are a plotter.’

‘A plotter who’s lost the plot,’ I replied.

‘We’ll find the plot, Becca,’ he said. ‘At least I hope we do. Nothing seems to be working for me. Thank God you’re here. Your notes have always really helped me.’

The way he called me ‘Becca’ so smoothly, it was like spreading butter on really hot toast. I beamed at the thought of supporting Riley, of providing words that helped him hone his craft.

OK, so I had mistaken him for a woman, told him all about my smear test and asked his daughter where her absent mother was. Plus, I hadn’t slept in so long that I looked like the walking dead. And that feeling of deep dread and unshakeable grief followed me around like a shadow.

I wasn’t exactly a catch. And I knew he just felt sorry for me. The crazed, grieving woman who had nowhere to go but a stranger’s house to escape her misery.

But still.

‘Your notes always help me, too,’ I replied. ‘It’s great to get someone else’s input. Why don’t you start off with your one-line elevator pitch and we’ll go from there. You could even try and make some background notes. Try and be a bit less pantser and more plotter.’

Riley took a deep breath.

‘Right. Well. Ah, Jaysus, I don’t know, Becca,’ he said. ‘I don’t think I can plan it. Everything just kind of came to me for my first book, you know? No creative juices flowing here. The writing well has dried up.’

He sighed and put his head in his hands. I worried for a minute that he was going to cry. While I have absolutely no objection to men showing their softer side, I wasn’t sure what I would do if Riley lost it. Maybe I should suggest whipping out the yoga mat for a breathing session. He seemed to like that kind of approach.

‘You should go for a walk and clear your head,’ I said.

‘I can’t go for a walk. Ivy’s in bed.’

‘But I’m here,’ I said.

‘I’m not just going to leave you here while I swan off for a walk,’ Riley said. ‘Remember what Auntie Ellie said. You could be an Utter Nutter.’

I laughed. ‘She’s not far wrong.’

‘You should be the one going. Get familiar with the area.’

‘Plenty of time for all that.’