Happily Never After, page 6
‘I’m sure they don’t. They’re really proud of what you’ve achieved with the pâtisserie.’
‘Yes, but I think we can both agree that they’re probably less proud of the journey I took to get there, and they only know the edited highlights. It would probably kill them if they knew it all.’
‘I sometimes wish my parents knew less about me. Everything they know seems to disappoint them.’
‘They’re proud of you too.’
‘You think? They have a bloody funny way of showing it. I mean, even when you tried to convince them that I was making a reasonable living, they couldn’t be pleased. What was it Dad said? “You’re only ever as good as your last book, Laura. Everyone might hate the next one, and then what, hmm?”’
Liv rolls her eyes in exasperation. ‘If your next book is total shit, then your publishers should spot that straight away and get you to fix it. That’s literally their job, isn’t it?’
‘Unfortunately, he’s kind of right though. Every writer lives in fear that their next book will be the one that flops, triggering the doomsday spiral.’
‘Dare I ask what the doomsday spiral is?’
‘The publisher drops you, quickly followed by your agent when they can’t get any other publishers to come within a mile of you. Having enjoyed seeing piles of your bestsellers on the tables at the front of bookstores, you become “special order only” and the only place you stand a chance of stumbling across one of your books in the wild is in a charity shop, which is where you go to buy your clothes now the royalties have dried up.’
‘Wow. You don’t think like that, do you?’
‘Often. You’d need to have a personality disorder not to.’
She ponders for a moment. ‘I guess it’s not that different from the recurring dream I have where I give everyone food poisoning and the council shuts me down.’
We travel for a while in silence, each contemplating our own doomsday scenario. My mood, already low after lunch with my family, is sinking further.
‘I suspect Mum blames me for Angus leaving too,’ I mutter morosely. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if she thought he probably buckled under the pressure of having to support me financially.’
‘Oh, no.’ This is obviously enough to rouse her from her own dark thoughts. ‘We’re not playing that game. Angus left because he’s an arse. Nothing to do with you.’
We lapse back into silence for several miles, each lost in our own thoughts again, before she speaks.
‘How’s Goliath?’
Shit. I hoped we’d closed this topic.
‘Yeah, I’m still not sure it’s for me,’ I tell her carefully.
She frowns but says nothing. Great, now I’ve upset her, but what was I supposed to do? Tell her it rocked my world just to make her happy? I’m a little irritated myself now, if I’m honest. I didn’t ask her to buy me a sex toy and, no matter what she thinks, I still firmly believe that it’s not the kind of thing you buy for other people.
When we get back, I feed Meg and try to settle down to some writing. I’m at a crucial stage; Pauline has been fierce with Claire about Darren’s controlling behaviour, with the result that they’re no longer speaking to each other, much to Darren’s delight. But it’s finally sown a seed of doubt in Claire’s mind, because she’s realised that Darren has found reasons to take charge of pretty much everything, even her finances. She wants to believe that Darren has her best interests at heart, but she’s uncomfortable that she’s basically totally reliant on him. The stage is set for a tense conversation which is going to start the sequence of events that lead to the climax of the first half of the book.
Normally, I have no problem focusing on the story at points like this. I know where I need the conversations to go and my fingers usually fly across the keyboard because I can pretty much hear the dialogue in my head. However, I’m distracted after my conversation with Liv in the car, and my mind is once more circling around all the possible things that could have caused Angus to leave. The truth is that our sex life was the one disappointing aspect of our relationship, from my perspective. The first couple of times were quite good, if I remember correctly, but he turned out to be a lazy lover who didn’t take much interest in whether I was having a good time or not. My suggestion to add a vibrator to the mix was intended to wake him up to my frustration, but he completely freaked and said the only way he’d even contemplate such a thing would be if he basically kept it under lock and key so he could ensure I wasn’t using it behind his back. I rather lost interest after that and, as time went on, sex with him became increasingly mundane and infrequent, to the point that I started to think I just wasn’t a very sexual person after all.
What if Liv is right though, and my writing is suffering because I’m actually frustrated? I glance down at the boxes under the bed. I’d rather have done this while I was alone in the house, but my curiosity is piqued now and Liv is downstairs so won’t hear anything as long as I’m discreet. I bend down to pull out the boxes, opening them and pushing the tissue aside. Goliath is definitely staying where it is, but I transfer the lube and toy cleaner from Liv’s box into the drawer in my bedside cabinet before turning my attention to the box I ordered. Inside, there’s a blister pack containing a much more subtle bullet vibrator, and a pink box with the words ‘LadyBliss 2’ on it in a swirly font, which is a clitoral stimulator that had such rave reviews (it really did get one reviewer off in thirty seconds) I had to order it to see what the fuss was about. I lift it out and turn the box over to read the writing on the back.
We’ve taken everything you said you loved about the original LadyBliss and added extra. You said you wanted more settings, so we’ve given you more. From the gentlest whisper to the most powerful pulsation we’ve ever featured on a stimulator, the LadyBliss 2 delivers. In addition, the LadyBliss 2 is fully waterproof for bathtime fun, and recharges swiftly thanks to the supplied USB lead. The new Silent Night mode ensures total discretion, allowing you to enjoy LadyBliss 2 in more locations than ever before.
This is exactly the same copy as I saw on the website, and I snort with laughter at the phrase ‘waterproof for bathtime fun’. Dear God. My idea of the perfect bath is some candles and relaxing bath salts, not grappling with ‘the most powerful pulsation we’ve ever featured’. Is pulsation even a word? I set the box down and pick up the blister pack with the vibrator inside. It’s much less intimidating than the ridiculous thing Liv bought. In fact, at first glance, it could be a lipstick; it’s a similar size and is covered in a sleek, shiny material. I turn the package over to see if the description of this one is also as ridiculous as the website.
There’s a reason the Joy Unlimited Silver Bullet vibrator has won so many awards, and it has nothing to do with werewolves. With no fewer than 14 powerful modes, there’s something here for everyone. Use the tip for maximum stimulation, or lay it lengthwise to spread the sensation over a wider area, the choice is yours. The Silver Bullet is waterproof and quick to charge, so it’s ready for any adventure.
Adventure? From the way they’re describing it, you’d think it was as indispensable in the wilderness as, say, a compass. And the waterproof thing again, presumably for more ‘bathtime fun’. It looks less complicated than the LadyBliss, however, and my eye is drawn to a QR code at the bottom. The text above urges me to ‘scan here for hints and tips’. I could probably use some of those, I admit to myself as I follow the link. The website is surprisingly informative, and I learn that some people find using it directly is a bit much, so it suggests trying it through clothes or underwear to begin with. There are also some diagrams that show different ways to use it. After studying the site for a while, I feel sufficiently reassured to take the next step. I glance across to the dog basket, where Meg is fast asleep. I’d be happier if she wasn’t in here at all, but she’ll only stand outside the door and whine if I wake her up and throw her out, so I decide to leave her. She’s not going to know what I’m doing, after all.
It takes a while to wrestle the vibrator out of the blister pack but, when I do, the first surprise is how heavy it is. It might pass for a lipstick visually, but it would give the game away as soon as someone picked it up. I set it down on the desk next to my bed, unbutton my jeans and lie down, trying to conjure up some sexy images as I reach for the vibrator and press the button to turn it on. When it comes to life, I nearly drop it in shock. Why is it so loud? It sounds like an angry hornet has somehow got into my room, and I’m sure Liv must be able to hear it even though she’s downstairs.
I press the button again to turn it off, but it doesn’t work. Instead, the intensity of the buzzing goes up several notches. I keep pressing, but it seems all I’m doing is cycling it through its various modes. How the hell do I turn it off? It’s now doing a convincing impression of a motorbike going up through the gears. It’s no good, I’m going to have to consult the website again. I put the still buzzing vibrator down on my desk as I reach for my phone. Big mistake. The whole desk seems to act as some kind of sounding board, to the point that people in the street must now be able to hear it. Not only that, but it’s woken Meg up and she’s staring at it intently. Thankfully, the din is short lived as it rolls off onto the carpet almost straight away but, no sooner has it landed than Meg is on top of it, grabbing it in her mouth.
‘Drop it, Meg,’ I tell her sternly as I advance on her, but she’s evidently decided this is a new and tremendous game, making sure she moves just out of reach every time I try to grab it. It’s still making an unholy noise as it rattles against her teeth, but I’m now more worried about her swallowing it. If I have to take her to the vet because she’s swallowed a ‘waterproof for bathtime fun’ sex toy that would probably still be buzzing in her stomach, that’s going to result in the most humiliating conversation it’s possible to have. Maybe a piece of cheese, her favourite treat, will persuade her to give it up. I’m paralysed with indecision though. If I leave her here on her own while I fetch the cheese, she could do herself a mischief. But there’s no way she’s going to let me near enough to grab her collar and take her with me.
In the end, it seems the only option is to imprison Meg up here while I fetch the cheese. She’s watching me carefully, wagging her tail as I button up my jeans and make my way over to the door. I start to open it so I can creep out, but that’s obviously the moment she’s been waiting for as she shoots through the gap with an alacrity I didn’t know she had, evidently keen to put as much distance between us as possible. I thunder down the stairs after her, only to find her in the sitting room, where Liv is sitting on the sofa with a cup of tea and a macaron, staring at her curiously.
‘What’s this then?’ Liv says to her, offering her a piece of macaron and gently prising the vibrator out of her mouth. ‘What are you doing with Mummy’s toy, eh? It’s not for dogs.’ She looks up at me. ‘Goliath seems to have shrunk in the wash,’ she observes drily.
‘I wasn’t, umm…’ I begin, feeling my face flushing scarlet as she presses the button and holds it in, finally turning the bloody thing off.
‘Hey, no judgement from me,’ she tells me with a smile. ‘I’m just glad you’re taking care of yourself. Maybe shut the dog out next time though, eh? Some things are best done alone. Oh, and definitely give it a good clean before you use it again.’
She holds it out and I take it gingerly, between the tips of my fingers, before fleeing to my room. I could literally die with embarrassment.
8
‘Oh, God. Look what you made me do!’ Darren yelled in panic as Claire gingerly touched the wound on the back of her head where the blood was pouring from. She was surprised more than shocked at this point. Technically, Darren hadn’t hit her, although he’d pushed her roughly enough that she’d lost her balance and hit her head on the side of the kitchen worktop on the way down. This was a new low, though, but she was too confused and upset to process it right now.
‘You need to take me to hospital,’ she murmured. ‘I think I’m going to have to have stitches.’
Darren looked horrified. ‘What will you tell them? You’ll say you slipped, yeah?’
She didn’t have the energy to fight with him any more. ‘Yeah.’
‘How’s it gooiinnng?’ my agent Tamara’s voice trills. ‘Are you going to send me some sample chapters to whet the publisher’s appetite?’
This is the phone call I’ve been dreading. Although there are parts of the book I’m reasonably happy with, it’s still not going very well and I’m a long way behind schedule. I need to try to deflect her until I hopefully get back on track.
‘No, Tamara,’ I tell her firmly. ‘You ask this every time and I say no every time because there’s no point sending sample chapters if I’m only going to change them when I come to read the finished manuscript through.’
‘They’re champing at the bit, darling. You need to give them something.’
‘You’ve got the synopsis, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, and they absolutely love it, but they want more.’
I don’t believe her for a minute. She knows as well as I do that the publisher has already contracted for this book, and they’re probably up to their ears with their other authors right now. This is just her way of pressurising me into showing her where I’ve got to, because she doesn’t trust me to hit the deadline. Even though I’ve never missed one yet, I share her nervousness this time. The new chapters are proceeding at a snail’s pace, and I’m wasting lots of time going over and over passages I’ve already written, wondering if they’re shit, or the whole concept of the book is fundamentally flawed. It sounded like a good idea when I was pitching it to Tamara, and she was certainly enthusiastic, but now I’m not so sure. Maybe I can use that to buy a bit of time.
‘The thing is,’ I begin carefully, ‘now that I’m actually writing it, I can’t help wondering if the whole dual timeline thing is going to work.’
‘Nonsense! It’s a brilliant concept, as I told you when you pitched the book to me.’
‘Don’t you think the reader might feel like it’s two books glued together?’
‘No. It’s definitely got two distinct parts, but they’re so closely linked that it just wouldn’t work as two books. What if we did that, and someone read the second part first? They wouldn’t have a clue what was going on. No. Stick with the original plan, darling. It’s genius, and I know your writing will fizz just as it always does.’
‘I’m just at that stage where I doubt everything,’ I tell her with a sigh.
‘Hmm.’ She doesn’t sound pleased. ‘It sounds to me like you’ve lost your way a bit. Have you?’
I should have known she’d see through me. The doomsday spiral has now started to play in my head and I can practically hear her telling me the publisher has lost faith in the project, I need to pay back the advance, and she’s also dropping me. To my surprise, her response is almost sympathetic when she continues.
‘I’m going to take your silence as a yes,’ she says gently. ‘Look, I know you’ve been through a lot lately, with the breakup of your relationship, moving house and everything. Maybe you should think about getting away. A change of scenery might be just the thing. There are some great-sounding retreats coming up. I can send you details if you like.’
This is another well-worn topic of hers. She’s a big believer in writers’ retreats and seems to think that every writing problem can be fixed by going on one. To be honest, being stuck with a load of other writers sounds like my version of hell and I’ve always shut her down. It’s not that I don’t like other writers; the ones I’ve met have all been fine. It’s just that I have visions of everyone sitting round in a circle at the end of the day, discussing what they’ve written and giving each other ‘helpful critique’. If anything is going to worsen my writer’s block, it’s ‘helpful critique’.
‘I’m fine, thank you,’ I say. ‘I just need to fall back in love with the story, that’s all.’
‘And what better place to do that than the South of France or Tuscany, darling? There’s also a retreat coming up in Wales, but who’d want to go there when you could be soaking up the sun and culture with a glass or two of vino while you chat all things authorly with your fellow writers? I’ll send you through the details. Promise me you’ll have a look at least? I really think this would be good for you.’
‘Fine.’ I like Tamara, and we generally work well together, but I have to admit that her obsession with retreats does wind me up. Hopefully, letting her send me the details of these ones will get her off my back for a while and, by the time she follows up, I’ll be able to tell her that I don’t need it because I’m back on track.
‘I’m home!’ Liv shouts from the bottom of the stairs an hour or so later. This is something she’s started doing ever since vibrator-gate. I think she does it to alert me in case I’m in the middle of a passionate moment with the Silver Bullet but, although I followed the instructions on the website, both it and the LadyBliss have been about as successful as Angus in the ‘rocking Laura’s world’ department. To be fair, I suspect the problem may be less to do with them and more to do with ten years’ worth of bad sex making it difficult to conjure up the right level of enthusiasm but, after a few disappointing attempts, I consigned them back to their box under the bed.
‘Hello, Meggie. Did you miss your Auntie Liv?’ she’s saying to an ecstatic Meg as I come out onto the landing to greet her.
‘Honestly, I sometimes wonder whether that dog loves you more than me,’ I say, feigning irritation.
‘Of course she does,’ Liv coos. ‘You and Laura are both much happier living with Auntie Liv, aren’t you?’
She’s got a point. She’s not perfect – which of us is? – but living with her is definitely a lot better than being on my own, and I’m grateful for my shifts in the pâtisserie too.
‘Your lovers were in again today, so Bella tells me,’ Liv says as I follow her into the kitchen, where she flicks on the kettle without even breaking her stride. ‘Tea?’
