Chapter 19
It had been a somewhat rocky start. But as the days passed, they settled into a routine of sorts. The beauty of the coastline and the perfect weather made it easy for Mimi to rise early each morning and go for a run along Puerto Pollensa’s famous Pine Walk, followed by a swim in the crystalline sea. Once CJ was out of bed and had finished eating his breakfast on the terrace, it was her job to somehow trick him into getting some work done, whilst he did everything in his power to avoid doing it.
‘You’re a harridan,’ he grumbled, when she switched off the Wi-Fi so he couldn’t idle away the morning on the internet.
‘I’m only a harridan because you’re a hopeless case.’ Mimi didn’t take the insults personally. ‘Your publisher needs a hundred thousand words by December and you need to buckle down. Now, I’ve typed up everything you wrote yesterday and here are the notes you fired at me last night.’ She’d printed everything out for him, because CJ was a dinosaur who wrote his books by hand. ‘If you need a coffee or a snack, don’t get up, just call me and I’ll bring it to you.’ Because she’d rapidly learned that if he went to make a coffee for himself, he’d then either go for a wander in the garden, or switch on the cinema-sized TV and become instantly engrossed in Homes Under the Hammer. ‘You’re not leaving this office until you’ve written a thousand words.’
‘Nag nag nag.’
‘The sooner they’re done, the sooner you can stop for lunch.’
CJ heaved a sigh and looked down at the fat A4 writing pad on his desk. ‘I hate this.’
‘I know, but you won’t hate it once you get going.’
He gazed mournfully past her. ‘Is Eddie blind in his left eye or his right?’
‘He’s blind in his right eye.’ This was the new character he’d introduced three chapters ago. ‘And his name’s Eric.’
‘Just testing you.’
‘Of course you were. Time to get busy now.’
‘Right. I’m going to make a start. You can close the door behind you.’
Mimi held out her hand, palm up. Reluctantly, having thought she might forget to confiscate it, CJ took out his phone and passed it over.
‘Thank you. Now I’ll close the door.’
While he was in his office, Mimi set up her laptop in the kitchen and began working her way through all the tasks that needed addressing. She tackled a long list of emails, then replied to the day’s fan mail. In order to run CJ’s social media accounts she’d had to learn to write in his voice, albeit a more avuncular and friendly voice than the real one, because telling people to fuck off if they dared to point out mistakes or criticise his books wouldn’t be doing him any favours. A couple of years ago, whilst briefly allowed to write his own tweets, he’d got himself embroiled in a ferocious altercation with a boxing champion that had ended up being splashed all over the Daily Mail online.
She spent the next two hours responding to messages from CJ’s readers, adding content to his website, setting up a competition and uploading photos from a literary festival he’d attended in Brazil.
At midday, she took him a coffee and a plate of fruit.
‘How many words?’
He raked his fingers through his already raked-up hair. ‘Thirty-four.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Trust me, I’ve counted them enough times.’
Mimi said, ‘You’re going to be stuck here for the next week.’
‘I’d be OK,’ CJ exploded with frustration, ‘if I just knew what’s meant to happen next.’
‘Get on with it,’ said Mimi.
Two hours later, she quietly pushed open the door to the office to see if he’d fallen asleep.
‘One thousand four hundred words.’ CJ was triumphant as he gestured grandly at the sheets of A4 paper littering the floor, all covered in his terrible, barely legible writing.
‘Are they good words?’
‘The very best.’ He was a changed man; the tension in his neck and spine had visibly subsided and he actually looked happy, at peace with himself, as if the weight of the world had floated off his shoulders. Spreading his arms wide, he said simply, ‘I worked out what needed to happen next.’
‘Brilliant.’ Mimi gave an approving nod. ‘Would you like me to bring you another coffee?’
He recoiled in horror. ‘I wouldn’t like that at all. The words are done. I thought we’d go out and celebrate.’
Willa had warned her about this before she’d started, and Mimi had grown proficient at heading CJ off at the pass, but still he persisted in trying it on, like a puppy in search of treats.
‘Listen, you’re in the zone.’ She used her coaxing voice. ‘If you stop now, you won’t start again. You’re behind schedule and you know how much you hate that feeling, so doesn’t it make more sense to keep going while you’re on a roll and see how much more you can get down on paper?’
‘But—’
‘Words in the bank.’ Mimi stared him down. ‘You know it makes sense.’
‘You’re heartless.’
‘Worse than Willa.’
Mimi shrugged. ‘Or you could say I was better than Willa.’
‘I hate you. Remind me again why I took you on?’
‘To look after you and make sure you write your books. Because if you don’t,’ said Mimi, ‘you’ll mess up your publisher’s schedule and they’ll start to resent you, then they’ll refuse to renew your contract and then the royalty cheques will stop rolling in and you’ll have to sell this villa and find a proper job, except you’re basically unemployable . . . oh, and you won’t be getting any attention from pretty women any more either. You won’t see them for dust.’
‘Bloody hell.’ CJ shook his head. ‘Now I really hate you.’
‘We could go out for dinner tonight if you want.’
He looked pained. ‘I’m hungry now.’
‘No worries.’ Magnanimous in victory, Mimi said, ‘I’ll make you some cheese on toast.’
Later that evening, in a buoyant mood because his word count for the day had ended up hitting the magical three thousand mark, CJ said, ‘Thanks for today. I don’t hate you any more.’
‘Until tomorrow.’
‘Well, obviously, goes without saying. But I need you there. I just do.’
He did. Some authors, Mimi knew, couldn’t wait to leap out of bed and switch on their computers each morning, all ready to start work; they loved every minute and happily rattled off thousands of words, oblivious to the passage of time and not even wanting to tear themselves away at the end of the day. Whereas CJ, at the opposite end of the eagerness spectrum, would do almost anything to avoid the task in hand. Employing someone to force him to work might sound extreme, but it was really no different from those reluctant exercisers who paid a fortune for personal trainers to come to their home, bully them out of bed and beat them with sticks until they’d done their quota of planks and star jumps.
She wasn’t a luxury item, she was a necessity.
‘Whatever works for you,’ Mimi told him.
‘And how are you liking it out here? Is it bearable?’
They were sitting outside one of his favourite beachfront restaurants with lights reflecting off the satin-calm water whilst locals and late-season tourists made their evening promenade along the Pine Walk behind them.
Mimi paused. ‘This place is great.’ And it was, but there was no denying that it would be nicer if CJ weren’t the only person she knew here. Working all day up at the villa and having no one to talk to other than him was a bit—
‘Eddie hijacks the helicopter and shoots the pilot with the gun he stole from Maria’s grandfather.’
Mimi dutifully wrote it down. ‘You know, you could make these notes yourself. You’d just need to dictate everything onto your phone and let me transcribe it afterwards.’
‘Tried it. Kept pressing the wrong buttons. Anyway, don’t complain.’ He sat back, assessing her. ‘So you’re going to stick this out, are you? Not planning to bugger off back home and leave me high and dry?’
‘I’m not going to bugger off home,’ said Mimi. ‘And his name’s still Eric.’
‘Couldn’t we just change it to Eddie?’
‘No. You had an Eddie in your last book.’
Twenty minutes later, while CJ was away from the table visiting the bathroom, a text arrived on her phone from Lois.
Hi, hope all good with you. Just letting you know I’m getting out of Goosebrook for a while. Looks like me and Felix are headed for a break. We need some space, anyway. Sorry, bit pissed, don’t really know what to do. Miss you. X
Mimi looked over at CJ, held up on his way back to the table by a family of British holidaymakers who’d recognised him. Crossing her fingers, she hoped he’d be nice to them.
When he rejoined her several minutes later, CJ said, ‘See? I was polite.’
‘Well done you.’
‘Bloody well done me.’ He gave a snort of derision. ‘They buy one paperback and share it around the seven of them.’
‘It’s what families do. Some people can’t afford to buy seven copies.’
‘They kept telling me I was their favourite author.’
‘Isn’t that brilliant?’ Mimi nodded encouragingly.
‘Not really. They thought I was Ian Rankin. Don’t laugh.’ CJ scowled. ‘It’s not funny.’
‘It kind of is, though. And his books are fantastic.’
‘Not as fantastic as mine.’
This was debatable.
‘Listen to me. Next time you’re interviewed on TV, talk about what just happened.’
‘Are you crazy?’ CJ was so appalled he almost spilled his drink.
‘It’s endearing to tell a story against yourself,’ Mimi assured him.
‘I don’t want to tell a story against myself. That just makes me look like a big loser. I want to tell stories that make me sound great.’
‘Everyone will love you for it, though.’
‘Everyone will think I’m a complete fucking failure.’
Mimi said, ‘Trust me, one of us is an expert when it comes to public relations. And it isn’t you.’
‘Hmm. We’ll see.’
Which meant there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of it happening. Some people simply weren’t capable of doing self-deprecating. Not for the first time, Mimi idly wondered if this particular character trait had something to do with CJ’s upbringing, but she already knew from experience that he didn’t speak about that. When questioned, he glossed over his childhood, claiming it was simply too uneventful to discuss. Not much money but plenty of fun, that was as far as he’d go, as much detail as he was prepared to impart. Basically, he always maintained, because people’s childhoods were always so bloody boring to hear about.
‘Would you like me to change the subject?’ said Mimi.
‘Please do, because there’s no way I’m going on TV to make a tit of myself.’
‘Am I allowed to have a friend come out to visit me?’
CJ’s eyebrows lowered. ‘Are you talking about someone dropping by for a quick cup of tea?’ He mimed lifting a cup, little finger daintily held aloft. ‘Or is this someone coming to stay with you in your apartment?’
‘Stay,’ said Mimi.
The scowl deepened. ‘Is it that bastard ex of yours?’
‘What? No!’
‘Oh. Who, then? New bloke?’
‘No bloke at all. It’s my friend from Goosebrook. She’s going through a bad patch with her husband and could really do with a break.’
‘Does that mean she’s going to be crying and wailing the whole time?’
‘God, listen to yourself,’ Mimi declared. ‘Such empathy. She won’t cry all the time, OK? And if she ever does cry, I promise you won’t have to witness it. She’s my friend, not yours. You don’t even have to speak to her if you don’t want to.’
‘Fine then.’ CJ shrugged. ‘She can come and stay.’
‘You’re such a ray of sunshine.’
‘She’d better not throw herself at me, that’s all.’
‘She’s married. And you’re no George Clooney,’ Mimi retorted.
‘Ah, but I’m me. CJ Exley, worldwide best-selling author. The moment she claps eyes on the villa, I’ll magically become more attractive, you wait and see.’
‘No offence,’ said Mimi, ‘but I don’t think you will.’
While CJ was ordering another bottle of wine, she texted Lois back: Want to fly over and stay with me for a bit?
Within seconds, Lois’s reply flashed up: That would be amazing. YES PLEASE!!! How soon can I come?