‘Poor thing,’ he commiserated. ‘I remember when my brother and sister and I got them we were off school for a week and drove my mother mad trying to vie with each other as to who was sicker and had the most spots.’
Over coffee he’d insisted she show him her work and she could see he loved Mitten the Kitten and her antics almost as much as she did. He pored over the words for Mr Bones and her first few sketches for it.
‘They’re great, Sarah,’ he said, genuinely impressed. ‘They’re simple and fun and I’d guess kids of all ages would like them.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘Can I take copies of Mitten the Kitten for Jilly? And if you have copies of Mr Bones, even a bit of the story and one or two drawings, I’ll let her have a look at them too.’
‘Ronan, I can’t believe you are being so kind,’ gushed Sarah, chasing around the flat for a big envelope and sheets of paper and hunting for the stapler.
‘Jilly tells me they get thousands of submissions every year but most of the stuff is utter rubbish. You don’t want Mitten getting lost in the slush pile so I’ll give it to her directly. That way at least you know she’s read and looked at it herself.’
‘I can’t believe it, my little book actually going to London to a publisher.’
‘Sarah, don’t get your hopes too high!’ he warned. ‘I think it’s great but I’m not a publisher.’
‘I know, I know,’ she accepted. ‘Everyone turned down Harry Potter so I can’t expect anyone else to like Mitten. But I’ve had great fun doing it and Evie and I love her!’
Ronan was the best of company and he entertained her with the antics of Mick and himself and the rest of the guys after she’d left them the previous night. They’d all headed into town to a nightclub and when they left at four a.m. taxis were scarce and those that did appear had refused to take them.
‘Mick and I had to walk home,’ he confessed. ‘I swear I had to almost carry him and then had him snoring in the spare room with me as he didn’t want to disturb Karen.’
‘A wise decision,’ confirmed Sarah.
When the time came for him to leave to go to the airport, Sarah wished that he didn’t live so far away.
‘You take care,’ he said giving her a last hug. They promised to keep in touch.
During the week Angus had studiously avoided her and simply sent a text to cancel their regular DVD night. Disappointed, Sarah rented out a copy of Bridget Jones’s Diary to console herself.
Ten days later Jilly Greene phoned Sarah from her London office. Sarah almost dropped the phone in shock as the children’s books editor told her how much she liked Mitten the Kitten and her art style and invited her over to meet her in her offices in London the following week.
Sarah screamed and yelled and jumped up and down like a five-year-old with the good news as Evie, sitting colouring on the kitchen table, looked perplexed.
‘What is it, Mummy?’
‘Something lovely has happened, Evie,’ she explained. ‘A lady in London likes my story about Mitten and wants me to go to London to see her and the art director. They might make it into a book, I just can’t believe it!’
‘But it is a book,’ Evie pointed out.
‘I know,’ Sarah agreed, it was already a very special book to the two of them, ‘but they might make it into a book that sells in the shops or you borrow from the library so that other kids will get to know Mitten too.’
Evie flung her arms around her and hugged her tight, caught up in the excitement. It was only about ten minutes later that it hit her: how could she go to London and leave Evie? What about the costs of the flights and a hotel? It was impossible, there was no way she could go. The negative voice inside her was battling against the excitement of something good and positive happening to her, a door of opportunity opening to her which was beyond her wildest dreams. Maybe her mum could take Evie for the day or even two days. And there were cheap flights advertised all the time on the internet, maybe she could get one of them.
‘Come on, Evie, let’s go up and tell Granny the good news.’
Maggie Ryan had been almost overcome with emotion when she heard about the trip to London and the possibility of Sarah’s book being published.
‘Sarah, I always knew you had talent. You’ve been drawing and painting since you were Evie’s age. Just wait till the others hear, they’ll be thrilled!’
‘Mum, I’m excited but I don’t want to say too much till I go to London and meet the publishers,’ she confided.
‘Of course,’ said Maggie proudly, delighted for her youngest daughter.
‘Mummy’s book is going to be in the shops and kids can read it, Granny,’ announced Evie, her blue eyes huge and sparkling, ‘and she has to go to London.’
‘Isn’t it wonderful news, Evie?’ Her grandmother smiled. ‘And maybe you will come and stay for the day with me while Mummy is away.’
‘Yes,’ beamed Evie, ‘and Mummy says that if I am good she will bring me a present.’
‘Well, that would be lovely, darling,’ said Maggie, watching as Evie disappeared over to the couch to watch children’s TV.
‘You did hear that poor old Angus has the chicken pox now,’ Maggie told Sarah as she put the kettle on for a celebratory coffee. ‘Apparently he’s covered from top to toe with spots.’
‘But he told me he’d already had chicken pox before,’ Sarah blurted out. ‘Honest, he did!’
‘Well, obviously not,’ Maggie continued, buttering some freshly made scones. ‘It must have been some other childhood illness.’
‘He must have caught it from Evie,’ she admitted, instantly blaming herself.
‘He’s had the doctor and has been very sick for the last few days,’ her mother confided, pouring two cups of the filtered coffee. ‘Apparently he’ll be off work for a while, it’s more serious in adulthood and you know what bad patients men make!’
‘The worst,’ agreed Sarah, remembering how her dad would act if he had a cold or a cough. They’d all know about it: he had them running up and down like Florence Nightingales tendering to his every whim.
‘Maybe you should call in and see if he’s OK,’ suggested her mother. ‘After all, Evie did give it to him. I phoned him and left him a pasta bake with cheese, but to be honest I didn’t go into the mews as I might get some kind of virus myself. Remember how sick poor Ita Brennan was with the shingles.’
‘Mum, you’ve got it all mixed up; you couldn’t get shingles from Angus.’
‘Well, I’m not taking any risks, much better you keep an eye on him, Sarah.’
Honestly, was her mother trying to meddle again? Sarah took a sip of coffee. Still, poor Angus! She was annoyed with him for ignoring her since the night he babysat and had wondered why he’d suddenly started avoiding her when all the time there was a perfectly good reason for his not being around.
‘Well, I’ll phone Angus later and try to see if I can help,’ she offered.
Angus Hamilton was stretched out in bed upstairs in the mews when she called bearing newspapers, a DVD of a Hitchcock film and fifteen freshly made fairy cakes with pastel icing and a bottle of pink Caladryl lotion.
‘You look awful,’ she said, staring at the spotted face and arms and the trail of huge red weals on his chest and hands as he clutched desperately at the quilt.
‘Go away,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Let me die in peace.’
‘You are definitely not going to die,’ Sarah chided, ‘but if you sit up I’ll make you a coffee.’
She chased back down to the kitchen, emptying his smelly bin and throwing some dirty clothes in the washing machine. By the time she got back upstairs with two mugs of coffee she noticed he had brushed his hair, smoothed out his sheets and was eating a pink-topped bun.
‘Aren’t they yummy?’ She smiled. ‘I knew you’d like them much better than chicken broth and all those disgusting invalid foods.’
‘I’m not an invalid,’ he protested as Sarah, trying not to look at the big scab
by blisters near his lip and on his chin, passed him the coffee.
‘Sorry about the chicken pox, but I thought you said you’d had it already.’
‘Apparently not, my mother tells me now that I’ve had every other blasted childhood illness under the sun but not this one.’
‘Poor you,’ she said, sitting on the edge of the bed, wondering how was it that men mostly looked so bad in pyjamas, chicken pox or not!
‘I feel like shit,’ he admitted.
‘You’ll be a bit better in a few days once all the blisters have scabbed over,’ she reassured him. ‘Evie was flying around then.’
‘I was meant to go to Edinburgh tomorrow,’ he said, propping himself up with the pillows, ‘but I’m not well enough. Megan’s going mad because we had tickets for a charity ball which is held in Edinburgh Castle. It’s one of the biggest bashes of the year.’
‘Sorry,’ she mumbled again as she looked around the bedroom, noticing two photos of the beautiful Megan with her bobbed straight black hair and pale face. In one she was with Angus in formal evening wear, a sculpted black silk dress; in another she was sitting on a pier with the sea and an island behind her. She was a classic beauty with a svelte figure and a great sense of style; no wonder Angus was mad about her.
‘She’s beautiful,’ she said, realizing he had caught her staring at the photographs.
He said nothing and Sarah felt a strange awkwardness between them.
‘Will Megan come over to soothe your poor spotty brow?’
‘Doubtful.’ He sighed. ‘She’s not particularly gone on Dublin and when I told her that I was covered in spots you’d think that I had leprosy – she almost jumped away from the phone. No doubt she’ll find a willing replacement partner for the ball.’
Sarah suddenly thought of her mother’s old adage to look close at a lover and see how they behave when illness comes knocking on the door. Perhaps the beautiful Megan wasn’t as perfect as she seemed.
‘I brought you over a container with some of my lasagne and I’ve put it in the freezer. It’ll save you cooking.’
‘Thanks,’ he said weakly, scratching at his arm.
‘You know you should really rub some of that pink stuff all over you,’ she advised. ‘It really helped Evie stop scratching.’
‘Maybe you could rub it on me,’ he teased.
Sarah laughed, glad to see Angus was getting his sense of humour back. ‘I’m making meatballs in a tomato sauce and rice for tea tonight, I’ll pop over with some later if you fancy it.’
‘Thanks,’ he said, reaching for her hand and clasping it in his. ‘You’re an angel.’
He looked so lost and lonely and miserable that she was tempted to stay and keep him company for a while. If she were Megan and had a nice boyfriend like him she wouldn’t leave him reliant on the goodwill of neighbours and friends when he was sick. She’d fly to his side at once. But he wasn’t her boyfriend, she reminded herself, he was just a friend whom she’d come to care about.
‘Angus, I’d better get going,’ she said, passing him up the newspaper. ‘I’ve a few things to do before I collect Evie. I’m trying to get organized to go to London next week, to see a publisher who likes my book.’
‘What?’ he exclaimed, almost jumping out of the bed. ‘That’s great news, Sarah. I’m so pleased for you.’
‘Ronan gave it to her and she read the story and liked it. I’m trying not to get my hopes too high,’ she explained, ‘but it is exciting!’
‘You’ll knock them dead when they meet you,’ he said simply, ‘and the book is great!’
Standing outside the mews she tried to gather her thoughts. Even though she was young and single, she was a parent, and she didn’t need the complication of falling for someone like Angus, no matter how charming and fun he was, for the harsh truth of it was that he was already taken.
Chapter Forty-one
As Sarah Ryan walked through the busy Terminal 1 in Heathrow, her precious manuscript and photocopies of her story safe along with a change of clothes in the roomy black leather shoulder bag Grace had lent her, she couldn’t help smiling. She was going to London to talk to a real pubisher about a story and character that she had created – it was just too incredible. Thousands of people passed by, caught up in their own lives and problems and work as they rushed and brushed alongside her in the huge airport. Keep calm, she reminded herself as she ignored the panicky feeling in her stomach and tried to suss out which way to go. She was to take the Heathrow Express Train that would bring her into central London and then it was just a short cab ride to the offices of Little Bear Books. She was naturally nervous about meeting a big publisher and discussing her work on a professional level, but was also excited at the prospect.
What was meant to be a simple day in London had turned into a weekend visit! Ronan, when he’d heard about her appointment with Jilly, had insisted she stay on the Friday and Saturday night in his place.
‘Fingers crossed we’ll be celebrating,’ he insisted, ‘and we’ll go out for a lovely dinner.’
Her mum and sisters had been equally supportive. Her mother was minding Evie today, and tomorrow Grace would take over as Maggie was going to Knock on a pilgrimage with Aunt Kitty.
‘Evie will be spoiled rotten while you are away,’ they’d all insisted. ‘It’s only for a few days!’
Her flight had cost half nothing and she’d blinked away the tears when her sisters and mother had insisted on giving her some extra shopping money. Karen had told her she was proud of her and Angus had hugged her and wished her luck.
She hated leaving Evie but knew in her heart that with her granny and aunties she was in safe hands. The prospect of a few days in London was very tempting. She’d only been to London twice previously. Her first time had been with her class of eighty convent girls, and they had spent most of the trip sightseeing for boys their own age and drinking secretly in the rooms of the student hostel that they were staying in. Then she had come over for a twenty-first birthday treat with Grace and Anna when Evie was just over a year old. They’d had tickets for Les Misérables, and all she remembered was missing Evie, who had developed a sore ear, and wishing she was home.
This time was different. She had total faith in her family’s ability to babysit and was here on business.
Sarah took a deep breath as she paid the cab driver and stepped through the door of Little Bear Books. There were poster displays everywhere for their latest books and she recognized some of the titles.
A security guard pointed the way to the lift to the fifth floor where editor Jilly Greene had an office. Jilly was tall and dark-haired and very slim, her big eyes and brilliant bone structure emphasized by the amazing silver earrings that dangled from her ears. They were of a spider’s web. Sarah, unable to help herself, stared.
‘They’re cool, aren’t they!’ She smiled, pointing to the seat opposite her desk. ‘Jess, one of my friends, made them for me. They go with a book I’ve just done about a spider who can foretell the future. Who knows, maybe next time I’ll be getting kitten ones!’
Sarah blushed, relieved that Jilly was so taken with her story.
Jilly professed her fondness for Ronan and then asked her to spread her story out on the desk and talk her through it.
‘It’s so simple and cute but I defy anyone from three to ninety-three not to like it,’ she said, fixing Sarah with her intense gaze. ‘You’ve done a lovely job with the character of the cat and of course of her owner. We are keen to publish it, and sign you up for a second book: that’s why I asked you to come over to meet us.’
Sarah stared at the table strewn with her story and drawings, not really believing what she was hearing. It was every art student’s dream, every writer’s hope to get a book published, and here it was happening to her. She dared not say a word in case like an absolute eejit she broke down and cried.
‘We would hope to publish for next Christmas. We’re too late for this year, obviously, and would want it for the UK,
Ireland, Australia, Canada and New Zealand. Your agent will obviously sell the rights for the rest of the world.’
‘I don’t have an agent,’ she admitted.
‘Don’t worry, that will change, and if not, we will sell the rights.’
Sarah felt like jumping across the table and hugging Jilly.
‘We’ll pay you twenty thousand pounds for two books which will be spread out and paid not just on signing the contract but on delivery and publication of each book.’
Sarah concentrated on her drawing of Miss Bee trying to coax Mitten down out of an apple tree. This was too good to be true. Money to go into a bank account for herself and Evie, money for ballet classes, for new shoes, for a trip to the hairdresser’s to get proper highlights instead of her usual do-it-yourself job.
‘Is that OK with you?’ asked Jilly grinning.
Sarah nodded. ‘I can’t believe it.’
‘Well, do believe it,’ added Jilly, serious now, ‘because we really do like the stories and your style. I would like to see another one or two Mitten stories with Miss Bee. I also think that your dog detective Mr Bones has great potential and it is something else we might be interested in optioning.’
Sarah sat dumbfounded across from her, thinking how lucky she was. If she hadn’t gone to Karen and Mick’s for dinner and got talking to Ronan none of this would have happened.
‘Would you like a tea or coffee?’ asked Jilly. ‘Jeremy our art director wants to come in and say hello as he will be the one working with you on the art and design.’
‘Coffee please,’ she said, trying to relax and enjoy the moment.
Jeremy Howard wore dark black-rimmed glasses, a black jacket and bright red shirt. He was the same height as her and she guessed was about forty years old. He introduced himself and reeled off a few of the children’s books he had worked on previously. Sarah was delighted to hear one or two that were favourites of Evie’s. She listened attentively as he talked through the artwork and some suggested layouts.
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