The Glass Tower

by Gregg Dunnett

  "I'm just trying to say that Joanna is an entirely separate character, that just happens to have a story with some elements like yours. But no one will ever connect her to you."

  Julia still didn't reply. She felt an overwhelming desire to put the phone down and erase the conversation.

  "Julia?"

  "What?"

  "Do you think it's the sort of thing you could pass onto your agent, James McArthur? He doesn't even consider unsolicited manuscripts, but if it came from you he might be prepared to take a look. I mean, once I've finished it, obviously."

  Julia considered the idea of sending what she had just read to her agent. The worst part was she could picture the response. Even in its unfinished form he would pick up his telephone and call her (which he so rarely did). He would want to know more about who wrote such crystal-clear prose, such delightful turns of phrase. Julia didn't doubt it for a second.

  "Becky, I can't believe you're asking me this."

  Becky stayed silent, so that Julia had to repeat her name down the telephone to check she was still on the line.

  "Yes, I'm here. I just hoped that you might like it. That's all." She sounded so sad that Julia softened a little.

  "I do. I do think it's quite nicely written. Very nicely written, even. It's just that you can't possibly carry on writing it. And certainly not publish it. Or even send it to anyone." Julia paused, and when Becky didn't reply she went on.

  "Ever. You do see that, don't you?"

  "Well, I know I have to finish it first," Becky replied at last.

  Julia had to drag her mind away from what she wanted to hear the girl say, and back to what she was actually saying.

  "What?"

  "Before I send it anywhere. I know I have to finish it before I do that. That was the other thing I hoped you might be able to help me with. I mean, The Glass Tower was so brilliantly, yet so subtly, plotted out. I wondered if you might have some thoughts about how this story could finish. You see, I think Joanna has to redeem herself, but I don't know how she can do it."

  "This story?" Julia asked. "Or our story?"

  "This story," Becky replied firmly. She gave a nervous laugh. "My story, with the diamonds. They're not the same thing, Julia."

  Julia slammed her fist against her head.

  "Becky, the diamonds are an entirely incidental part of your story. You could take them out and they wouldn't affect the structure at all. It is our story, And you can't finish it. You simply can't."

  Julia stopped and there was silence. She tried another tack.

  "Why don't you start something else? Another story?"

  "Start something else?"

  "Yes, you can clearly write. Quite well, beautifully well even, so why not...?"

  "What if someone had told you that?" Becky interrupted her. Her voice was suddenly bitter cold.

  "Told me what?"

  "To start something else when The Glass Tower was nearly finished?"

  "That's different..."

  "No it isn't. You said so yourself in the car, before the accident. You said you had to finish your book. That nothing could have stopped you. You simply wouldn't have let it. Well nothing is going to stop me either."

  Julia tensed. Had she said that? She certainly recognised the feeling.

  "Becky – you have to listen to me. You cannot let anyone read this, it'll destroy... It'll destroy all of us. Not just me, but you and Rob as well."

  "No, it won't. It's fiction," Becky insisted. When she went on there was a stubborn note to her voice. "And even if it does, I don't care. I still have to finish it. I don't have a choice."

  "Becky..."

  "I don't want to talk about this any more," Becky interrupted her again. "I'm very disappointed Julia, I really thought you'd understand. But this is my book, you can't make me stop writing it. And if you won't help me finish it then I'll just have to finish it on my own."

  "Becky!"

  But the phone line had gone dead.

  At once Julia threw her telephone hard against the window of her penthouse apartment. For a second she hoped it would smash and send a satisfying rain of shattered glass down onto the street below. But it was safety glass and the device simply bounced off the window and landed on the pile of papers that made up Becky's manuscript. It fell face up, showing that the only broken glass was the screen of the phone. She swore quietly under her breath, and after a very long time she pressed herself up out of the chair and went to get her tablets. Following her success in getting additional supplies she had adjusted her dose to four 200mg tablets, four times a day. It still wouldn’t see her through until Dr Evil would give her some more. That was another problem that had to be solved.

  Julia went to run a bath. As the tub filled she undressed, slipped into a robe, and then went to the fridge to get a bottle of wine. She poured a large glass, and then drank half of it at once. Then she pressed six tablets from the blister pack and swallowed them with the rest of the wine from the glass. She refilled it, balanced it on the side of the bath, and climbed in.

  The water was hot and it stung her skin, but the sensation wasn't unpleasant. The searing feeling helped to numb the thoughts in her head. A hopeless despair. A total inability to think what to do next. She listened to the roaring sound the water made as it poured from the tap into the bath; she'd never noticed it before, how loud it was, how chaotic a sound. She watched the water fall, and her brain tried to force it to resemble a pattern. Her mind stopped the falling water, as if taking snapshots of it, but every time she tried to examine the image, it was gone, replaced by a new pattern. It was delicious, ignoring reality and concentrating on these little things. She went to sip at more of her wine, but found she had already finished her top up. Already two-thirds of the bottle had gone.

  She turned off the tap and lay back in the new silence, pushing her head underwater. Slowly, the thoughts began to intrude back into her head.

  Was it possible that Becky was right? Could she try and publish the book, and no one would notice that it actually told the story of what had really happened? Maybe there was no danger. Maybe no one would ever even read it. Certainly, the truth was that most books never even got close to being published. And Becky was a complete unknown. Surely the most likely outcome was that she would fail to sell the book, fail even to get an agent, and it would disappear? Julia felt hope at the thought. But then she remembered how she had felt as she was led through the clear, engaging text. The delights she encountered on nearly every page. Even if the diamonds in Becky's story were simply scattered haphazardly on the ground, in her prose they felt like an intriguing, glittering trail that led the reader onward. Julia could just imagine the excitement an agent or a publisher would feel upon following that trail. Their desperation to find out who was capable of laying such treasure. It was good. It was too damn fucking good.

  No, if Becky sent that manuscript out – even in its unfinished form – it would spread like wildfire. Even before being published – and there is no doubt it would end up published – it would be passed around within the industry, gaining more admirers at every turn.

  And then what? How long would it take before someone asked Becky whether the book was based on reality? Whether she had ever attended a launch of a novel – just as her character had? And once people made the connection between Julia and Becky, discovered about the bursary... The coincidences were too many. The consequences too awful to contemplate.

  Could she persuade Becky to change the story somehow? Make it fundamentally different? Not, Julia realised, without ripping the very heart out of it.

  Julia pushed her head under the water again. While there, she considered not surfacing this time. She stayed until the burn in her lungs really hurt. Then she came to the surface, spluttering for air.

  She coughed and spat out bathwater. What, then? Could she somehow persuade Becky to change her mind? Surely the stupid girl would see sense in the end? It was clear to Julia that whatever damage the book would do to he
r, it would also harm Becky. Presumably Becky too had committed a crime in covering up the death of the woman. But then, Julia replayed scenes from Becky's novel in her mind. In every case she had subtly altered what really happened, and presented things in a way that placed more blame on the hands of the poor novelist in the story. The book, Julia realised, would act like some kind of evidential statement arguing on behalf of Becky and Rob. In Becky's story they were shown as young and naive – almost as much the victims of the situation as the old woman on the bike was. Becky's nuanced grasp of the situation in prose showed she understood perfectly what she was doing, even if she had denied it, or appeared naive to the truth on the telephone.

  So what did that mean? Well, firstly that she wasn't going to be persuaded out of it, and actually Julia understood this on a more fundamental level. Becky's suggestion that Julia would never have given up on The Glass Tower was entirely accurate. She wouldn't have stopped that book for anything. Indeed, for ten years she had given up on everything in order to bring it into the world. Becky might be blind to the damage her book would do, but it was a willing blindness that came from love. A love for her book. And that was a love stronger than any other in the world. Stronger even than the love of a mother for her child (Julia was forced to suppose this, since she had never been a mother herself). Regardless, Julia knew that persuading Becky was impossible.

  So could she be bribed? Again, a flash of hope flared within Julia's mind – was that what this was about? She quickly calculated how much money she had left. Already the windfall she had received from the record-breaking advance from The Glass Tower, which she had assumed would last her for the rest of her life, was rather depleted. How much could she spare? And how much would Becky need? Not enough, Julia quickly realised. Because how much might the book actually make? How much was it worth to Becky to become a name herself? To realise her ambition of being recognised as a writer on her own terms? And however much the book might make on its own would surely be dwarfed when the reality of the story behind the book came out. When people realised that it was actually based upon true events – and Julia's downfall was added to the mix – then the notoriety of the book, and how much it stood to earn, would go even higher.

  There was no way Julia could buy Becky off. Even to try would be to court disaster – it would only highlight the value of what Becky had created.

  Which left... what?

  A happy thought occurred to Julia. It was nothing serious – just a whim of an idea – and it danced playfully into her mind. She could kill Becky. Quietly bump her off, and then all her problems would be solved. For the first time since realising what Becky's book was about, Julia smiled. She felt some of the weight of her problems lift off her mind. She could stick a knife into her back, push her in front of a train. Poison her. Choke her with a belt. She could hire a hit man to shoot her. She could beat her to death with a hammer.

  Julia lay in the bath thinking about this until the water grew cold.

  She finished her wine, climbed out of her bath and wrapped herself in her robe. She went to the kitchen, and at once she pulled another bottle from the wine chiller. She opened it, and as the cork popped she saw with certain clarity.

  She could see the rest of Becky's story, as clearly as if Becky had typed it out in her own beautifully sparse prose.

  Julia could see how their story ended.

  Thirty-Four

  Julia slept particularly badly, only falling asleep in the small hours. When she woke there were a few moments of otherworldliness and calm respite. Then, with all the subtlety of a freight train hammering past a station platform, all her problems returned, jostling and bickering for her attention.

  She couldn’t know how Becky’s story – her story –ended. That was ridiculous. And she certainly couldn't murder the girl. That was madness. Anyway, if she did, she would obviously have to murder Rob too, because otherwise he would go to the police and tell all.

  Her thoughts were preposterous, but nonetheless they lingered in her mind. In a space that would soon make way for the soaring, untethered reality that had become her new normal.

  Painfully, she pulled herself upright, popped out four Dramadol, and gulped them down dry.

  She made a new decision. She would visit Becky and persuade her of the craziness in continuing with the book. And if she couldn't? Well, she simply wouldn't take no for an answer.

  She texted Becky at once, virtually ordering her to meet, and then she dressed carefully, ensuring there was nothing in her outfit that might fit Becky's absurd description of Joanna in her novel. She checked the train times and then decided to drive instead. By now she loathed driving in the London traffic, but what was the point of having a car if it just sat there on her allocated parking space?

  The journey down was awful but uneventful, and she picked Becky up just after lunchtime. They drove out to a pizza place that Becky said was good, though Julia suspected she had only picked it because it was quite a long way from the student part of the city and Becky didn’t want anyone to see who she was eating with. Well fine, thought Julia. I don’t want anyone to see me either.

  "So," Becky said, when they were sitting face-to-face, and their orders had been taken. "What's this about?"

  Julia drew in a deep breath.

  "I want to try and persuade you," she began. A glass of wine arrived by her arm and the restaurant climbed a couple of notches in her estimation. She nodded her thanks to the waitress.

  "About your book. To explain why it's so impossible." She tried to smile at Becky, but the girl stared back at her tight-lipped.

  "It's very beautifully written. So clear and crisp, and I understand how it's possible to be so focused on the act of creation that you simply aren't able to see the larger picture. That's what I wanted to explain."

  Becky kept her eyes fixed on Julia's. She had her head bowed slightly, like a child pouting angrily. She didn't reply.

  "If you send this book to anyone, you must understand what it would do." Julia glanced around. "To all of us. You would be ruining us." She dropped her voice right down. "Probably sending us all to prison. Is that what you want?"

  Becky took several deep breaths. She opened her mouth to speak, then seemed to reconsider, and still sat in silence.

  "Becky? Do you understand that?"

  Still the girl was silent.

  And you would be signing your own death warrant, a sudden voice in Julia's head announced. Julia looked around in sudden surprise. She had no idea where the voice had come from, and even feared Becky might have heard it too.

  "I don't see why," Becky replied. But Julia hardly registered her. She was too shocked with what had just happened. After a moment it was clear she was the only person in the restaurant who had heard it. Cautiously, she tried to continue what she had been saying.

  "You wouldn't want to hurt me? Or Rob?" Julia went on. "You're not the type to want to hurt anyone."

  The look of mistrust the girl had been wearing slipped from her face. Becky glanced down at the table. The pain and confusion were obvious by her expression. Julia felt she might be winning.

  "No. But..." Becky stopped again. Looked away in frustration.

  "What?" Julia asked.

  "But I just don't see how anyone would ever connect the book to you," Becky said.

  Julia sat back for a moment. The thoughts she had had in the bath came flooding back. How the book would spread throughout the publishing world. Driven by its clarity and its sheer beauty. How it would grip the industry once people began to suspect the truth. She smiled kindly.

  "It's just such a risk. When you could write something just as beautiful about something else. I really believe that, Becky. I really believe you can."

  But Becky was already shaking her head. "I wish. But I've never written anything like this before. Nothing. And I don't think I'll ever write anything like it again..." She shook her head again."It's my story." Becky fell into silence.

  Julia kept her smile
fixed in place, although it was harder to do so now.

  "I know it might feel like that now," she began, and then had to wait as their pizzas arrived. They looked disgusting. Two huge plates of greasy melted cheese.

  "But it won't always feel like that."

  Becky toyed with her knife and fork. After a while she cut a chunk from her pizza and folded it neatly in half with her fork. Then she cut the parcel in two and ate the smaller piece.

  "Becky?" Julia said. Suddenly she noticed that the girl was crying.

  "It's my decision, isn't it?" Becky said. She closed her eyes to force the tears to stop, then dabbed at her face with her serviette. “I mean, it's my book?"

  "Yes," Julia heard herself say.

  "And I don't think there will ever be a problem." She spoke with a firmness that made Julia's heart sink. She re-fixed her smile in place.

  "I mean, probably they'll just ignore it. It's really nice of you to say you like it, but most books just get rejected, don't they? That's the most likely outcome."

  Julia didn't reply.

  "Although I have thought about just publishing it anyway. You know with self-publishing? That's not what I really want, but it's an option, isn't it?"

  "I suppose so," Julia said slowly. She hadn't yet considered the implications of this approach, and now tried to do so, while still smiling at Becky. It didn’t seem to change anything, the book was so good it would still be found. Publishers would come to her.

  "But I don't want you to worry," Becky said, and Julia snapped back to the conversation.

  "Good," she began. "Why not?"

  "Well, like I said. I really don't think anyone could ever possibly link the book to you. I think you're worrying about nothing."

  "Okay," Julia said. She gripped her fork tightly, feeling for an alarming second that she needed to resist an impulse to stab it into the back of Becky’s hand. She smiled.

  "What about Rob?" Julia tried another approach. "What does he think? Have you told him?"

  Becky shook her head. "Rob's not really a reader. I mean I've told him I'm writing. And he's really supportive. But he doesn't know..."