Frances glowered. ‘I’m not dead yet!’ She broke out into a fit of violent coughing, leaving the rest of us exchanging worried glances.
She took a drink of water and wiped her eyes. ‘I’m going on a sunset hot-air-balloon ride. Not much chance of it wearing me out, but my body seems to be managing that by itself.’
‘Oh, how lovely!’ Ashley said.
‘If I deteriorate much further, I might just throw myself out of the basket once we’re high enough.’
‘Frances!’ Ellen scolded. ‘How would that make the other passengers feel? Let alone the owners of the balloon.’
‘Yes, yes,’ she grumbled. ‘It was only a thought.’
I had been in a place where life had seemed so black, so bleak, I could understand the appeal of throwing yourself out of a hot-air balloon. But my brokenness had all been in my head. To watch Frances, so proud, soalive,slip away before our eyes, knowing each day would be worse than the last, I couldn’t just sit there saying nothing.
‘How can we help you?’ I asked, fully expecting her to reject my offer.
Instead she hesitated, and when our eyes met there was an openness there, a connection, one human being to another.
‘We could drop some meals off, make sure your freezer’s stocked up. I get sick of eating all the café leftovers myself,’ Sarah said quickly.
‘And we can do cleaning, or washing,’ I added.
‘You have enough cleaning to do with that scrapheap of yours,’ Frances said, but it was a half-hearted response.
‘To be honest, I’d appreciate the company,’ I replied. ‘We can just have a cup of tea.’
‘I’m not an invalid.’
‘Neither am I, but I enjoy a drink with a friend. Especially one as fascinating as you.’
Frances shook her head, refusing to meet our eyes. ‘I’ll think about it. Now, who’s next? This whole ruddy meeting isn’t about my slide into enfeeblement.’
Ashley excitedly showed us a press clipping from a literary magazine featuring Hillary West.
‘“An unnamed source at her publishers, Hickleton Press, confirmed that the deadline for the next book was in February. ‘There’s not been a peep out of her, even a title. The editors are in full panic mode,’ our source reports. The word on the street is that the elusive writer is suffering from a serious case of writer’s block!”’
‘You seem weirdly happy about that, for the world’s biggest Hillary West fan,’ Sarah said.
‘But don’t you see?’ Ashley cried, twirling her shell necklace. ‘This is it! This is my challenge – to SAVE her!’
Lucille looked as though Florence had farted under the table. ‘Give me strength.’ She shook her head. ‘How exactly are you going to do that?’
‘Once I’ve tracked her down, I can help her figure out all the issues with the current storyline. Who knows what makes a Hillary West story work better than me?’
‘Um, Hillary West?’ Jamie muttered. ‘Her publisher, editors, agent…’
‘Are you any closer to finding her?’ I asked.
Ashley’s brow furrowed. ‘I started a list of possible houses. But then this article happened and I spent the rest of the time planning how to unblock the block. And I have sent a few emails to her agent offering my services.’
‘Please, no.’ Lucille groaned. ‘I dread to think how many “a few” means in Ashley world.’
‘No more than eight. Or twelve,’ she bristled.
‘And did the agent reply?’ Lucille asked, her smile sweet as vinegar.
‘They’re very busy people.’ Ashley’s face was turning blotchy.
‘Shall we move on?’ Ellen said. ‘Jamie?’
