Sighing he spun around in his chair and looked out the window over the parklands with the woods in the distance.
He didn’t have to write another book ever again. He was more than a best-seller; he was an extraordinary seller with a film franchise starring Ewan McGregor as his signature character.
But he liked the challenge of writing a book, or at least he used to.
Having an idea and then pulling all the threads together, weaving them into a story that made people want to turn the page was like a jigsaw puzzle.
It wasn’t easy to write the way he did and while literary snobs mocked him and envied his money, they failed to realise that it was his books that made enough profits for the literary ones to be published. They might sell a few thousand and win important awards but he sold hundreds of thousands on the first day of release and kept selling, reaching six figures within a year.
A figure in the doorway caught his eye.
‘I’m writing,’ he lied.
‘I’m hungry.’
‘Hello, hungry. I’m Dad,’ he answered and looked up to see his seven-year-old daughter Flora, loitering and scuffing her shoes against the oak panels of the hallway.
She rolled her eyes. ‘Dad,’ she half growled and he laughed. Flora could always lift his mood, albeit temporarily.
‘I have no idea where Hilditch is,’ he said, closing his laptop and standing up.
‘She’s gone into town to get Christmas Eve pilchards,’ Flora said.
‘You mean Eve Pilkins,’ corrected Edward, trying not to laugh. ‘She’s coming to help me with my book.’
Flora rolled her eyes. ‘You just need to put your bum on the seat and do the work.’
Now Edward laughed, hearing his own words to Flora about her homework when she complained.
‘The student becomes the master.’ Edward gave a mock bow and then kissed the top of her head.
‘Have you been to the tower?’ asked Flora, worry crossing her little face.
‘Yes and everything is fine,’ Edward replied kissing her head. ‘Come on then, hungry, let’s feed you.’
Edward chatted to Flora cheerfully as he made her a cheese and pickle sandwich cut into triangles with the crusts trimmed. Some days she was easier to distract than others. Today she was easily led because she was hungry and there was a visitor coming to the house. After he poured her a glass of milk, he sat with her at the large kitchen bench, both father and daughter perched on the old oak stools he loved.
When he bought the house, he imagined his family surrounding him, while he cooked something hearty and slow, and music would be playing and there would be laughter.
Now it was just him and Flora, sitting in the kitchen silence, eating a cheese sandwich.
‘What’s your plan for the afternoon?’ he asked. ‘Solving world hunger and climate change?’
Flora ignored his comment. ‘I have some babies lost in the garden so I need to find and rescue them later.’
Edward nodded. ‘Good idea – they will be very cold.’
Flora chewed her sandwich slowly. ‘I plan on washing them in the sink with hot water. That would warm up a baby, wouldn’t it?’
Flora’s game of rescuing baby dolls from the perils of the weather had been a common theme since her mother had left them last year. Edward had tried to explain that her mother would be back and there was no need to leave dolls around the estate, but nothing would dissuade her from her search and rescue mission.
‘I think that’s a great idea, and maybe ask Hilditch to pop the baby clothes in the dryer to really warm them up for when you dress them.’
Flora seemed to appreciate this idea and she nodded; her little fair brow furrowed. ‘If I was lost in the wood, would you find and rescue me?’
‘Indeed, and I would put you in a warm bath and then put your flannel pyjamas on that I’d warmed by the fire.’
‘You’re a good daddy,’ Flora announced as she finished her sandwich and pushed her plate towards him. ‘I have to go now; I’ll be back.’
