‘But… but… how do you fall in love with a guy after three dates?’
She shrugs and pulls at the sleeve of her jumper. ‘It just happened. I felt all gooey and dazed and sort of struck by him. How do I turn it off?’
‘You cannot! You’re love drunk.Mon Dieu!This is serious.’ She nods sadly. ‘And how does JP feel?’
Her face is a picture of angst. Only Manon could fall in love and hate it. ‘I’m not sure. Probably the opposite, becausesuddenlyI can’t form cohesive sentences in his presence. I blush and stumble when I try to arrange my thoughts. It’s the worst!’
I can’t help but laugh and pull her in for a hug, even though she has issues with anyone encroaching on her personal space. Breaking the rules in this instance is warranted. She collapses into my arms like a ragdoll. ‘How long until this feeling goes away? I can’t sleep, I can’t eat. I’m going to waste away and die. He’s on my mind when I wake up, when I eventually fall into an exhausted sleep. I wish I’d never played all those practical jokes on him! Men love that stuff, and now look what I’ve done.’
‘Not that you’re dramatic or anything, Manon. Most people enjoy the sensation of falling in love.’
‘That’s the biggest issue: I feel simultaneously like I’m literally falling and floating, like I’m unmoored, unanchored, unsafe! Why him, why now?’
‘You poor thing.’ I bite down on laughter.
‘I know,’ she mumbles against my shoulder. ‘And now he’s coming to take me out to some spectacular light show where I’ll spend another eveningunableto make cutting sarcastic remarks or to keep him at arm’s length. I’ll probably kiss him again and feel like I can’t breathe for how good it makes me feel.’
‘Have you found the hero in your own love story, Manon?’ She wiggles out of my grasp and steps back, smoothing down her hair.
‘I don’t believe in all that romance novel gibberish. I only said that to hype you up after your divorce, and because youdobelieve in all that schmaltzy heart-on-sleeve, soulmates, love at first sight nonsense.’
‘Ah –merci?’
With a grimace she says, ‘I better get this over with.’
I laugh and give her arm a supportive tap. ‘That’s the spirit. Go and have fun and we can decorate another time.’
Manon leaves, her shoulders slumped as if she’s walking to her death. I shake my head, as always perplexed by her, and put the donkey ornament safely back in the box.
Time to write. Back in my suite, as I review my earlier attempts, it occurs to me the reason I’m struggling to have my heroes remain alive is because I doubt their motivations, even though they’re fictional and my own creation. How wild is that? My own trust has been broken so completely that it’s seeped into the very men I conjure in my imagination!
So why don’t I create men whoaren’tlike my previous heroes? Men who’ve also had their hearts broken, men like the surly, gruff guy next door who wears that bluster as a shield but deep down has faced the very same betrayal as my heroine has? Thus can relate and alsobetrustworthy.
Snow fell thick and fast as Hilary snuggled under a blanket in front of a roaring fire, wondering not for the first time what her neighbour, the plain-speaking, literature-loving Joel, was doing this evening. Not that he mattered in her world. Not at all, in fact. She was simply curious as their paths kept crossing, and what else was there to ponder about on a cold wintry evening such as this? Since her divorce, she found the evenings the hardest to cope with. The stretch of night when couples usually dined together, snuggled in front of a movie or shared a bottle of wine. Alone, it felt like a great big voidof time, a hole, where loneliness crept into her heart. She should call a girlfriend, go out, but it felt like too much effort. They’d question her about the end of her marriage, that same shameful story of her ex-husband’s cheating, and who could be bothered retelling all of that and seeing pity reflected back at her?
No, instead she’d watch a Christmas romantic comedy and dream of her neighbour, Noah.
I read it back, remembering Margaret’s advice about getting the word count up. And then I spot the great whopping big typo and correct it:
No, instead she’d watch a Christmas romantic comedy and dream of her neighbour,NoahJoel.
Why is he on my mind, when really it’s not so much that I’m taken with him, not at all! It’s more that we share a common bond, in that both our marriages imploded due to our spouses’ infidelity, so there’s an affinity between us now. Or is that a lie I’m telling myself to protect my fragile heart? On paper, Noah is perfect, despite his obvious flaws, but all heroes have flaws and his are surface level, petty grievances, like getting the last word in, or being bossy. Not great big character flaws like cheating, or being duplicitous. Still, I don’t have time for love. I have to get this manuscript done, save the hotel and solve a hundred-year-old mystery!
I get back to work, typing whatever comes to mind, trying not to edit as I go. Every word matters as the clock ticks, loud and clear.
Make it messy but make it happen.
28
7 DECEMBER
After a semi-successful night writing, I wake early, keen to get the library painted so we can later decorate not only the tree but also the entire room, which is visible from the street. Juliette’s going to focus on the second guest suite that JP has finished, while Manon and I focus on the library, including painting the cheap plywood shelves black so the colourful spines will stand out, and to help disguise the fact the shelves have seen better days.
JP still has to install a simple bar area, which we plan to dress up with colourful bottles and glassware. It won’t be anything as fancy as Bar Hemingway in The Ritz, but it will be a nice addition for our guests, who can help themselves to a complimentary drink or two with Anaïs Nin looking down coquettishly, from the many pictures I’ve framed of her and will hang around the room. None of that can happen though until we slap the paint on the walls.
WhereisManon?
I spread plastic matting along the far wall and tape up around the light switches and windows. I check my watch; it’s close to my cousin’s regimented breakfast time and there’s stillno sign of her. In fact, I haven’t seen JP either, but he’s usually dashing up and down the stairs supervising his staff and dealing with issues as they arise.
