‘You make sure you take it easy today,’ her grandmother replied, briefly placing a hand on Amy’s cheek and then putting a mug down in front of her. ‘Don’t work too hard.’
Amy smiled and shook her head. ‘That’s the sort of thing I’m supposed to be tellingyou.’
‘Oh, I’m all right,’ Grace said. ‘Avoiding stairs wherever I can, not walking too far, resting when the pain gets bad– but Dr Novak’s advice is to do a little movement every day, rather than let myself atrophy while I wait for the op. I’ll recover more quickly if I’m stronger, he says.’
‘Makes sense,’ said Amy. ‘Just promise me you won’t overdo it.’
Grace nodded curtly. ‘Now. Shall we have some breakfast? Crumpets and marmalade?’
This was a far cry from Amy’s usual, rather purgatorial breakfast of black coffee and a chalky-tasting protein shake, typically quaffed on the Tube. It sounded wonderful.
‘Are you sure you’re all right making it?’ Amy said, wincing. Grace rolled her eyes good-naturedly, but her frustration was clear.
‘I know I’m not a hundred per cent at the moment, but I think I can manage opening a Warburton’s packet and operating the toaster,’ she said. ‘If you want to make yourself useful, make another cup of tea– I always need two to get going in the mornings.’
Amy did as she was told.
Within ten minutes they were seated opposite one another sipping from steaming mugs of Yorkshire Gold and munching on perfectly crisp, buttery crumpets covered in the zestiest, zingiest marmalade Amy had ever tasted.
Seeing her blissed-out face, Grace said: ‘Home-made with love by Barb’s army of WI bakers. Tasty, isn’t it?’
‘Insanelygood,’ Amy concurred. She picked up a last shred of orange jelly from her plate with her fingertip and popped it into her mouth, relishing its tartness as it dissolved on her tongue.
MyFitnessPal would no doubt inform her later that this had not been a balanced or healthy breakfast. However, as her warming, scrappy old sloth rested on her satisfied stomach, Amy realised that– without question– it was the most nourishing meal she’d had in a very long time.
As she began to read through the massive dump of correspondence Carolyn had sent her since last week, Amy’s pleasantly full tummy turned bilious. With every email and attachment she opened, it became increasingly clear that, while technically a step up, her new job was one that she’d never actually have applied for.
Carolyn had used the word ‘commercial’ to describe her latest venture, which seemed accurate enough. It was now obvious, however, that she’d omitted two others which were crucial to her vision for the imprint: ‘women’s’ and ‘fiction’.
Initially at least, it would specialise in the sort of novels Amy had deliberately eschewed her whole life: romances and sagas that promised laughter, tears and textbook happy endings. The role, in essence, was her worst work nightmare.
Amy suspected Carolyn had some inkling of this, but had chosen to ignore it– instead seizing the opportunity to get an editor she trusted on board with her pet project. For a moment, Amy felt annoyed that her boss had effectively used the Ground Zero of her personal life to sidestep the inconvenience and expense of recruiting an external candidate for the role. Then she remembered that, if not for Carolyn, she’d still be persona non grata in an office effectively run by her ex-boyfriend.
Beggars couldn’t be choosers, Amy supposed. Besides, it was flattering that Carolyn felt she was the right person to get the thing up and running– even if Amy herself wasn’t so sure. And what had Carolyn called this promotion in their meeting?An opportunity for growth. Amy told herself to focus on that, rather than her instinctive, nauseated reaction to stories full of silliness, sobbing and sexual euphemisms.
Among Carolyn’s many messages was one with the subject line: ‘Promoting our new imprint: IMPORTANT!’ It had been red-flagged, too, and Amy opened it without further ado, keen to understand what could possibly justify shouty capitalsandpriority status.
Amy–
We need to organise an event to mark the launch of the new imprint– celebrate the genre, etc.
PR budget tight– thus organisation likely to sit with you.
Suggest that you scout nearby locations that might work and ask for pitches/prices for hosting something of this nature. Also please consider catering, guest list, potential speakers for a panel, sponsorship, entertainment, & so forth.
Will leave with you.
All best,
C
Well, this was just perfect. Amy had never planned a major social event in her life– she’d not so much as organised a birthday party for a boyfriend, let alone a bash that was intended to impress industry bigwigs and attract the interest of up-and-coming writers.
And how was she supposed to pull a panel of expert, insightful speakers together when she knew next to nothing about the kind of fiction she was suddenly supposed to specialise in? Carolyn’s emails were characteristically terse, but this was bordering on useless. Just finding out who was worth asking would involve a hell of a lot of work– and that was before Amy began trying to sweet-talk anyone into giving up their time.
Then there was getting to grips with who should be on the guest list, as well as the ‘catering’ and ‘entertainment’ Carolyn had mentioned– both of which, it seemed safe to assume, would have to be provided on a shoestring budget or via ‘sponsorship’.
Finally, there was the small matter of the imprint this event was designed to publicise not actuallyexistingyet– having no authors, no brand and no name … None of which it would acquire if Amy spent all her time addressing invitations and haggling over the price of hors d’oeuvres.