Comatose by Graham Saunders

  Chapter 19

  There was a letter from Ploughman Publishing; Alexander placed it unopened on his breakfast table. Trying to ignore what the manilla envelope might contain, he buttered another slice of toast and piled thick-cut marmalade on top. Still chewing he took the letter up again, held it to the light. This was the last of the publishers to respond. It had been so long in the coming that he had, weeks ago, assumed that Ploughman could not even summon the courtesy to reply. He could guess the contents, the wording from all the publishers had varied but, the meaning was unequivocal and in each case the same. Thanks but no thanks. Even so there was still a possibility that it was not a rejection and the frisson of expectation, the brief moment of magic, would only be broken when he slit the envelope and read the familiar words gain. Draining his coffee cup Alexander moved along the passage across to what he, tongue in cheek, called his office. A small windowless box room, probably intended as a storage room. In place of a collection of mops and brooms and dusty boxes filled with junk that would never see the light of day again, Alexander had set up a desk for his laptop. There was a row of shelves, mostly empty and he slipped the letter still unopened between a collection of paperbacks and a well thumbed thesaurus that leaned against a heavy earthenware jar of freshly sharpened pencils. He wanted to hold onto his dream just a little longer.

  Since finishing 'The kiss of the moon' He had been trying to bring together the threads of another book but found it hard going without his muse to give him inspiration. He knew that his time would be more productively spent in searching for a job. That outcome was inevitable but his time spent pretending to be a novelist had been rewarding, not something he could easily let go. Although not yet destitute, his savings were becoming perilously emaciated, he would need a reliable income before long. With the screen of his computer now lighting up the shadowy room, he looked at what he had already written with dissatisfaction. He tapped out another paragraph and its clumsiness mocked him. His eyes hovered again over the envelope then he took it in his fingers once more, sniffed the paper as a dog might sniff at a proffered bone before taking it gratefully. It had been so long since he had sent the manuscript that he felt certain that the letter contained nothing more than a confirmation that he was no writer, never would be. Any merit in the novel was down to the efforts of his sadly missed muse. He turned the envelope over, read the return address, saw the trace of marmalade that his fingers had transferred to the pristine paper. The urge to know was strong but so was his reluctance to finally kiss goodbye to his dream.

  The sound of his phone made him jump, drew him back to the real world where ordinary men had ordinary nine-to-five jobs. It was Frank Bentley.

  "Alexander, how are you?"

  "Couldn't be better Frank, what can I do for you?"

  "Well, you remember the commitment I made to try to put things right for you after... Well the fact is there's an interesting opportunity that's just opened up and I'd like to discuss it with you. I wonder, Alexander if you could be free to take lunch with me on Thursday?"

  "I could certainly make myself available Frank, what's it all about?"

  "Well I'd rather leave that until our lunch, say one thirty at The Connaught."

  "Will Alice be there?" Alexander said with a hint of disquiet that Frank could both recognize and appreciate.

  "Alice is in hospital." He said "Thanks in no small measure to you Alexander, she's finally getting the help that she's needed for a long time. I've already started to see signs of an improvement but it will be a long road I'm afraid. I was a fool not to face up to the reality of the situation sooner Alexander. If not for you... well."

  "I did little enough Frank and I'm truly pleased to hear that she's in recovery... I only wish Jane could know."

  "Yes... We've all been through a torrid time... I'm hoping things might get back to an even keel soon...Well, look I'll see you on Thursday Alexander and I'm hopeful you'll find what I have to say to be of interest."

  Suddenly there were two mysteries in his morning. He looked at the envelope again, hesitated for a moment and then slid it back still unopened between the books.