Wild Fiction

‘That’s a pathetically sedate ending,’ Rebecca said. ‘I thought we would have seen a bit more action, with the police fighting it out with the criminals and the other syndicate. Are you tired of writing about this?’
‘No, I just don’t think there’s anything more to say.’
‘So that’s the end of the story then?’ It was Genevieve asking and both she and Rebecca stared at the author.
‘Yes.’
‘Well then let’s get it published.’
The two fictional females stood up.
‘What? Right Now?’
‘Yes, right now,’ Rebecca said. ‘I’m tired of existing only when you think about me, which isn’t often enough. You keep on telling your friends that you’re writing this book about us but you hardly ever do any work on it.’
‘So where are we going?’
‘You’re going upstairs to the study to type this up, print it out, and get it ready for a publisher. Genevieve and I are going to make an appointment for you with a publisher who’s prepared to look at your work.’
‘What about my agent? Shouldn’t he be doing that?’
‘Your agent’s useless. We’ve fired him. We’re your new agents.’
‘Don’t I need to send sample pages to the publisher first?’
‘No time for that, we’re short circuiting the process, we’re going to get this published ASAP.’
The author, unable to resist their combined force, disappeared upstairs to do as he had been told. Conrad and James sat on the sofa and watched while Rebecca and Genevieve flicked through the yellow covered Writer’s Handbook, made notes and talked on the phone. They sure made a determined duo. Eventually Conrad got up, picked up the Frisbee that was lying on the floor and walked outside and into the garden. James followed him out into the sun.

Chapter 50

Rebecca sat opposite the author on the 8:12 British Rail service from Epsom to Cannon Street.
‘And this is better than taking the Jag into town?’ Rebecca asked.