Since My Mother Died, I've Become Flavour Of The Month At Harper Collins...

…But I try not to let it go to my head. I acknowledge the receptionists and PAs who now seem to know my name whilst giving them what they want; mournful, sultry looks full of endless, aching sadness. Luckily, this is my natural expression.

I sit at the table with Sid, Chris and the suit whose name, I think, may be Jason. If it isn’t, it should be. Other suits sit a respectful distance away, and I keep my shades on because I have an excuse. I myself am wearing a jet black suit.

“Well, Christopher,” Jason begins, but stops when I toss a fat A4 envelope onto the table. “What’s this?” he asks, opening it.

“Pages 114-176 of the new draft of Clear History,” I tell him.

“Wow,” Chris says. “And I only received pages 52-113 a few days ago. If only we could have one of your relatives pass away every week!” He laughs, then stops, embarrassed, when no one joins in. He clears his throat. “Sorry.” I shrug. He moves his head to the side in an effort to see through my sunglasses. I lift them briefly to show him that I am looking at him, then turn away.

Sid pats my hand. “Christopher’s really come on leaps and bounds with regards to his work ethic.”

Jason flicks through the pages without looking. “Well, I was hoping before we got started to express how sorry we all are for your loss.”

“Thank you. It’s times like these that make you realise what the important things in life really are. By the way, I think pages 101-104 are the best I’ve written yet.”

“Oh, good,” Jason says. “I lost my mother a few years ago and…”

“It has been terribly hard for me,” I declare, reaching for half a plain bagel.

“Yes. Well, you seem to be holding up, though.”

“I manage to put up a good front. It’s not fair on others to carry around a heavy air of grief. Writing is all I have now.”

“And your wife,” Sid says.

I nod. “Mainly the writing, though. I sit at home alone in the dark, just the glow of the computer screen lighting up the tears that surprise me when they fall from my cheeks.”

Jason nods understandingly. “One of our junior editors must have caught you on a good day, then, when she saw you drinking and flirting with some attractive women at Jrink on Saturday night.”

I rub my cheeks with one hand. “She must have…seen someone else. I look like quite a few people.”

“Sid was with you.”

“Again,” I say, “A very typical looking man.”

Sid nods, then holds his finger up. “No,” he says, “That was us. Yeah, Saturday, we went out.”

I look at him open-mouthed. The others watched us. “Are you sure?” I ask him with deliberate weight. He nods and then I lift my shades and glare at him.

“Oh,” he says, and spends an excruciatingly long time looking up and thinking about what to say. “Maybe that was…another client.”

“Oh,” Chris says, “You’ve taken on other clients now?”

Sid looks caught again. “No, I’ve always had others.”

Chris looks confused. “I thought you told me that…” It is his turn to stop and realise something. He looks at me and shakes his head as though in deep thought. “Or was that...?” I rub my eyes under my glasses.

“One of the girls was the junior editor,” Jason tells me. “You may have been too intoxicated to remember the rather long and rambling conversation you apparently conducted with her.”

“Drinking, unfortunately, has been a crutch through the grieving process,” I admit.

“Well, we’re here to help if you need it,” Jason says.

Chris flicks through the new pages. “My concern now is that you’re changing too much. I mean, I like what you’re writing, but we’re losing some of the stuff I liked the most.”

I look at Sid. He tilts his head. I lift my sunglasses. He nods. “It really seems as if Christopher just cannot win,” he says to everyone. “First you complain because he isn’t changing enough, now you’re complaining because he’s changing too much. What would make you happy?”

“A re-write along the guidelines we set out and agreed upon before the contract was signed,” Chris says.

“Oh, right,” Sid says and nods and shrugs at me. “That makes sense.”

I fold my arms. “This is the direction in which I have been taken by recent, tragic events.”

“Really?” Chris asks, sarcasm creeping into his voice.

“Are you a writer?” I ask him.

“Well, yes. I mean, I’ve written several novels, but unfortunately… I’ve never actually been published.” He looks meaningfully at Jason, who half-smiles uncomfortably.

“Just…not quite good enough? I ask innocently.

“Actually I think the last couple were really pretty good, but perhaps working in the industry masks people to that.”

There is an extended silence, which Sid breaks. “Perhaps I could represent you?” Chris just looks at him, than flicks through the pages again.

Jason looks around the table, then unclasps his hands. “Well, I think this meeting has reached a…conclusion of sorts. I’m going to organise another meeting with your publicists to take things forward.”

Horror envelops me. “No, not them.”

He laughs as he stands up. “You are funny, Christopher.” But the building already seems colder.