"The End..."

My editor, Chris, actually moves his hand sideways as he says this as though the words will appear in the air.

“A writer’s favourite two words to write,” Sid, my agent, says. “I imagine.”

“You’re correct,” I, the writer, tell him. “For the second book I wrote those first just to experience the joyful elation they bring. Unfortunately I still had eighty thousand words to write.”

“Why didn’t you write them for the first book?” Chris asks.

“What do you mean?”

We’re sitting in the café that has become our regular meeting place in the last three months. Not that we meet often. Chris has James Hardy to worry about. He leans forward. “Clear History. The book we’re actually publishing now.”

“What about it?”

“’The End.’ Why didn’t you put that at the end of the manuscript?”

I shrug. “What’s the point? I mean, if you get to the end of a book and you don’t know it’s the end then you’ve got serious problems. It’s pretty fucking obvious when you’ve reached the end of a book. There’re no more pages for a start.”

“Unless they’ve been ripped out,” Sid suggests.

“Good point.”

Chris zones out now when Sid and I talk to each other. He tries again. “Reaching the end of a good novel is the most satisfying experience any consumer of art can enjoy.”

“What about Christopher’s book?” Sid cracks.

Chris ignores him. “Much more satisfying than the end of a film or LP or anything else.”

“I dunno,” I say. “Completing a difficult video game can be intensely rewarding.”

“Perhaps,” Chris sighs. “Look, I’m just concerned that people reaching the end of the book, however many or few that may be, might not experience the full joy of finally getting through it.”

Sid laughs, but I don’t think he really knows why.

Chris ignores him again. “The end of the novel is a touch…ambiguous. ‘The End’ will help them close their relationship with your book.”

“The way it ends emphasises the futility of war and religion,” I say.

“Mmm…” Chris murmurs.

“If it was a film then the camera would pull back further and further and the sound would fade and then the picture.”

“It’s not a film though.”

“And anyway, it’s not the end, is it? There’s going to be a whole series.”

“Really?” Chris asks, panicked. “They’ve signed off on that?”

“Not yet.”

Chris relaxes and sips his coffee. “Well, I’m thinking of adding it.”

“Oh really?” I ask, bristling. “Well, I don’t want it.” I turn to my agent. “Sid?”

He looks up. “What?”

I motion for him to say something. He shakes his head, confused. “We don’t want it, do we?”

“Want what?”

Chris closes his eyes for a second. “I think we should add ‘The End’ to the book.”

“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea,” Sid says.

“Oh, for fff…” I put my hands over my face.

“No, I mean, don’t forget that when I read it I didn’t realise it was the end of the book.”

“You are not a typical reader,” I say. “In fact, you never read books.”

“Neither do you. Anyway, I read the first twenty pages of the new one.”

“How many pages have you written?” Chris asks me, only mildly interested.

“Twenty.”

“Really? Is that all?”

“Well, with you lot delaying your decision on a second book, what’s the rush?”

“If they do commission it then the deadline’s going to be tight. For your sake you should get at least half of it written.”

“And if it doesn’t get commissioned I’ll have wasted my time.”

“But you’re a writer. Surely you’d be writing anyway.”

“Why?”

“Well, surely you’re driven to it?”

“Not really,” I say. “In fact, I really don’t like it much at all.”

Chris shakes his head. I turn to Sid. “What did you think of the new pages, anyway?”

“It was alright.”

“Brilliant. Excellent feedback. Any notes? Suggestions?”

“I know what I like and don’t like, but I’m no good at fixing. But, you know, it’s alright. Chris will be the one for that job.”

“Chris doesn’t want to read it,” I say, glancing at him for a reaction.

He doesn’t deny this. “I wouldn’t be your editor on a second book anyway,” he says.

“No?”

“It would go back to Bradley. He’s the specialist.”

Unexpectedly, I am disappointed. There is a silence for a minute while we sip our drinks. I am hung-over from a vodka binge last night. Cheryl was out. I watched two DVDs of Arrested Development but I can only remember the first.

Chris looks at his watch. “Anyway, Sid’s the one who insisted it be a one book deal so don’t moan to us.”

“Sorry?”

“We offered a three book deal but…” He notices Sid looking sheepish and stops.

“What…the…fuck?” I say to Sid.

He shrugs. “If the book’s a success we’ll be in the driving seat. We can negotiate a superb contract.”

“And if it’s not?” Sid looks up at the ceiling, frowning, as though he hasn’t thought about it before. “I just…don’t know what to say. In fact, it’s in their interest not to sell too many so they can get another cheap contract and then push for sales.”

“There’s different ways of looking at everything,” Sid says. “You’re a half-empty kind of person.”

“You’re a totally empty person,” I say. “Empty-headed.” Even through my anger I am embarrassed. Then I just feel tired and I can’t wait to get home and go to sleep or maybe have a drink.