Burning Effigies At The Drop Of A Hat...

On the days not spent at TV shopping channels I’ve been hanging around the Harper Collins offices, spending time in the different departments and trying to be dazzling and memorable. When the workers look as though their tolerance of my presence is ebbing away, I try to make myself useful. What starts with a polite offer to take a parcel from one office to another culminates in a two-hour stint at a photocopier for one of the secretaries while she enjoys an extended break in the coffee room, and I begin to suspect that they are taking advantage of me. When Doris the cleaner trundles up to me with a mop and bucket and asks if I could give the women’s toilets ‘a quick going over,’ although the opportunity of a leisurely examination of the different machines and bins is momentarily intriguing, I decline and revaluate my tactics.

I swing by my publicists’ office, which still requires a steely will on my part. In my nightmares the windows are covered in ancient cobwebs and a cauldron boils in the centre of the room but in the mid-afternoon reality there is only the lingering musty odour of decay that could just be a coincidentally dead animal of some kind nearby.

Mavis is there alone, muttering to herself as she does something strange behind the desk. I cough and linger in the doorway and she looks up and quickly closes a drawer. “Christopher.”

I force a smile and take a few cautionary steps into the office. Mavis is masterminding my forthcoming ‘Drunken Public Appearances’ campaign, which so far consists of two fifteen minute slots at sci-fi conventions in the Midlands. “I had a new idea,” I tell her.

“Always appreciated. What’s your plan?”

“I could make a few religiously offensive comments and get some dramatic-looking protests against me going in the streets of Asia. Those people burn effigies at the drop of a hat.”

“What kind of comments?”

“I don’t know. Muhammad sucks donkey dicks, some Hindu Goddess is a slut. Maybe get some cartoons going, they don’t seem to like them.”

She sighs. “I don’t think selling a few more copies of your book is necessarily worth having our worldwide offices firebombed, Christopher. But thanks for the idea.”

“I’ll keep thinking,” I say, and then on my way out, my agent Sid phones me with some good news so I head to my editor’s office for some subtle gloating.

He barely looks up from his piles of papers. “Next time you should clean the copier before using it,” he says, flicking through some pages. “It’s nice that you’re helping out around here but look, there’s a dark smudge on every one of these.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You all set for the big release?” he says. “Going to have a little party with all your sci-fi mates? Maybe dress up as different characters from the book?”

“I might be going to Europe.”

“You are in Europe.”

“Proper Europe.”

“That’ll be nice.”

“Sid has sold the book in Germany and Poland. My words are going to be translated.”

I have Chris’ full attention for the first time. “Sid has?”

“I know, I can hardly believe it myself. Apparently I have an advance magically winging its digital way into my bank account as we speak.”

“Sid did?”

I shrug. “He must have something over publishers there too. So it seems the Poles do read, which makes it even more of a shame that the Ealing community seems against me.”

“Well, that’s good news, anyway. Congratulations. Make sure you tell Mavis and Pauline.”

The thought of going back there makes me cold. “I’ll email them.”

Another man walks quickly into the office and hands a file to Chris. “No rush. Just look them over when you get a chance.”

“No problem,” Chris says. “Oh, Bradley. You should meet Christopher, the author of Clear History.”

Bradley shakes my hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

Chris looks at me. “If we publish a second novel then Bradley will take over as your editor.”

“Right.”

“No, that’s not true,” Bradley says. “Harper Collins always keeps the same editor on series’. Don’t worry, you won’t have to go through some upheaval. Got to get a move on, I’m afraid. Nice to meet you.”

He leaves and Chris slumps behind his desk, eyes glazed and staring at nothing. I lean forward. “That is good news. As soon as I get home I’m going to send you the first hundred pages of the follow-up. I’m going to send you all my notes as well and you can tell me what you think. Of everything.”

Chris looks at me. “We’ll see how the book sells.” It is almost a threat.

I nod. “We’ll see how it sells in Germany and Poland.”

I stand up to leave. “Hang on,” Chris says. “Sid sold the rights?”

“We’ve been through this.”

“No, but…Harper Collins owns the worldwide rights.”

“What?”

“Yeah. That was the contract Sid approved and you signed.” He taps at his computer. “Here’s the press release. We even have the US rights. What a contract!”

Now I stare at him in shock. “And is Harper translating it into German and Polish?”

He shakes his head. “Doesn’t appear to be any plans yet.”

“I can’t believe that man.”

“I wouldn’t spend that advance just yet.” He picks up his phone. “I have to warn the relevant parties. I suggest that you sort this out before it becomes a real problem.”

I point upwards. “It’s like God can’t stand anything going well for people that don’t believe in him.” I walk out of his office.

“That doesn’t make any sense at all,” he calls.

“I know,” I shout from the corridor on the way to a pub.