Page 37 of Beautiful Ugly

“No. I’m saying, if Kitty hadn’t taken you in who knows what would have happened to you. We are not good parent material; wewere never taught how to be. I don’t want to hurt a child the way my parents hurt me, or the way your parents hurt you. You think a child will make you happy but it won’t.”

“What will make you happy, Grady?”

ANew York Timesbestseller.

Somewhere quiet to write without interruptions.

A wife who doesn’t frequently make me feel like I’m letting her down.

“I am happy,” I told her. I thought it was a lie but now I think it might have been true.

Abby stared out of the window and we didn’t talk for the rest of the journey.

I found the Zoltar card torn in two inside her coat pocket that night.

Zoltar Speaks Your Fortune

The questions you ask and the answers you seek,

Will do nothing to help make you feel less bleak.

No man is an island, and love is rarely true,

We’re born alone, we die alone; do what feels right for you.

I never talked to Abby about what that card said or why it upset her so much.

Back in the present, I sit in silence in the cabin. It’s as though the residual guilt is dripping down the wooden walls. There are so many things I wish I could change; words I wish I could take back. But then I give myself a good talking to. I have to stop reliving the past and focus on my future. I waste so much time replaying old conversations, wondering if things might be different now if I had said something different then. But it’s all a waste of time. Wishing you could change the script of your life when the scene is over is pointless.

This is my chance, maybe my only chance, to write a new bookand get my life back. Newspaper clippings under the door don’t change that.

I might not have always been the perfect husband, but I loved my wife.

I hope she knew that.

As much as it hurts, and I think it always will, Abby is gone.

Wherever she is now, I need to learn to move on.

STUPIDLY BRILLIANT

For six weeks, all I do is write, eat, occasionally sleep, repeat. I take Columbo for walks in the forest or along the coast, and I go to the village when we need supplies, but I don’t stray too far from the cabin or my laptop and I rarely see another human being. There have been no more strange incidentsorislanders—possibly because I’ve locked myself away so I haven’t seen any—and I’ve settled into a routine. I’m finally writing again and it feels good. But I still can’t sleep for more than a few hours—despite drinking gallons of Cora’s bog myrtle tea, which is surprisingly delicious—and there are permanent dark shadows beneath my eyes. I write all day and almost all night,everynight, and it feels stupidly brilliant. Sometimes I feel so exhausted I think I might fall over, so I sit back down at my desk and write some more.

Admittedly, the book started out as Charles Whittaker’s story about an author on an island, but I have taken his idea and turned it into something of my own. Perhaps something even better, something that my readers will enjoy. I genuinely believe this might be the book that gets my career and my life back on track. I received a typed letter from Kitty a couple of weeks ago and she’s excitedtoo. There is no postman on the island; Cora gave it to me when I was last in the shop, and it’s the only piece of correspondence I’ve had from the outside world since I arrived here. I confess life is much quieter without access to emails, WhatsApps, news websites, and social media. The cabin doesn’t even have a TV. There is nobody and nothing to disturb me or distract me from the book, and I truly believe that this little Scottish island might be just what I needed. It makes me sad to think how few messages there might be if my phone did work. Kitty is the only person who knows I am here. The only person who still cares. I keep her letter in a little drawer in the desk, and I take it out again now.

Dear Grady,

The new book sounds wonderful and I can’t wait to read. I knew you could do it!

I know you’ll send it when you’re ready but the sooner the better.

Hoping I’ll have it in time for the London Book Fair.

Kitty

xx

I don’t think I could do my job without someone else believing in me. That person is Kitty, and I am determined to repay her kindness. I don’t feel guilty about Charles; the man is dead. I’m sure he could have published the book if he had wanted to, but instead he hid the manuscript beneath the floorboards, and to be honest, it has taken a lot of hard work, rewriting, and editing to turn it into the story it is now.Mystory.