Page 44 of Beautiful Ugly
“Come on, cheer up. Publication day is supposed to be a happy occasion isn’t it?” she said, taking a tiny sip before putting down her glass and refilling mine. “Have you talked to Kitty?”
I took another gulp of champagne. “Yes. She agreed publicity in the UK has been a shit show, but said the numbers still looked good.”
“Well, there you go. Just because a few bookshops in London didn’t stock it doesn’t mean it isn’t selling elsewhere. It’s your best book yet.”
“Thanks. Could you tell the publishers?”
“The book will find readers, you’ll see. Against all odds.”
She was right. It was an instant bestseller. But we didn’t know that until the official sales figures were published a week later.
Abby’s phone buzzed, as it so often did, and when she looked at it her whole face changed.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Probably nothing.”
“Tell me.”
“Someone has been emailing my boss, making anonymous complaints about me and what I’ve written. Now they’re bombarding me with messages on social media, accusing me of all sorts. Some of the messages are quite disturbing. Threatening even—”
“Show me.”
“No. Not tonight,” she said, but her phone buzzed again.
“If that’s one of these messages then I—”
“It’s just Kitty,” Abby said. “We’ve had a bit of a falling-out.”
“That’s not like you—”
“I know, but I did something that she disapproves of and now she’s worried about me.”
“Should I be worried too?”
“Let’s not do this now. You know what she’s like, always thinks she knows best. I’ll call her back tomorrow. Tonight is about you and me and us and your wonderful new book. I don’t want anything to spoil it. You’re an amazing writer,” she said. “You’ve still got publication in America to look forward to, with a publisher whodoesbelieve in your books, and I’m sure everything will be okay in the end—”
“Can you say that again?”
“It will all be okay—”
“No, the other thing.”
She smiled. “You’re an amazing writer.”
“What are you doing?” I asked as she put her full glass down again and walked over to the main light switch by the door.
“Turning off all the lights.”
“I can see that. Why?”
“Because look at this view,” she said, pulling back the curtains.“I think sometimes things have to get really dark for us to see what we have. The world always looks more beautiful at night, when the darkness hides everything that is ugly.” She was right, the view was amazing. It was as though we could see all of London down below. She stood there smiling at me, then started unbuttoning her blouse. Everything started to feel right again when I kissed her, and I forgot about everything that was wrong when I was inside her. We made love in the dark. The sex was slow and gentle and instinctive, the variety that can only be had with someone you know better than you know yourself. Afterward we lay in a tangle of sheets wrapped in each other’s arms, watching the sun rise over London.
“Are we okay?” she whispered.
“Of course. Always and forever,” I replied, kissing her on the forehead. “Don’t confuse problems with work with problems at home.” My wife was the most beautiful, clever, hardworking woman I have ever met, despite a childhood that was just as difficult and lonely as my own. At the age of ten she was abandoned and alone in the world, a bit like me. But Kitty took her in and loved her as though she were her own daughter. Abby was always so strong—I think a hard life made her that way—and I hated seeing her career slowly destroy her.
“Yes, maybe it’s just the job getting me down. People can be so terrible to each other. I thought I could help people. Fix things. I thought I could change the world if I became a journalist,” she said sadly.