Chapter 7

       Elana

      Living Life Under a Cloud of Dust

      I sit in front of the screen with my email to the publishers open in front of me. There’s a massive sense of accomplishment as I press the send button and, at long last, the outline of Aiden’s biography is winging its way to their offices. They promised they would get the payment for stage one processed by the end of next week. I’ll have to wait to find out what changes they want once they’ve had a chance to consider my initial thoughts, but that doesn’t affect payday.

      I told Seth Greenburg, Aiden’s business manager, I’d give him a call once it was done. I grab my phone, sitting back and looking at the screen with a measure of satisfaction and relief.

      ‘Seth, it’s Elana James. The outline is done and on the way. I doubt I will hear anything now until the New Year, but as soon as I do, I’ll let you know what they have to say. I’ve plenty to be going on with and I’ll begin fleshing out some of my notes from the various interviews.’

      ‘Great. I’m sorry Aiden couldn’t be available as often as we’d hoped, but it’s going to be a case of grabbing time with him when you can. I mentioned the idea of you perhaps accompanying him on tour in March, but he’s doing a special gig on New Year’s Eve at Eastleigh Court. It’s invite only, as it’s a private party for Morton Wiseman, but I wondered if it might be an opportunity for you two to meet in person. I think you’ll understand a lot more about him when you see him perform live.’

      Is Seth worried about what I think of Aiden and concerned I’ll focus less on his talent and more on his infamous temper? And why can’t I seem to get a clear picture of who this guy is, because even as I try to piece it all together nothing seems to fit.

      ‘Well, um, I’ll have to think about that as there would be a few things I’d have to rearrange at this end. Is this the Morton Wiseman, you’re talking about? The actor?’

      ‘Yep, this year’s number-one sexiest man alive, or so the polls say. He’s not the best influence on Aiden, I’m afraid, but they’ve always been good mates. Look, I appreciate you might already have plans, but I think it would help if you meet up before you start getting down to the detail. Research is one thing; what other people tell you is another, but you also need to see the guy beneath all the hype.’

      Seth is a really genuine man, very professional and very astute. He knows he can’t influence what I write, but I think he can see that I’m going into this with an open mind. I know sensationalism sells books, and the publishers will expect a full account of the years Aiden was using illegal substances, but he has changed. Yes, he still has a short fuse, but from what I’ve pieced together so far, there is often a lot of provocation before he explodes.

      ‘I understand. Leave it with me and I’ll do my best. Can you email me the details?’

      “No need. I’ll send a car to pick you up late afternoon on the day and it’s only just over a two-hour drive. Aiden’s performance begins at nine. I’m happy to book a room at a local hotel for you if you can stay over; it’s going to be a late one.’

      ‘Thank you, Seth. I’ll email to confirm when I’ve sorted things at this end.’

      I put down the phone thinking I rather walked into that one. New Year’s Eve has never been special, usually the three of us watching a film together before Maya went to bed. Then, Niall and I always watched one of our favourites – some of them we’d seen over and over, but never tired of the storylines. Should I feel guilty about leaving her with Mum and Dad, just so I can work? And how do I feel about dressing up and being around celebrities? The answer to that is nervous as hell. It’s certainly not something I thought about when I took this job on.

      ‘Mum, are you ready to play Monopoly now?’

      ‘Yes, honey. I’ve just finished.’

      ‘Can we light the fire?’

      ‘No, Maya. Luke is starting work on the chimney tomorrow. Then I have to book the sweep and I’m not sure he’s going to be able to come before Christmas. We might have to pile the fire grate up with logs and pretend this year. Do you mind? Maybe I could buy some red lights to put in between them, so it looks like a fire?’

      She stands with her head crooked to one side, considering my offer.

      ‘It’s not quite the same, Mum. I suppose it’s better for Santa, though. I wonder if he’s ever burnt his feet? You know, on the hot bits in the bottom.’

      I have to concentrate hard not to smile, but keep my expression as serious as hers.

      ‘That’s why he wears stout boots. He’s been doing it a long time, Maya, and even when there isn’t a fireplace he has a master key that fits every front door.’

      She jumps up and down on the spot, her eyes wide with excitement.

      ‘I wondered about that! He listens, too, Mum. Doesn’t he? I’ve been talking to him and hoping he was listening.’

      My frown is back, the smile no longer hovering. What has she told Santa that she hasn’t told me?

      ‘Well, yes, he does listen but he’s very busy in the run-up to Christmas so it’s probably better to write to him. I can post a letter for you, there’s still plenty of time. It’s express delivery to the North Pole at this time of year.’

      What goes through the mind of a six-and-a-half-year-old child when they are missing their daddy at Christmas? I remember something Luke said, yesterday. ‘Life has to go on.’ It’s the same whether you are a child or an adult.

      ‘Think about it, Maya, I’m sure Santa would be very happy to receive a letter from you.’

      ‘It’s Monopoly time!’ She shrieks, and I’m not sure whether or not my words have even registered with her. It would help me to know what’s important to her this Christmas, aside from having a roaring fire, which doesn’t look very promising at the moment.

      ‘Go on in and set it up on the coffee table. I’ll pack this away, make a quick coffee and then I’m all yours.’

      Her beam is reward enough. I quickly scoop the small pile of papers into a stack, slip them into the box file and then, with the mouse, click to change screens.

       Diary Log – day 490. 22 days to Christmas. Pressed send on the Aiden Cruise book outline – now awaiting payment. Time to change my screensaver, I think, something Christmassy to show Maya I’m getting in the mood. Hoping she will write Santa a letter so I can gauge what’s going on inside that little head of hers. We’re surviving – just.

      As I make a cup of coffee, I wonder what I’d write in a letter to Santa. What would I ask for? What do I want? My mind is blank, like a chalkboard that has been cleaned and is ready and waiting for someone to begin writing on it. Except that I have no idea what to ask for, even if Santa was real and could deliver whatever my heart desired. Everything I wanted was wrapped up in Niall. All I want now is a rosy future for my daughter, but should I also want something for myself? I suppose what I’d really like is for someone to wave a magic wand and make Bay Tree Cottage perfect. If we can’t have Niall, then maybe we can surround ourselves with a