LITMIR.BIZ

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is to go out with a proper English gentleman. Let’s get real, here—not Prince William or Colin Firth. I can lower my sights—but not too low. Colin Firth’s little brother would be acceptable.

      After a lifetime on an island where most of the young men spend their days barefoot and wearing holey T-shirts and board shorts, I hanker for a man in a smooth, sophisticated suit.

      I’d love to date a nicely spoken Englishman who treats me like a lady and takes me somewhere cultured—to a concert or a play or an art gallery.

      A girl can dream. By the way, I’ve done an internet search and did you know there are six hundred and seventy-three different shows on in London right now? I can’t believe it. I’m gobsmacked. Our island has one amateur musical each year.

      Patrick, I warned you I might rattle on. I’ve always tended to put the jigsaw puzzle of my thoughts on paper. For now, I’ll leave you in peace.

      M

      To: Patrick Knight <[email protected]>

      From: Molly Cooper <[email protected]>

      Subject: Cleaning

      Cidalia came today. She’s sweet, isn’t she? And she speaks very good English. I’ve never met anyone from Brazil, so we sat at the kitchen table—I wasn’t sure how Upstairs/Downstairs you were about entertaining employees in the sitting room—and over a cosy cuppa she told me all about her family and her childhood in San Paolo. So interesting!

      But, gosh, Patrick, I didn’t realise she was going to continue cleaning your house while I’m here. Apparently you’ve already paid her in advance. That’s kind and thoughtful, and I realise Cidalia wouldn’t want to lose her job here, but I haven’t arranged for anyone to come and clean my house for you. It didn’t even occur to me.

      Magnetic Island must feel like a third world country to you.

      If you would like a cleaner, I could contact Jodie Grimshaw in Horseshoe Bay. She’s a single mum who does casual cleaning jobs, but I’m afraid you’d have to watch her, Patrick. I do feel rather protective of you, and Jodie’s on the lookout for a rich husband. Added to that, her child is scarily prone to tantrums.

      Do let me know if I can help. I could also try the Sapphire Bay resort. They could probably spare one of their cleaners for one morning a week.

      Best

      Molly

      To: Molly Cooper <[email protected]>

      From: Patrick Knight <[email protected]>

      Subject: Re: Cleaning

      Dear Molly

      Thanks for your warning about Jodie G. It came in handy when I met her at the supermarket this morning. She was rather … shall I say, proactive? Your tip-off was helpful.

      Actually, I don’t need a cleaner, thank you. I’ve worked out the intricacies of the dustpan and broom, and your house is so compact I can clean it in a jiffy. No doubt you’re surprised to hear that I can sweep, even though I’m not gay. ☺ I might even figure out how to plug in the vacuum cleaner soon.

      To be honest, the lack of a cleaning woman doesn’t bother me nearly as much as the fact that I can’t go swimming. Who would have thought you can’t swim on a tropical island? Apparently there are deadly jellyfish in the water, and a rogue saltwater crocodile cruising up and down the coastline. All the beaches are closed. And it’s stinking hot!

      That’s my grumble.

      For your part, I’m concerned that you’re nervous about using the Tube. I can understand it might be intimidating when your main mode of transport has been the island’s ferry service, but the Tube is fast and punctual, and Sloane Square station is very close by. Do give it a try.

      Regards

      Patrick

      PS Someone called Boof rang and invited me down to the pub to watch a cane toad race. I looked on the internet and discovered that cane toads are poisonous South American frogs that can grow as big as dinner plates and breed like rabbits. So I guess the races aren’t Ascot. Would appreciate any advice/warnings.

       Private Writing Journal, Magnetic Island, April 16th

       This journal isn’t helping at all. I’m still staring at a blank page.

       Any words I’ve put down are total rubbish. It’s so distressing. The ideas for my novel are perfect in my head. I can see the characters, the setting and the action, but when I try to put them on the page everything turns to garbage.

       I’m beginning to think that Molly Cooper’s a far better writer than I am and she isn’t even trying. The words just flow from her. I’m feeling the first flutters of panic. I hate failure. How did I ever think I could write an entire novel? It’s all in my head, but that’s no use unless I can get it into a manuscript.

      I’m going for a long hike. Walking is supposed to be very good for writer’s block.

      To: Patrick Knight <[email protected]>

      From: Molly Cooper <[email protected]>

      Subject: Stingers, etc!

      Hi Patrick

      I’m sorry. I should have warned you about the marine stingers, and it’s a shame about the crocodile. The good news is the National Park people will probably catch the croc and move it up the coast to somewhere safe and remote, and the stinger season finishes at the end of April, so it won’t be long now before you’re able to swim. You could try the stinger-proof enclosure over in Horseshoe Bay, but swimming inside a big net isn’t the same, I suppose.

      Just you wait—the island is paradise in late autumn and early winter. You’ll be able to swim and skin dive to your heart’s content.

      I’ll draw a map of the island and post it to you, showing you where all the best diving reefs are. And do check out the cane toad races. They sound grotesque, but they’re actually fun. Listen to Boof. He catches the toads for the races, and maybe he can put you onto a sure thing to win a few dollars.

      How’s the writing going?

      Molly x

      To: Patrick Knight <[email protected]>

      From: Molly Cooper <[email protected]>

      Subject: Thank you!

      Patrick, you darling! Sorry if that sounds too intimate, when we’ve never actually met, but it’s so, so sweet of you to send Discovering London’s Secrets. It arrived this morning. You must have organised it over the internet. How thoughtful!

      Believe me—I’m deeply, deeply grateful. I’ve looked at other travel books in the shops, but they only seem to cover all the popular sights, which are fabulous, of course—there’s a reason they’re popular—but once you’ve done Piccadilly Circus and Buck Palace, the Tower and Hyde Park you’re hungry for more, aren’t you?

      Now I’m so well informed I can really explore properly, just the way I’d hoped to.

      This afternoon I went back to Hyde Park and found the hidden pet cemetery mentioned in this book. It was fascinating, with all those dear little mildewed headstones marking the final resting places of dogs, cats and birds, and even a monkey.

      But to use the book you sent properly, I’m going to have to brave the Underground, and that still terrifies me. I hate to think that the whole of London is sitting on top of a network of tunnels and at any given moment there are thousands of people under there, whizzing back and forth in trains.

      I do feel ashamed of myself for freaking out like this. I know avoidance only makes these things worse. I’m going to work at getting braver.

      M x

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