Page 56 of The Sugar and Spice Bookshop Bakery

‘I’m okay,’ Louise says. ‘Surviving.’

‘You working? Found a new job?’

‘No. At least…’ For some reason, Louise finds she’s reluctant to tell Carrie about the bookshop bakery. She feels somehow that she’s moved on to her new project too quickly, like a husband finding a new girlfriend within weeks of his wife dying. ‘I’m just… you know…’

‘Yeah. I know.’ Carrie sounds sympathetic and Louise feels a stab of guilt. She doesn’t deserve Carrie’s sympathy. She made a spectacular cock-up. But Carrie’s being kind, and maybe she should stop beating herself up over it all. It was one mistake. A mistake anyone could have made.

But anyone didn’t make it.

She did.

And with Sheila Penhaligon’s most popular series to date. It revolved around a police dog handler called James O’Leary – attractive, of course, despite his lopsided nose and a scar on one cheek which was the result of being stabbed as he heroically rescued a child from a kidnapper in the second book of the series. Or was it the third?

James’s dog, Thor, was a German shepherd with one floppy ear and an uncanny ability to sense when someone was lying. The pair weren’t really meant to solve crimes – that was the job of the hapless Detective Inspector Williams and his team – but in every novel, they’d be the ones to make the breakthrough. Thor would find the crucial but seemingly insignificant piece of evidence, whilst James would convince Williams to pay attention. Readers loved the dynamic: Thor’s loyal competence and his master’s quiet determination. Of course, the crime-busting pair never got any credit for their work, but Thor would get a bone and James would treat himself to a pint of whatever the guest ale was at his favourite pub. The series was cosy crime at its best – lovable characters solving murders and ensuring that justice prevails – and had been such a hit that Sheila was in talks with not one but three TV companies, all wanting to buy the rights to adapt it for television.

Or at least she had been.

‘What’s happening?’ Louise asks now. ‘Are the TV companies still competing to buy the rights to Sheila’s books?’

Carrie sighs. ‘One pulled out. One is hesitating – I think they might drop out too. I think the other is possibly going to make an offer anyway, though of course, it’ll probably be lower now.’

‘Shit.’ Louise thumps the wall of the Love Shack and turns to see Jack looking at her in surprise. ‘And sales?’ she asks, heading towards the back door of the bakery. It’s perhaps best she takes this call in private.

‘Sales were slow, but they’re picking up.’

Louise still has paint on her hands, some of which she transfers to the handle of the door. Once inside, she kicks it shut with her foot, rather than spreading any more dusty pink anywhere. She then leans with her elbows – paint-free, she hopes – on the stainless-steel worktop, trying to find the courage to ask the most important question.

‘And how is… how is Sheila? Is she furious?’

‘You know, that’s the weird thing. She was never furious,’ says Carrie.

‘She wasn’t?’

‘No, she wasn’t. Of course, the press have given her a hard time. And then… oh, I probably shouldn’t tell you. I don’t want to worry you.’

‘You can’t say that and not tell me,’ Louise says.

‘She’s had hate mail. A lot of hate mail. A bit has come to the office for you too. Very nasty. We binned it. But it was nothing compared with what Sheila got. And then there’s all the online stuff.’

‘Hate mail?’

This is far worse than Louise imagined.

‘You know what people are like.’

‘Yes, I know.’

She’d braced herself for bad reviews and poor sales figures, but not for hate mail.

And the annoying thing about this whole episode was that, all along, her gut instinct had been to change the storyline, but she’d ignored that feeling up until the very last minute. If she’d spoken up sooner, if there hadn’t been two manuscripts and if she hadn’t been so careless… well, it would all have been different.

‘Really vicious stuff too, Lou. People can be so cruel when they’re hiding behind an online persona. Sheila’s devastated.’

Louise can barely breathe. ‘I need to go, Carrie.’

‘Lou, are you—’

She hangs up and stands frozen in the kitchen, her elbows still on the worktop, staring down at the shiny surface.