a tiny patch of daffodils at my feet! I’ve never seen daffodils growing before.
So many firsts!
After breakfast I went for a walk along the King’s Road, and everyone looked so pink-cheeked and glamorous, with their long, double knotted scarves and boots. I bought myself a scarf (won’t be able to afford boots). I so wanted to look like all the other girls, but I can’t manage the pink cheeks.
I swear I saw a television actor. An older man, don’t know his name, but my grandmother used to love him.
But crikey, Patrick. I look around here and I have all this—I feel like I’m living in Buckingham Palace—and then I think about you on the other side of the world in my tiny Pandanus Cottage, which is—well, you’ll have seen it for yourself by now. It’s very basic, isn’t it? Perhaps I should have warned you that I don’t even have a flatscreen TV.
Do write and tell me how you are—hopefully not struck dumb with horror.
Cheers, as you Brits say
Molly
To: Patrick Knight <[email protected]>
From: Molly Cooper <[email protected]>
Subject: Are you there yet?
Sorry to sound like your mother, Patrick, but could you just drop a quick line to let me know you’ve arrived and you’re OK and the house is OK?
M
PS I’m still happy and excited, but I can’t believe how cold it is here. Isn’t it supposed to be spring?
To: Patrick Knight <[email protected]>
From: Felicity Knight <[email protected]>
Subject: Touching base
Hello darling
I imagine you must be in Australia by now. I do hope you had a good flight. I promise I’m not going to bother you the whole time you’re away, but I just needed to hear that you’ve arrived safely and all is well and to wish you good luck again with writing your novel.
Love from the proud mother of a future world-famous, bestselling author.
xx
To: Molly Cooper <[email protected]>
From: Patrick Knight <[email protected]>
Subject: Re: Just checking
Dear Molly
Yes, I’m here, safe and sound, thank you, and everything’s fine. It was well worth the twenty-hour flight and crossing the world’s hemispheres just to get here. Don’t worry. Your house suits my needs perfectly and the setting is beautiful. Everything’s spotless, just as you promised, and the new sheets are splendid. Thank you for ironing them.
As I told you, I’m planning to write a book, so I don’t need loads of luxury and I don’t plan to watch much TV. What I need is a complete change of scenery and inspiration, and the view from your front window provides both.
I’ve already rearranged the furniture so that I can have a table at the window and take in the fabulous view across the bay to Cape Cleveland. All day long the sea keeps changing colour with the shifting patterns of the sun and the clouds. It’s utterly gorgeous.
I’m pleased you’ve settled in and that you like what you’ve found, but don’t worry about me. I’m enjoying the sunshine and I’m very happy.
Oh, and thanks also for your helpful notes about the fish in the freezer and the pot plants and the washing machine’s spin cycle and the geckos. All points duly noted.
Best wishes
Patrick
To: Felicity Knight <[email protected]>
From: Patrick Knight <[email protected]>
Subject: Re: Touching base
Hi Mother
Everything’s fine, thanks. I’m settled in here and all’s well. Will keep in touch. It’s paradise down here, so don’t worry about me.
Love to you and to Jonathan
Patrick x
Private Writing Journal, Magnetic Island, April 10th
This feels very uncomfortable.
I’ve never kept any kind of diary, but apparently it’s helpful for serious writers to keep a journal of ‘free writing’. Any thoughts or ideas are grist for the mill, and the aim is to keep the ‘writing muscle’ exercised while waiting for divine inspiration.
I wasn’t going to bother. I’m used to figures and spreadsheets, to getting results and getting them quickly, and it feels such a waste of effort to dredge up words that might never be used. But after spending an entire day at my laptop staring at ‘Chapter One’ at the top of a blank page, I feel moved to try something.
I can blame jet-lag for the lack of productivity. I’m sure my muse will kick in after a day or two, but rather than waste the next couple of days waiting for the words to flow, I’m trying this alternative.
So … what to say?
This isn’t a test—no one else will be reading it—so I might as well start with the obvious.
It’s an interesting experience to move into someone else’s house on the other side of the world, and to be surrounded by a completely different landscape and soundtrack, even different smells.
As soon as I found notes from Molly scattered all over the house, I knew I’d arrived in an alien world. A few examples:
Note on a pot plant: Patrick, would you mind watering this twice a week? But don’t leave water lying in the saucer, or mosquitoes will breed.
On the fridge door: Help yourself to the fish in the freezer. There’s coral trout, queen fish, wahoo and nannygai. Don’t be put off by the strange names, they’re delicious. Try them on the barbecue. There’s a great barbecue recipe book on the shelf beside the stove.
On the lounge wall, beside the light switch: Don’t freak if you see small, cute lizards running on the walls. They’re geckos—harmless, and great for keeping the insects down.
Beyond the cottage, the plants and trees are nothing like trees at home. Some are much wilder and stragglier, others lusher and thicker, and all seem to grow in the barest cracks of soil between the huge boulders on this headland.
The birds not only look different but they sound totally alien. There’s a bright green parrot with a blue head and yellow throat that chatters and screeches. The kookaburra’s laugh is hilarious. Another bird lets out a blood-curdling, mournful cry in the night.
Even the light here is a surprise. So bright it takes a bit of getting used to.
God, this is pathetic. I need red wine. I’m not a writer’s toenail.
But I can’t give up on the first day. Getting this leave was a miracle. I couldn’t believe how generous old George Sims was. Such a surprise that he was worried about me ‘burning out’.
But now … my writing. I’d always imagined that writing would be relaxing. I’m sure it is once the words really start to come. I’ll plug on.
In spite of all the differences here, or perhaps because of them, Molly Cooper’s little cottage feels good to me. It’s simple, but it has loads of personality and it’s almost as if she hasn’t really left. It’s bizarre, but I feel as if I’ve actually met her simply by being here and seeing