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“Yeah. Sorry about that.”
“Oh, I don’t mind. I’m just wondering what to get.”
“For tonight, I’d suggest something quick. It’s gonna take us a couple of hours to get there.”
“Okay.”
I have to admit, I’m enjoying this myself now, and we walk around together, grabbing various things that take our fancy, as well as some basic essentials.
Mac insists on paying and we carry our bags out together, loading them into the trunk, before we set off again. He gives me directions, heading north onto the interstate, and once we’ve been on the road for a while, with music playing softly in the background, I turn to him.
“What was it like growing up in London?” I ask. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us, so I may as well find out a little more about him.
“I enjoyed it.”
“Whereabouts did you live?”
“In Clapham.”
I nod my head. “I think I went through it once on the train… Clapham Junction?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Except Clapham Junction isn’t actually in Clapham; it’s in Battersea.”
“Well, that’s just silly.”
“I know, but I don’t make the rules.”
“What did your parents do?”
“Dad was an artist and Mum was a musician.”
“So they were both creative… like you?”
“Yeah, I guess. They certainly weren’t at all fazed when I said I wanted to be a writer.”
I look over at him, just briefly. “Tell me about your book.”
He pauses for a second or two and then turns in his seat slightly, so even though I can’t look at him, he’s facing me, giving me his full attention. “It’s set in a country house in Shropshire, in the depths of winter, and takes place over a long weekend.”
“Is it historical?” I ask.
“Yes. It’s set in the nineteen-twenties, when house-parties were all the rage.”
“As were murder mysteries.”
He chuckles, placing his hand on my thigh. “I know, but I’ve tried to make it different. My detective isn’t a policeman… he’s a doctor, who’s staying at the house, and who solves the murder before the police can even get there.”
“Why does it take the police so long?”
“Because there’s a convenient snow-storm, which traps everyone at the house, including the murderer, of course.”
“I see. And your agent doesn’t like this?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. She says she can’t see it selling because it’s been done before.”
I shrug my shoulders. “Then change it.”
“How?” he says. “I’ve been tweaking around with it over the last few weeks, but I still like the basic premise, and I can’t see what I can do to make it different.”
