The Best Book in the World

CHAPTER 5

Evita’s Conditions


A doorbell rings inside Titus’ head. First a short ring. And then one more. Then a couple that are a bit angrier. The sound of the flap of a letterbox being opened. There’s a creaking inside his head. A voice calling out ‘helloooo’ in a can. A long extended ringing sound vibrates inside his head. Riiiing… creak… hello… riiiing… screech… helloooo…

Stop it…

Stop it!

Titus wakes up. Somebody is ringing his doorbell, he realises. Since he is already dressed he hobbles across to the door and opens it.

Astra. And she doesn’t look pleased when she sees Titus’ appearance. His eyes are red and he smells like a smoking room due for demolition.

‘Oh my God, Titus. What in heaven’s name are you doing?’

‘Err… I had a little celebration at the Association yesterday.’

‘Celebration? Why?’

‘Um… well… didn’t we have a nice conversation yesterday? I thought so. I was thinking about the book and celebrated with a couple of glasses. But I’ve got such a dreadful cold, so it hit me harder than it usually does.’

‘Yeah, sure, skip the excuses please.’

‘Er… but why are you here? How did things go with Evita yesterday?

‘That’s why I’m here.’

‘Oh, right…’

‘And I had to see it with my own eyes,’ says Astra and points into Titus’ flat.

The flat isn’t much bigger than what you can see with a single turn of your head. But if you were to go through and sort everything, it would take a couple of weeks. Books, magazines, dirty clothes, unwashed dishes and bits and pieces. Titus’ home is simply crammed full of rubbish from floor to ceiling.

‘You what? What’s with the “see with my own eyes” thing?’ Titus yawns.

‘How you live, of course.’

‘Are you working for Social Services today? What the hell is this about?’ croaks Titus sourly when he understands that his lifestyle is under scrutiny. ‘Would you like a coffee?’

‘Yes, please.’

Titus goes into the kitchen alcove, takes the old coffee filter out of the machine, throws it into the bin and puts in a new one. He opens a cupboard and pulls out some crisp bread and a squeezed-out tube of fish paté.

‘A little Danish sandwich, perhaps?’ he asks ironically when he sees Astra turn her nose up.

‘Thanks, but don’t bother,’ answers Astra, smiling.

‘So, what did she say?’

Astra sits down on a kitchen chair and takes a deep breath.

‘Evita says two things. First, that it is the best idea she’s heard for years. With the right author it can be a worldwide bestseller.’

‘Really, you don’t say! That makes me really happy!’ exclaims Titus and starts laughing.

‘Hang on a moment, Titus. The second thing she says is a bit tougher. She says… that you aren’t the right author.’

Titus coughs up the gulp of coffee he just swallowed, spraying it over the kitchen table and his crisp bread sandwich. He dries his chin with the sleeve of his jumper.

‘What the hell are you saying? Is she out of her senses? This is my book and nobody else’s.’


‘Titus, we had a really long conversation, me and Evita. She means what she says. She knows how you live. And what she says is: Titus Jensen is not the right author for The Best Book in the World. But he could be! He – could – become it.’

‘What?’

‘You could become the right author! I mean, both you and I know that you are the only person who can pull this off, quality-wise. But to get Winchester’s to publish this and to pay an advance, you must go along with some conditions.’

‘Oh indeed…?’

‘Number one: you must sober up.’

‘What utter rubbish! As if I was some sort of wino. What the f*ck? There’s a hell of a difference between having a really good time now and then, and being a down-and-out wino. I like partying, but I’m not a bloody drunkard.’

‘No, of course. But either way, you’ve got to be sober. You mustn’t drink a drop of alcohol while you are writing this book.’

‘That’s just sick…’ he protests lamely, but bides his time before mounting any more indignant protests.

‘Number two: you must rein in your material. This book could run to three thousand pages, just like that. You’ve got to agree to condense the material into two hundred and fifty typed pages – max. The idea is based on gathering together many genres in a single book, and the only way to prove that you’ve really succeeded is to make the book slim.’

Titus looks at Astra and nods slowly. She seems resolute. She’s thought it through. A short manuscript is a lot more difficult, he thinks. But the book is going to be a first-class product, a masterpiece. He wants that, Astra wants that, and so does Evita. They all want it. Condition number two is good, he realises. Damned good.

‘A slim book. That’s okay,’ he says, with earnestness in his voice.

‘The third condition is that your work process must be one hundred per cent professional. For example, there’s got to be total confidentiality. Only you, me and Evita are going to know about this. You’ll write the book this summer and autumn. You and I will meet at regular intervals so that I can see how your work is progressing. We’ll never use email. Never, ever. And if you are sober and keep working away at it, we will pay the advance a bit at a time.’

‘A bit at a time! Then it isn’t an advance!’

‘Yes, the book won’t be published until next spring. We’re keeping a spot for it in the spring catalogue and we’ll book the printers for the week after New Year.’

‘That’s a bit tight…’ murmurs Titus.

‘Not if you work eight hours a day, five days a week!’

‘But I can relax at the weekends?’

‘Go boozing, you mean?’

‘Cut it out. But perhaps have a glass or two of wine on Friday and Saturday?’

‘No. You must be completely teetotal. Are you up for that or not?’

‘That condition is totally sick… how can you write a bestseller in six months if you can’t relax between working bouts?’

‘It shouldn’t be difficult, should it? You say you aren’t an alcoholic.’

‘No, I’m not!’ says Titus emphatically.

‘Well then, then there are no problems, are there? Are we in agreement?’

Titus sees from Astra’s demeanour that there is no room for negotiation. Besides, he knows Evita Winchester’s methods very well. She is the one who sets up the rules of the game. Astra is just a pawn, albeit one made from the hardest marble.

‘Let’s go for it,’ says Titus quietly.

‘Sign here!’ says Astra and hands over a contract. Titus sees both Evita’s and Astra’s signatures at the bottom of the paper. He signs his own name next to theirs.

At last, Titus is writing again.