Paul - The Inevitable

[on page 3]

Paul walking slowly towards me. Clouds moving. He is still so very very NYC.

That night with the mustard couch, the terrace, the soft winds, the tenderness resurfacing. His English features, his blue eyes, the granite in his jaw, the strength of wealth. His wealth. 

[on page 4]

I walk towards her. I don't recognise her. She is tiny and frail and a fragment of Jocelyn. The Navajo in her cheek, her black hair, her parted lips - another world, glossy and brand-new can be made with her. 

[alongside the fragment from page 4]

Include a piece about Ada and Adam. Maybe the bit about the garden. Maybe about Ava and the end, the horrible end, the betrayal. It needs to be included here because Jocey is beginning anew because Jocey is learning from Ada, her sterile young-dead never-to-be-grandmother. 

[on page 5]

"Paul"

Paul looks at me the same way he did that one evening we shared by the pier in Southampton. Southampton, NYC. There was nothing classier. He watched the cranes and called their swinging and toiling a beautiful dance. This was long ago but it is embedded in her being. That evening in Southampton has changed her genetic makeup. Paul had taken her everywhere in his hometown. They even shared a drunk fight on the benches beside the oldest tavern pouring out music from the middle ages. The bench, the moonlight and the curious pill bugs crawling like tepid love letters on the stony walls of the old world. Of the old order. 

[on page 6]

I remember when Jocelyn was new in Southampton. The big eyes and the wonder in such a small world where I knew all the players. I wanted to kiss her on the pier but didn't. It was all about the monologue with the cranes. It was about giving in, it was about becoming soft and waiting the summer out. It was about how new she was to me. How wide-eyed and silly and infinitely sensual somehow. I didn't know I'd written Jocelyn into my family history then. That evening with the surprisingly romantic sunset and the bubbly beer and the feeling of home. 

[on page 7]

The Embrace. A painting perhaps. Jocey's black hair in ripples on the bed. Paul's marble white hands mixing with it in sleep. His fingers holding her scalp protectively, ripples of hair hiding pieces of nail, hiding pieces of hand. One of his arms on her waist and sandy blond eyelashes. New Mexico mornings with dry heat and the noise from horses. A rustling from afar. Heat. 

[on page 8]

Ava and Max. The tradition, the love behind the farce. A piece of home far from home. Do not mention Ada or Adam here because this will be a happy ending. For now. Do not include a family tree after Max and Ava - this is not the moment for testamentary exhibits. Use tenderness here. Make no mention of Adam and the trek to NYC. Make no mention of life outside England. Begin with a dewey morning and the happy remnants after Ada. 

[on page 9]

Describe a flower blossoming in early summer mornings. Because this is beautiful. Because this book begins with a new life.

[on page 10]

Ada in the garden with Adam. This is a moment of infinite joy. The white. This mirrors a beginning. Do not let it idly evolve into heartbreak. Please, from whatever you find the past, make sure this episode is fleeting, infinitely joyous and pure. We need a crystalline beginning you see. Ada's laughter - corporeal and airy. Adam sitting in strength and awe. Or something like that. *ask Paul for help here*

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In Paul's handwriting, he had crossed out above in red and written below. 

Et toi? Mon fiance, mon éditeur, la meilleure partie de moi.  Tu me complete. 

Ada in the garden with Adam. Let them contemplate in immobile perfection. Let them be. Let them sit on page 10 of Jocelyn's book forever. Intertwined, holding hands, holding spirits and holding each other. Let Ada and Adam share in each other. 

This is not Jocey's making. This is the work of the Editor, Paul. 

Paul, Jocey's Editor, Jocey's Lover, her Husband.