‘What’s going on?’ Jemima asked, opening her eyes.

Meagan shook her head. The images in her mind had been so vivid, so clear. Just trees, rooted, still, strong in all weathers, immovable. Jemima looked at her.

‘I dunno. Perhaps you need to meet someone from Forest Gate,’ Meagan said, quickly standing.

Having someone, even one of her besties, seemingly able to peer into her soul or being able to peer into theirs had unnerved Meagan.

‘More booze?’ she said hoisting up the whisky bottle.

‘It’s Jemima’s turn to do me,’ said Simi as she positioned herself back on the floor.

‘What exactly am I doing though?’ Jemima asked as she took Simi’s hands.

‘Just ask the question and listen for the answer,’ said Simi as she closed her eyes.

Meagan topped up her glass as Jemima took a deep breath and closed her eyes too.

‘Four hundred years ago they’d have called this witchcraft and burned us at the stake,’ Meagan scoffed uneasily.

Jemima’s face creased in uncertainty. She opened her eyes and pulled her hands away.

‘What is it?’ Simi asked.

‘All I kept getting was – a break,’ said Jemima.

‘You mean like a chance or opportunity?’ said Simi. ‘Do you want to take another look?’

‘I probably wasn’t doing it right,’ said Jemima, hopping to her feet and stretching her legs.

‘Do you think it meant a break from my old patterns? I’m confused,’ said Simi.

‘Look, I just did what you told me,’ said Jemima, flustered.

Meagan had had enough. Everything was starting to feel way too serious.

‘Come on, man. This is meant to be a painting party not Mad Nanny McFanny’s Witchcraft Coven. If I’m gonna drag Simster here on her day off, we should enjoy it,’ said Meagan raising her glass. ‘And, Jem, aren’t you glad of an afternoon away from the book?’

At Meagan’s words, the pressure seemed to ease out of the room.

‘To be honest, I’m so close to finishing, it’s almost become fun again. The time flies by,’ said Jemima.

‘It’s true,’ Simi piped up. ‘Sometimes I don’t see her for hours. She’s in her room just writing and writing and writing like she’s plotting. Won’t even let me read anything.’

‘It’s not… ready.’

Meagan watched as Jemima seemed to momentarily disappear inside herself. She knew writing could be pressured but her publishers really were making Jemima work for her money.

‘Let’s take a breather,’ said Meagan wandering over to her window and looking down on the alley below.

Meagan loved her window and particularly her view of this quiet Soho alleyway where, after dark, people got up to all kinds of things their parents wouldn’t approve of. Jemima leaned on a patch of unpainted wall next to Meagan, as Simi perched on the windowsill beside her.

‘So, how is the book going?’ Simi asked as they all watched the toing and froing below.

‘Beverly’s backstory is coming along,’ said Jemima after some thought.

‘Excellent,’ said Simi.

One day, thought Meagan, she would definitely finish one of Jemima’s books – but there was just soooo much insurance stuff and, furthermore, reading anything longer than a cocktail menu made her brain ache.