Chapters (39)
- Cover
- Praise for Hannah Begbie:
- Dedication
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Acknowledgements
- If you enjoyed Blurred Lines, keep reading for a taste of Hannah Begbie’s first novel Mother.
- PROLOGUE
- About the Author
- Also by Hannah Begbie
- About the Publisher
‘And I think that helps, I honestly do!’ says Sam. ‘But, cards on the table, if Emilia turns round to me tomorrow and asks me outright if she should do this, I’m fucking torn. She loves it and I love it but let’s be honest, it’s not a payday for her, so what’s it about? It’s an awards movie. She gets a Best Actress nomination out of this. But if it turns into the film about feminism that a male rapist made … you hear what I’m saying? That film doesn’t get distribution, let alone a run at awards season. It’s bad. And what’s worse than that is if she goes ahead and does the film even though the story is on the table. We could cut it back a little, say she was under contract already and believes in due process, blah blah, but it’d still look bad, and all for zero upside. You see what I’m saying here?’
‘I don’t know what else to say.’
‘Well you need to think, friend, because what I need from you is something very smart and substantial to tell to my client, otherwise the thing I’m left saying is all the stuff I just laid out. And by the way, I’m only even having this conversation because I like Matthew a lot and because I think you have a big future as a producer. If it was anyone else I’d tell Emilia to bail already and be done with it. Fuck knows she has other options.’
‘I hear you.’
‘Cool, but what am I hearing from you?’
Becky is dizzy. She wants to ask for time. She wants to lie down. She needs a day – a week, maybe more – to figure out a way through this mess. She feels like a squash ball getting smashed around the court, flying at all angles. And Sam wants his answer or everything collapses.
She stops and leans against a garden wall, taking a deep breath. Even as the clock ticks and Sam waits, she can’t help but wonder whether Scott has ever had to justify himself so thoroughly for his actions in his entire life. Had another woman suffered at his hands since he touched her? She burns with shame and anger at her own weakness and inaction.
Then she straightens her spine, stands to her tallest height, plants her feet firmly on the ground.