It is almost five years to the day since I began work on The Mango Orchard, when I get a call from Oli, my agent. “We’ve got a deal,” he tells me.
There’s probably not a day gone by in those five years when I have not fantasized about this moment. I’ve imagined my primeval cry of triumph and a night of celebrations, interrupted only by texts from Gabriel Garcia Marquez and the Booker Prize committee.
“Great,” I say, and after asking a few obvious questions, I hang up.
It’s quite the most exciting news I have received in my life; vindication for those lonely years spent in archives and libraries, and I am standing in the middle of my sitting room, unsure what to do. I sit down and finish my lunch.