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Weeks passed until, finally, Phillis had finished her book. 435 pages. 32 chapters. Finally completed.
A sharp knock at the door echoed through the house. Phillis jumped up to answer it. A smiling Susan was stood on the other side. "Hello, Phillis," the older of the two grinned. "Thank you for doing this," Phillis wrapped her coat around herself. "Anytime!" Susan exclaimed, walking into the house. Susan had agreed to look after Enid and Enoch for an hour or two, whilst Phillis met with John Rovers. "You're a lifesaver," Phillis hugged Susan before dashing out of her home.
She pushed open the doors of the publishing company's headquarters. At the end of the narrow hallway, she saw Mr. Rovers' familiar golden plaque. She pushed open the door, spotting John Rovers sat behind his desk as usual. "Mrs. Pevensie! To what do I owe the pleasure?" he smiled, placing his pen down carefully. "I've rewritten the entire thing. Every last word. This is my book," she dropped the pile of A4 sheets down on his desk. He eyed her cautiously, picking up the first sheet. His eyes skimmed through it, as Phillis took a seat on the chair on the other side of his large desk. Something about this version felt right. Perhaps it was all of the emotions Phillis felt when writing it, or perhaps it was because it was simply written on Virginia's treasured typewriter. "This is excellent. I would be honoured to publish this book, Mrs. Pevensie," John grinned brightly. "You would?" Phillis' look of worry merged into that of pure joy. "Absolutely," he nodded. "Now, Mrs. Pevensie, let's sort some of the finer details. What name would you like this book to be published under?" John Rovers picked up his pen again, pulling a fresh sheet of paper from his drawer. He looked up at her, waiting for an answer. "Edmund Pevensie," she told him. He nodded approvingly, going to scribble the name down on his piece of paper. But she stopped him. And it was a good thing she did too. "No. Phillis C. Pevensie," she said, clenching her jaw. "Your own name?" he raised a brow. "Did you not listen to a word I told you?" "I did, sir. But this book was written by me. I will take credit for it because I wrote it. If my book is as good as you say it is, then why should it matter if it is written by a woman rather than a man? Nobody cares about that anyway, sir," said Phillis proudly. She was prepared to fight for this book. It took John Rovers a minute or two before he finally spoke up. "Okay." "Okay?" "Yes. You're right. This book has the sort of raw emotion in it that I have not seen in any novels published by that of a man. Phillis C. Pevensie it is," he said, a small smile playing on his lips. "I have a feeling, Mrs. Pevensie, that this book will do wonders for you." "Thank you, sir. Truly, for everything," she collected her coat. "I look forward to seeing the success of your novel," he smiled.
On Phillis' arrival home, she couldn't wait to share her exciting news with Susan. And the girls chatted all through the night - quietly as not to wake either Enoch or Enid - about almost anything and everything. It was the first time both women finally felt at peace with the world in a long time. They had grown to know anger and grief over the course of a couple of months. But things were changing for them. Things were finally starting to look up. Upwards, towards the sparkling constellations and the radiant sun.
