Chapter 21
21
‘That jazz café is wonderful. A place built to make memories. I can’t believe I’ve never been in there before,’ says Casey as we walk towards Camden market. I can hardly keep up. Bemusement crosses his strong features and he slows. His long legs are wrapped up in tight black jeans to match his hair and leather jacket. There’s a hint of Danny Zuko. Does that make me Sandy? I watched Grease as a child with the acceptance that I’d never be a girl that boys raced cars for.
I’m wearing a new pair of blue jeans. The style is skinny. At first I thought there was some mistake. The thrill I enjoyed when fitting them on in the changing room last night matched the high of acquiring a new author. Bella encouraged me to buy a matching denim jacket. She bought one too. Underneath is a white blouse that’s practically see-through and reveals my bra straps. A subtle floral pattern masks my cleavage.
‘You know this area well?’ I ask, fighting an unexpected urge to link my arm with his. It’s almost out of my control in the same way that I haven’t been able to stop remembering those penetrating eyes or the intelligent, confident tone of his voice.
‘I lived near here as a teenager. My family moved down from Manchester. It reminded me of the indoor market there, Afflecks Palace, and the Northern Quarter. Best of all, I could buy cannabis-flavoured lollipops without a Proof of Age ID card. It’s one of my favourite parts of London for a day out.’
‘You haven’t got a strong Mancunian accent.’
‘No. Mum grew up in London. I guess that rubbed off.’
Camden is my favourite part too, with its diverse shops and market stalls. It’s probably one of the places I used to feel I most blended in. Over the years, I’ve bought a purse made from leaves and a hand-knitted dress. I’ve browsed through second-hand bookshops and watched customers have feathers sewn into their hair. I’ve eaten a wide selection of authentic street food and drunk from coconut shells, while accompanied by the smell of joss sticks in the air.
Another reason I like it is that in an ever-changing world, its free spirit has never changed. Except that now as we walk along, and I stop to thumb through a rail of clothes or taste a free sample of fresh juice, the male stallholders treat me a different way. One compliments my rose gold-framed cat-eye-style sunglasses. Another glares at a male pedestrian who accidentally bumps into me and asks if I’m okay. Stallholders were always polite in the past, but some of the young, good-looking ones had even started to call me madam. Not any more.
‘Where is the Chapter Battle being held?’ I ask and wish I hadn’t bought boots with such high heels. I smile to myself. Every now and again the old me makes a comment like that.
We turn down a side street. ‘Just here. I’m glad you could come. It’s no fun on your own.’
We stop outside a Tudor pub. Suitably, it’s called the Canterbury Tales. I’ve always considered myself a forgiving person, but when I think of the Pardoner character in that story, and how he sells pardons for money, well, I couldn’t forgive Lenny for a million pounds. I follow Casey in. The bar is crowded and all the scratched mahogany tables are full, apart from one in the corner with a sign marked ‘Reserved’. At the back is a small laminate dance floor with a mike in the middle. Customers face it expectantly, drinks in their hands. To the side stand a group of people – the authors, presumably – holding sheets of paper and notebooks. They shuffle nervously on their feet. The walls could do with a lick of paint and the layout is ramshackle, but the atmosphere is warmer than an English beer.
‘Seeing as you insisted on paying for lunch, drinks are on me,’ says Casey.
‘Diet Coke, please.’
‘I’ll need a whisky to steady my nerves.’
It turns out that the reserved table is for us. Casey is good friends with the landlord who takes us to our table. He wishes me luck sitting next to an ego as big as Casey’s. He says I’m more than welcome to sit with him at the bar instead. Playfully, Casey throws a slow-motion fist and his landlord friend ducks. I glow from tip to toe. I was lucky if Lenny even introduced me to his friends.
‘You’re taking part?’ I remove my sunglasses, feeling like a VIP after the barman’s attention. ‘No wonder you wanted moral support although you’re remarkably calm.’
‘I thought I’d read out the first chapter of Alien Hearts . Or the prologue, to be exact – that’s allowed as well.’ He sipped his drink. ‘It went out on submission this week. To a few indies and two of the Big Five. My agent wants to test the water.’
I pick up my glass, drain it and stare into the bottom. Casey’s agent hasn’t submitted to Thoth. Felicity would have mentioned it.
I’m failing. Failing with the plan to sign Casey. That must mean I’m failing in the glamour stakes as well. For a moment, it’s as if I’m back in the playground of Applegrove Primary with no friend group. I glance down at myself and all of a sudden miss my odd socks. Who am I kidding? As if I could carry off a transparent top and tight jeans. I must look a right joke.
‘Vi?’
‘What? Sorry. It’s all very exciting for you. Great news,’ I say brightly, without giving him eye contact.
He takes off his jacket and fully displays his Jackson Pollock-style T-shirt to the room like a peacock fanning its tail. I’m embarrassed, now, about my flirting over cocktails. Talk about out of my league.
‘Look, Vi, I’m working on my agent about Thoth,’ he says. ‘It’s clear from what you say that they’d have a real vision and passion and honestly, I?—’
‘Don’t worry. Really. I don’t have any expectations.’
Casey says something else but I hardly hear. As if I could compete with Beatrix Bingham. It’s not as if he’s asked me out on a date. It’s a Chapter Battle. I need to get a grip.
I breathe a sigh of relief as the landlord announces the start of the proceedings and amongst the clapping it’s too noisy for anyone to talk. The first author takes to the dance floor. His hand shakes as he holds the mike as if it could predict the boos that were going to arrive after just two paragraphs.
‘Too many adverbs,’ whispers Casey.
‘And not a gripping enough opening line,’ I say without looking away from the mike, inwardly waging a battle against my negative thoughts.
My pulse rate slows as the welcome embrace of my comfort zone soothes me, now that we are talking about words. The next author takes position and starts to read. She lasts longer and even garners a few laughs.
‘Not bad. That was funny,’ says Casey and waves to her. She blows him a kiss.
‘She just needs to make the dialogue sound more realistic,’ I say. ‘Of course, there’s no doubt you’ll win.’
‘Don’t jinx it. Look, about the submissions,’ he says, but he’s interrupted as the landlord calls his name. A chink of sunlight breaks through the side window and I put on my sunglasses as Casey begins.
The barman takes a break from pulling pints. A man next to me stops scrunching his crisp packet. Silence falls as Casey begins to read. The prologue is a sensuous scene of two characters dancing. It’s not obvious until the last paragraph that one of them isn’t from this planet and that revelation draws gasps.
A woman whistles and claps just before he finishes, as if she knew the end was imminent. I turn left to look and my mouth goes dry.
Beatrix? And Lenny?
It can’t be.
It is.
My heart pounds.
I’m amazed they’ve spurned the glamorous meet and greet at Alpaca Books. This isn’t happening. He must be carrying on our weekend tradition of Camden lunches. Wearing funky shorts and a stylish halter neck top, she heads over to Casey and kisses him just millimetres from his mouth, like a car that ‘accidentally’ parks badly in order to keep others away. Perfume wafts across the room and smells like the most expensive thing in the pub.
It chokes me as if it’s poisonous gas. I inhale and exhale, trying to take back control of my emotions as she moves her arm up and down his shoulder and pulls his collar gently. He bends down and whispers something in her ear. Casey’s laugh drifts over to me.
My chair scrapes as I stand up, dizzy for a second. I navigate the chairs and head for the door. Just as I pass, Lenny steps backwards and into me.
‘Watch where you’re going,’ he mutters without turning around.
I lower my head and escape into the spring air. Please don’t let him recognise me . I head up the side street and then left towards the station. Footsteps sound behind me. Instinctively, I quicken my pace. Lenny must have turned to look. This isn’t part of the plan. I need to look my very best when he sees the new Violet Vaughan – not this half-baked version who, at the moment, hasn’t convinced Casey to give Thoth Publishing a chance. I still have a few weeks left to turn things around. However, fingers curl around my elbow and grip firmly.
‘Vi?’
Casey. Thank God. Oh no. He darts in front of me. I can’t meet his eye.
‘What’s the matter? Why did you leave? Is everything all right?’
‘Yes. Sorry. I should have said goodbye but I don’t feel well and didn’t want to cause a fuss.’ I force a smile. ‘Well done on the reading, Casey. You were fantastic. Best of luck with Alien Hearts . I’m sure it’s going to be a smash hit.’
‘Vi, about submissions. Look at me for a minute.’
No. Because that means he’ll be looking at me. I couldn’t bear that – not after he’s been looking at the vision that is Beatrix Bingham.
‘Sorry. I think I’m going to be sick.’ I shake his hand briefly – keep it professional – and then run as best as I can in my heels.