Chapter Twenty-three
In the space of less than ten minutes, the empty field fills with people and sound, and I can’t help but wonder how Declan’s feeling about all this.
When I finally spot him, though, it’s to see him talking quietly with Bri.
Her hands are resting on his shoulders, and he’s nodding and breathing deeply.
And I know that there’s nothing between them, and that it’s selfish, but .
. . my feet itch to go over there and help if I can.
I resolutely turn my attention back to the book table.
Bri is buzzing. She flits between groups of people, chatting and laughing, making sure everyone is comfortable and welcoming a group she tells me are just a few journalists.
After his conversation with Bri, Declan seems calm.
He fiddles with the AV equipment, occasionally pausing to have a quiet conversation with someone who recognises him.
Then she introduces Declan. The roar from the crowd is deafening as he climbs up onto the rock with Bri. The rope she used to cordon off the rock and the two security guards standing beside it suddenly seem strangely, painfully necessary. At a book tour .
Declan waves a little to the crowd, and another cheer rolls through. A group of women in the front row start chanting his name, and someone close to where I’m standing shouts, ‘Your book changed my life!’
It’s . . . a lot, and I’m glad to be standing comfortably behind the book table.
Declan half smiles and the crowd almost loses it again.
Bri holds up a hand for quiet.
‘I’ll leave you alone with Declan in a moment, but, before I do, I’m very pleased to announce that anyone who wants to buy a book today will be purchasing it from Clarence Brooks, from Brooks’ Books!’
Bri points to the table where I’m standing, and it’s like the first day, when everyone turned to look at me.
Somehow, though, even though she’s not announcing that I’ve looked through Declan’s suitcase, it feels more charged.
Especially when she whispers in a not-whisper, ‘Otherwise known as the bookseller from the dedication.’
A few of the journalists Bri pointed out earlier turn to take photos of me, and my first thought is that it’s no wonder Declan hates it.
It’s like there’s a giant spotlight illuminating the table, exposing every part of me.
But I channel Gran and I wave, and the crowd cheers again – though much less impressively than they did for Declan – and I feel a weird sort of rush.
I’m left both empty and relieved when they turn away.
As with the two previous events, Declan’s speech goes well.
There’s no sign of the intimacy from last time, but there’s a wild energy, a fierce passion for the book.
Like these people feel the same way about books that Jed feels about birds.
And, while I never jumped passionately in front of an author or yelled out that he changed my life, seeing the crowd .
. . I remember that feeling. I remember sneaking into the bookshop with Gran early in the morning when the next book in my favourite series came out – she’d never let me read them until release day, no matter how early they arrived in store.
But there was always a giddiness. A passionate hope about what might happen next in the story.
A sense of excitement that I don’t think I’ve felt about anything in the last few years.
But even just watching the crowd . . . it reminds me of that feeling.
I think of what Alex said, and I wonder if maybe life at Brooks’ could feel hopeful like that again too.
Then Declan finishes speaking, and the sales table is swamped .
We sell out of all the books Bri and I brought from the van.
Jed runs back to get another few boxes, and we sell out of those too.
Declan signs almost continuously, stopping every now and then to stand and stretch, or to come over to collect a book from the table.
He barely glances at me when he does, and it feels a little like the moment the crowd turned away, but it also helps me to focus on my job.
It’s after 7 p.m. by the time he finishes, and he and Jed look as exhausted as I feel.
The clear sky from earlier has started clouding over, but, thankfully, the rain seems to be holding off.
Bri is still bright and cheery, as though she could keep going for another six hours at least, and she bounces over to the table with a pair of women in tow.
One looks like she’s just out of school, wearing jeans and a yellow T-shirt, a camera bag slung over her shoulder.
The other is older, wearing a pair of bright pink overalls, and is somehow about fifty times more terrifying.
Her square-rimmed glasses rest easily on her nose and her hair is a riot on top of her head, but her expression reminds me of Elizabeth (of the excellent bun and newspaper article).
It feels like she can see all my secrets – even the ones that I don’t know about myself.
I do not have a great feeling about this.
‘Clarrie!’ says Bri. ‘This is Fiona and Ava from Behind the Books. ’ She gestures to them – Fiona is in the pink overalls – and widens her eyes at me in a move that I’m pretty sure is trying to communicate to me that this is a Big Deal.
But despite being what Yumi calls ‘over the hill’, I do know Behind the Books – it’s the most reputable book magazine in the country.
They do profiles on the books and their authors, and their write-ups have been known to change the trajectory of authors’ careers.
If Talking to Trees gets in Behind the Books , it will pretty much guarantee the book’s long-term success. Hence Bri’s eyes.
Declan stands from where he’s just finished signing, and when he catches sight of all of us talking his body goes still. He looks as though he’s caught between coming over and running off into the forest. Then Bri glances over at him, waving a hand, and his fate is sealed.
‘Declan,’ says Fiona when he reaches us, her voice low and calm. ‘It’s a pleasure to see you again.’
‘Likewise,’ says Declan, reaching out to shake her hand. His eyes flick to where I’m standing behind the table and he shifts slightly on his feet.
‘Fiona here is gathering information for a possible article on Declan and Talking to Trees ,’ Bri says to me, her voice just a little more high-pitched than usual. ‘She was hoping she might be able to have a quick word with the two of you together.’
The two of us . . . together? Why?
‘Don’t worry,’ says Fiona when neither Declan nor I respond immediately, ‘I’ll be kind to her.’
Declan turns to look at Bri, and the look he gives her is so loaded that I’m surprised it doesn’t explode in the clearing, and then everyone sort of turns towards me.
What is happening?
I have an awful, sinking suspicion that I’m not going to like what comes next and there is a very large part of me that’s tempted to run into the bushes myself.
I’m sick of feeling behind on everything.
The profile is on Declan – they’re hardly going to include much detail on me, even if they know I’m the subject of the dedication.
But . . . it’s a way to potentially have Brooks’ mentioned in Behind the Books .
Bri and Declan are both looking at me with varying degrees of panic.
‘Sure, that’s fine,’ I hear myself say, still not quite sure what it is that I’m actually agreeing to, and the girl with the jeans – Ava – snaps a photo.
‘I thought maybe you could set yourself up over there,’ Bri says to Fiona, pointing to the edge of the clearing where a camping chair and two-seater bench wait expectantly. ‘I’ll bring these two over in just a moment.’
‘Bri,’ says Declan as soon as they’re out of earshot, his voice low and a little dangerous-sounding.
‘It’s for five minutes,’ says Bri, smile barely slipping.
‘What’s for five minutes?’ I ask, apprehension prickling along my arms.
‘She wants us to pretend to be dating,’ Declan says in a low, tight voice when Bri doesn’t respond immediately.
‘ What? ’ my voice is so loud that Fiona turns to look at us. Bri waves brightly back, like everything is totally fine.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says to Declan through her smile, and to her credit she does sound genuinely apologetic.
‘She saw the picture of the two of you on the Read, Repeat website and there are a lot of comments under the thread. She said addressing it would add another layer to the profile, that people would love to know just a little more about your personal life.’
‘What picture on the Read, Repeat website?’ I ask.
‘Tessa?’ says Declan tersely, rubbing his head.
Bri just nods.
‘Can we see?’ asks Declan. Bri whips out her phone, like she knew this moment was coming. The photo is already on the screen.
It’s Declan and I, the moment before we turned to face the camera for our posed picture.
I’m gazing up at him with what appears to be frustration and desire, but Declan .
. . he’s looking down at me with what can only be described as tenderness and oh my goodness what are the comments saying?
I close my eyes and Declan shifts beside me, and I resist the urge to look up, to see his reaction to the picture. Read, Repeat have done it again.
‘Damn it,’ says Declan. It’s a direct echo of my internal sentiment, and, impossibly, I’m still a little offended.
‘What are the comments saying?’ I ask.
‘There’s a lot of speculation about whether or not the two of you are together,’ says Bri. ‘Which I believe is what Tessa intended.’
Declan closes his eyes.
‘I think saying the two of you are dating is the easiest way to explain it for this interview,’ Bri adds carefully.
‘The best story, you mean?’ says Declan.