Chapter 18
“So first-class train travel is my new favorite thing,” Kate murmured into her mobile even though there was only one other person in the quiet, sun-warmed carriage.
“Only the best for Kate Darrowby,” Liv said. “Wish I was with you instead of making this giant bloody birthday cake. Coffee flavor as well, which I hate, with peanut-butter icing, which I hate even more. I’ve got the radio on ready to listen, though, can’t wait.”
Kate’s stomach rolled at the mention of the impending Glynn Weston radio interview.
She’d woken to a “good luck” voicemail from Charlie, his voice tense and far away, and a “don’t stuff this up” voicemail from Fiona, shouty as if she was in the next room.
An email from Rachel, the chirpy PR girl too, assuring her she’d be brilliant and Glynn was a sweetie and here was her number, just in case.
In case of what, Kate had wondered, saving it to her phone anyway.
Rachel had been over the moon when she’d called last week to confirm the interview had got the final go-ahead—a real scoop, she’d said, “Such amazing coverage for a debut book in its publication week. Just be yourself and everything will be marvelous!” Kate had hung up and stroked the wine bottle in the door of the fridge before reaching for the milk for her morning coffee.
She’d heard a trailer for the weekend show while she was driving on Friday morning and Glynn had name-checked Kate Darrowby as his upcoming guest. She’d yelped and slammed her fingers over the radio buttons to stop him speaking before she almost threw up, thoroughly panicked.
And now here she was, London-bound, her color-coded character notes all laid out on the train table for a last minute reread.
Kate breathed a sigh of relief when the train lurched forward out of the station bang on time.
She’d double- and triple-checked to make sure she’d built in long enough to get across London to the radio station without looking bedraggled and rushed, aware she was expected to get a photograph with Glynn for her socials without Liv at her side to direct any necessary extra shots.
Closing her eyes for a steadying couple of minutes, she jolted upright when the train came to a sudden and unexpected stop.
“What’s happening?” she said, even though there was no one but the dozing elderly guy at the other end to hear her, and he was out for the count.
“Apologies for the pause, folks, some engineering works on the line. Shouldn’t be long before we’re moving again.”
Kate stared at the carriage doors, hoping a real human might appear to reassure her rather than the announcement.
Fifteen minutes passed. That was her bookstore-browsing time gone, then.
“Oi, oi!”
The doors slid open and about twenty men in soccer shirts flooded the carriage, settling around her.
“Mornin’,” a red-faced guy said, hovering near her table. “Mind if we sit down? The boss said it’d be all right if we spill in here, what with the delays and everything.” He jerked his head toward the adjoining carriages. “Standing room only through there.”
She swallowed and gathered her notes up as three men in gold soccer shirts piled into the empty seats around her table.
“Going to the Wolves match?” the one opposite asked her.
She shook her head.
Another nodded at her notes. “Exam?”
She shook her head again. “Interview.”
“Job interviews, the pits.” The first guy grimaced as he opened a can of beer. It was like a starting whistle—all around the carriage cans were hauled from pockets and bags and cracked open.
“Want one to steady your nerves?”
Kate half laughed, slightly hysterical. It wasn’t even nine-thirty in the morning. “Umm, no thank you, better not.”
“Thanks for your patience, folks.” The carriage fell quiet to listen to the train manager over the loudspeaker.
Not much we can do about the delay, I’m afraid, it’s looking like another twenty minutes or so before we’ll get moving again.
I’ll keep you updated as soon as we hear anything.
Now might be a good time to grab coffee from the buffet in carriage J if you’re thirsty.
I’m afraid there won’t be any first-class trolley service today due to staff shortages, apologies for any inconvenience caused. ”
A collective groan went around the carriage.
“Bloody trains,” someone muttered. “Thought we were in for a treat.”
Kate felt her hairline start to prickle with sweat.
The pleasant warmth of the carriage had fast become overheated in the full glare of the morning sun, exacerbated by the pub-at-closing-time smell of lager and the dialed-up noise level on the now-packed train.
She could feel all of her well-rehearsed lines blustering out of her head.
No browsing in the bookstore, no leisurely coffee, but she should still be just about okay.
The guy opposite nodded at her notes. “What’s the interview for, then?”
She pinched the bridge of her nose, glancing at her phone for the time again. “It’s live on the radio,” she said quietly.
“On the radio?” he said, really quite loud. “Which show?”
She nodded, jangling the bangle Liv had slid around her wrist last night. “Glynn Weston,” she said, almost heaving.
“No bullshit?”
People all around the carriage were listening in now.
“No bullshit,” she said, half wishing she’d accepted that beer.
“How come?”
Kate closed her eyes for a brief second. This was it, the job she’d been hired for. “I’m an author.” She could only hope the words didn’t sound as alien as they felt in her mouth.
“Blimey,” the guy next to her said. “What sort of books do you write?”
“Love stories,” she said. It didn’t feel too difficult to say, because the abandoned manuscripts she’d recovered from her old home were romances.
“And you’re going on Glynn Weston’s show today? They better hurry this bloody train up, then,” someone said.
On that, the train manager stuck her head in. “Sorry, guys,” she said, shrugging. “It’s just one of those things, it happens. We’ll get another update soon, hang in there.”
She backed out as quickly as she’d arrived, non-message delivered.
Kate excused herself to the loo, locking herself in and calling Liv.
“Liv, help! The sodding train has stopped five minutes outside of the station, God knows why, something wrong on the line is all they’re saying.
Can you google it? I don’t know why I’m even asking that, sorry—I know you’re busy with the cake from hell.
I’m on the train with an entire carriage full of soccer supporters who’ve all had a three-course breakfast of beer, beer, and beer, and I swear I’m a whisker away from having one myself!
Oh God, Liv, what if I’m late? You can’t be late for live radio!
What will Glynn say? And shitting Nora, what will Fiona say?
This is a total disaster. I’m going to be fired for sure. ”
It was only when she stopped to draw breath that she realized she wasn’t speaking to her sister at all, just voicemail, which informed her she’d run out of space for her message and she needed to start again.
She hung up without bothering and sat on the loo with her head in her hands, listening to the stupid recorded train message about not flushing your hopes and dreams down the toilet with your tampons and loo paper.
She tried not to let it register, dreading the thought of it tumbling out of her head on live radio, if she ever made it there on time.
“Another twenty minutes,” her beer neighbor informed her as soon as she returned to her seat. “We might be able to reclaim our ticket costs if it goes on much longer, though, so cross your fingers.”
Kate slid into her seat and tried to work out what to do, because she was now running frighteningly close to the wire. All of her built-in extra time had evaporated, and at this rate she might even be a no-show.
She messaged Rachel on the number she’d saved just in case, and then spent the next eight minutes obsessively checking to see if she’d replied.
Nothing. It was Sunday morning; if the girl had any sense she’d still be in bed.
Or more likely at hot yoga. Either way, she wasn’t answering her phone.
Liv was making her awful cake for her mother-in-law’s birthday and Charlie was still stateside.
She reread her emails from Rachel, suddenly remembering mention of a contact at the radio station.
She had a number! Thank everything, she thought, clicking on the number and then screwing up the nerve to talk to whoever answered it.
She pressed the mobile to her ear, sticking one finger in her other ear, and waited.
“Hello?”
“Umm, hi, I’m Kate Darrowby, is this the right number to speak to someone from Glynn Weston’s show?
Only I’m due on there this morning as a guest and I’m so sorry, but my train has stopped.
Just stopped! I should still make it as long as we get moving in the next few minutes, but I thought I ought to warn you, just in case. ”
“Okay, Kate, don’t panic,” the guy on the other end said, soothing and serene. “I’m Glynn’s producer. I can juggle things around a little this end, just do what you can and keep me up to speed so we can stay fluid, okay? Call me back in fifteen with an update.”
Kate hung up and slumped in her seat.
“Will they wait for you?” one of her new table friends asked.
“I have no idea,” she said. “If we get moving soon, they might?”
“Sure you don’t want that beer?”