Chapter Twenty-Four Jemma
Chapter Twenty-Four JEMMA
Salma is in my bedroom doorway. ‘I’m on a wild, no-holds-barred, bloodthirsty, vengeance-y quest for chocolate. Got any?’
I turn away from the envelope in my hands. ‘Period?’
She gasps dramatically. ‘How dare you be so misogynistic! Am I not allowed to crave chocolate at other times of the month?’
I shrug. ‘I guess you are.’
‘Fuck you, yes, it’s my period.’
I laugh. ‘I don’t have any, sorry. If I keep any chocolate in here, I will eat the chocolate, and then we begin the cycle again of having no chocolate in here.’
‘That’s fair. Want to come to the shop with me then?’
I stand up, the envelope burning in my hands. ‘I’ll come with you part of the way. I’m actually heading to the library to drop this off in Too Good to Be True .’
‘Ooh!’ Salma comes further into the room, staring at the envelope. ‘So this is the one where you finally ask him who he is?’
I nod, feeling shivery. This could be the last note I write to him. It could all be over after this.
Or it could all be starting after this.
We leave the house together, almost colliding with Clara on our way out.
Things are a bit better than they were between us, what with all the enforced hangouts at Mum and Angela’s, talking wedding plans.
But I’m still livid with jealousy when Salma grabs her and says warmly, ‘Babe, we still on for tonight? You better dress up !’
Clara nods excitedly. ‘Tonight is the night, I just know it.’ She looks at me and then away quickly.
‘What are you guys doing?’ I ask, trying to sound laid-back. Of course it comes off needy as hell. I’ve never been good at hiding my feelings.
‘There’s a big PR launch thingy at a hotel in West London later. I got invited through work and Clara’s coming as my plus one.’
My sister bounces on the spot a little. ‘And guess who’s on the guestlist?
Milo Samuels! I cannot wait to see him. I’ve got the perfect in now.
I can just go right up to him and be like, “Oh hello, Milo, remember when we met at that food and drink festival thingy last week and you gave me amnesia? I remember my name now!” And he’ll be like, “Oh wow! Let’s get married and have babies! ”’
I shake my head. How is she not mortified about that first meeting? When she and Harry told us about it, Salma and I laughed our arses off, and assumed she would be too embarrassed to continue pursuing this silly crush.
‘It’s going to be great,’ Salma agrees, as I stare down at my feet. My twin sister and my best friend hanging out without me. At some swanky party. Without me. It’s outrageous, I can’t believe they’d do this to me.
I glance up and Salma is staring at me hard.
‘Oi!’ she says sternly. ‘Stop looking so left out, you never want to come to these things. In fact, you’ve told me over and over to stop asking you.
You said there was never going to be a chance in hell you would ever come along to one of my showbiz work parties. You said they sounded exhausting.’
Clara’s mouth falls open. ‘You know celebrities go to these things, don’t you?’ She sounds agog and I roll my eyes.
‘I couldn’t give a crap about celebrities,’ I tell her and she looks aghast.
‘Better than made-up people on pieces of paper,’ she mutters, and I shoot her a warning glare.
‘Anyway,’ Salma moves us on smoothly, ‘it’ll be fun, and I’m sure I could get another name on the list if you did decide having fun wasn’t beneath you.’
Clara perks up. ‘Yes, please come, Jemma, it’ll be really great!’ She pauses, then says innocently, ‘You should invite Harry as your, like, date or whatever.’
I take a deep breath. Her subtlety could win awards.
But maybe it would be nice to have Harry come along.
To have the whole house together for a night out.
I can’t even remember the last time I went out for drinks.
I decided a long time ago that drinking wasn’t really very me , plus it’s terrible for my rosacea.
But I find I’m actually excited by the prospect.
‘OK.’ I smile at them both. ‘If you’re sure you can get extra names on the guestlist, Salma?’ She beams a yes and I pull out my phone. ‘I’ll message Harry and insist he cancel any other plans he might have, so he can join us.’
‘Perfect!’ Clara almost shouts. ‘It’s a date.’
I give her a disapproving look. ‘It’s not a date.’
‘Where are you guys going now, anyway?’ Clara fiddles with the buttons on her shirt.
Salma points to herself: ‘Chocolate run,’ then at me: ‘She’s going to deliver her latest note.’ She leans forward excitedly. ‘She’s finally asking the book guy who he is!’
Clara gasps. ‘No way! This is so exciting!’ She looks at me hopefully.
‘Can I come?’ I swallow hard and she continues quickly.
‘I know I made a mess of things the last time I turned up at the library. But I promise to behave myself this time! I’ll even, like, shush other people!
I can distract that hot, moody bloke behind the desk for you.
And it’s not like your sexy hills guy will be there this time anyway, right? ’
‘Mountains,’ I say sharply. ‘He climbs mountains. It wouldn’t be much of a memoir if he’d lost two toes climbing Primrose Hill.’
‘Still be impressive to me,’ mutters Salma. ‘I hate all inclines.’
I sigh at Clara. ‘OK, fine, you can come. But no gossiping about this note situation. You have to be aware that it could be literally anyone in there! When you’re shouting about it, he could be listening! It could be the stranger in the corner, y’know? Just promise you’ll be cool.’
‘I still think it’s someone you know,’ Salma says softly behind us, as we all head for the door.
The library is quiet and I internally groan at the sight of Mack behind the counter. No Anita today, just that sour-faced dick.
Beside me, Clara is muttering about upcycling the walls and I resist an eye roll. We’re still climbing around the chest of drawers to get in and out of the house every day and I can’t get to the washing machine thanks to a random bedside table. I thought she’d finally moved on from that hobby.
‘Hi, Mack,’ I greet the dickhead warily and he grunts a response. I lean into Clara, telling her in a low voice, ‘You keep him distracted while I go slip the note in the book.’
She nods and I watch her transform into Flirty Clara, leaning forward onto the counter and lowering her voice. ‘It’s Mack, isn’t it? I’m Clara and I think the walls here are genuinely hideous.’
He snorts and I stop short, shocked by the sound.
I’ve honestly never heard him laugh. Literally never.
OK, sure, it was barely a laugh but it’s close enough to one to feel like some kind of revelation.
I stare at him; his whole face is different when he is amused.
He’s always been objectively handsome but now he looks… nice ?!
‘I have to agree with you actually,’ he says to Clara. ‘I’ve been complaining about the paint job ever since I started a couple of years ago.’
It’s more like eighteen months but whatever.
Clara rewards him with a tinkly laugh and a hair flick as he continues.
‘This whole place could do with a refresh – a bit of livening up – but nobody listens to me. Nobody likes change and no one has time to do anything. There are always excuses!’ He shrugs and then – unbelievably – lets out an actual, real, honest-to-god laugh .
Clara glances discreetly at me and I slow-blink back at her. Maybe I’ll have to bring her to the library with me more often if she brings out a nicer side of Mack.
I move away, my heart pounding as I head for the general fiction aisle. I stand for a moment, looking at Too Good to Be True ’s spine.
Am I really going to do this? Do I really want to know who this person it? Isn’t it better to keep things as they are – full of fun and excitement and possibility? Reality is so often just dull, disappointing and underwhelming.
I take a deep breath and – before I can lose my nerve – slip the note into the book. The last page. And hopefully the first.
Hurrying back, I find Mack and Clara in surprisingly deep conversation. I’ve barely had more than two syllables from him the whole time he’s been working here. But of course, everyone finds Clara utterly charming. Typical.
As we leave, I grab her by the arm. ‘I cannot believe that’s the same Mack who’s growled at me every day for the last year and a half,’ I breathe. ‘What were you even talking about?’ I’m genuinely curious.
‘I was telling him how much better he could make the library!’ Clara says with enthusiasm.
‘And I don’t mean just the shit walls and ugly carpets.
I mean, like, you could have author events and book clubs and writer workshops – fun things!
He said they don’t do anything like that at the moment, can you believe that? It’s so short-sighted!’
I give her a sideways look. ‘That’s actually really smart,’ I tell her slowly. ‘And what did he say?’
‘He said it was something they’d get around to eventually. And then he got distracted by something on his phone.’ She grimaces, glancing over at me. ‘It seemed like bad news. Do you think he’s OK? Maybe there’s a reason he’s so angry all the time.’
I raise my eyebrows at her. ‘Maybe the reason is that he’s a dickhead?’
‘Maybe,’ she snorts agreeably as we wait at a crossing. ‘He’s fit, though.’
I roll my eyes hard as the green man begins to flash. Clara would think the green man was fit if he glared at her long enough.
Actually, the red man is probably more her type. Walking red flags are her bag.