Chapter Forty-Two Jemma
Chapter Forty-Two JEMMA
‘God, Clara’ – I roll my eyes affectionately – ‘you’re on Instagram again ? Don’t you get bored of looking at the same five profiles the algorithm shows you over and over?’
‘Never.’ She shakes her head vehemently.
‘I love it.’ She pauses. ‘I get so excited when I see a green story on Instagram Stories. Like I’m part of the in-crowd and it’s totally going to be something exclusive and exciting, just for the chosen few.
I’m like, “Ooh, I can’t belieeeeeeeve I’m in the inner circle – the shortlist of cool people!
” – and then it’s always more pictures of people’s boring babies.
’ She rolls her eyes, and Harry – whose lap she’s sitting on – laughs and squeezes her.
These two are already irritating the fuck out of everyone with their non-stop love-in.
Obviously I’m incredibly happy for them, but yeughhhh.
‘Anyone for brownies?’ Angela calls, entering the living room with a large plate of cakes. She adds reproachfully, ‘Since you ate every single one the other night…’
‘Over here!’ Buffy shouts, throwing herself onto the sofa and reaching for a brownie and the TV remote control.
The wedding is tomorrow and we’re having a big old sleepover as a sort of hen night stand-in. Because literally nobody was up for a hen do. Especially not me, Clara and Harry who are still jetlagged to buggery from our flying visit to the States.
So no penis straws, no creepy stripper and no booze.
Just the core gang of us – Mum, Angela, Buffy, me, Clara, Harry and Salma – eating loads of lovely food and falling asleep in front of the TV, where we’ve just watched the final episode of Book Boyfriend on catch-up.
Not that I have any idea what’s going on, having watched so little of it. And it’s so different from my novel.
I can’t tell you what a joyful moment it was, turning up on Mum’s doorstep with Clara in tow.
Mum cried absolute buckets. And even more so when we revealed she and Harry were dating.
Though – after that fake engagement thingy a few months ago – she’s taken some convincing that it’s legit.
Seeing them spend the last three hours with their tongues down each other’s throats has probably helped.
‘I’ve just spent ￡150 to avoid a ￡2.99 delivery charge,’ Salma announces, looking up from her phone. ‘Someone take this device away from me.’
‘Can someone take mine, too?’ Clara begs, holding her phone in the air. ‘Amanda won’t stop sending weepy voice notes about me being back.’
I collect both, throwing the phones into the pot pourri on the coffee table.
‘They’re going to smell great when you get them back,’ I tell Salma and Clara, who grin at me and then each other.
‘Shall we watch a film?’ Mum suggests, arriving in the doorway holding bowls of crisps this time.
‘How about Die Hard 2 ?’ says Harry innocently, as Clara squeals a protest.
‘Nothing scary,’ I shout over the din. ‘I can never sleep after all that adrenaline.’
‘I thought you’d love horror movies,’ Angela says from the sofa, sounding confused. I blink at her and she continues, ‘You’re a ghostwriter, aren’t you? You write ghost stories.’
Clara snorts and Buffy moans with embarrassment. ‘Er,’ I begin as nicely as I can, ‘that’s not actually what a ghostwriter is, Angela.’ I sigh. ‘And technically I’m not even a ghostwriter – I assist.’
‘You could be, though,’ Clara says, bouncing slightly on Harry’s right leg as he winces. ‘Why don’t you pitch directly to the publisher or get your own agent? You must’ve made some contacts by now!’
I blush, feeling self-conscious as the room turns to me. ‘Maybe one day.’
Clara raises a finger importantly. ‘Now is the time for risk taking and chasing the big dreams, dude!’
I smile shyly. ‘I have been thinking about it actually. I’ve got a proposal I’ve been quietly working on and I think it’s ready to submit to some agents.’ I sit up straighter. ‘You’re right, it’s time. I’m going to bite the bullet and send it out.’
‘Oh Jemma, that’s brilliant!’ Clara claps her hands excitedly as Salma regards me proudly.
‘You can call me Jim-Jems if you want,’ I tell my sister, shrugging like I couldn’t care less. But I do actually. I’ve decided I quite like being Jim-Jems.
Clara smiles at me, a little misty-eyed. ‘OK, you got it, Jim-Jems. I can’t wait to read your first solo author venture in the near future.’
I grin at her. ‘Speaking of reading and jobs—’
‘Ugh, don’t remind me!’ she wails, burying her face into Harry’s shoulder.
‘What about the library?’ I ask innocently, and she looks up, pouting.
‘What are you talking about? I didn’t turn up on my actual first day. That’s kind of frowned upon by employers, I believe.’
I smirk at her. ‘I may have told them you had a brutal stomach bug and were throwing up all over the place this whole week. Anita was really lovely about it.’ I make a face.
‘Obviously Mack was an arsehole but Anita told him to shut up. They said you can start next week – as long as you’re feeling better. ’
Clara leaps up. ‘No way!’ She hugs me hard and I let her. ‘You’re the best sister in the universe. Thank you so much!’
Salma leans in impatiently. ‘Speaking of the library, where are we with the note writer, Eliot? You’ve replied, right? Have you made plans to meet up?’
I squint at a point above her head. ‘Ummmmm…’
She gasps. ‘You haven’t replied!’ she says accusingly. ‘Why the hell not? You asked him for his name, like, two weeks ago! Were you hoping it would be someone you knew? Was there someone particular you wanted it to be?’
‘I was hoping it would be the sexy mountaineer,’ Clara says dreamily. ‘He’s perfect boyfriend material, with the exception of his missing toes.’ Harry grabs at her waist and she giggles, falling into him for another kiss.
‘No, it’s not that!’ I protest. ‘It’s just… well, it has been a busy week since I collected the note. Give me a break! I barely had a chance to read it properly before we were flying across the Atlantic to fetch a wayward child.’
‘Who’s happening, what?’ Clara looks up from Harry’s mouth, her eyes unfocused and hazy. ‘What am I?’
‘Never mind,’ I tell her, smiling warmly. ‘You get back to checking Harry’s saliva pH levels.’
Salma rolls her eyes. ‘So come on then, was the last note not all that exciting? What did it actually say? Please read it to us.’
I go to fetch it from my coat pocket, where it’s been sitting on and off since I retrieved it from Too Good to Be True well over a week ago.
As I re-enter the living room, Salma and Clara are filling Mum, Angela and Buffy in on the whole saga. They are wide-eyed, enraptured by the story of a pair of strangers swapping notes via a library book. I feel embarrassed as they all look up at me, one by one, universally awed by the romance.
‘So you have this man’s name?’ Mum asks, her voice high and enthralled. ‘You know who he is? But you also don’t know who he is? So he could be a serial killer?’
I shake my head and Salma whips the note from my grasp. ‘I’ll read it aloud,’ she announces excitedly, unfolding the piece of paper.
She clears her throat, and begins reading to a captivated audience.
Well hi, Jemma, what a genuinely lovely name.
I always think names define us, don’t you?
Like, Lyndseys – however they spell it – are always no nonsense go-getters, aren’t they?
And Millys and Mollys always have the biggest hearts.
Fatimas are always super cool. Lucys are always hilarious.
Aishas are fashionable. And I think Jemmas are kind and funny and – I’m hoping – might want to meet up with me one day soon.
My name is Eliot, I’m 32, and yes – obviously my mum named me for George Eliot.
If she could’ve got away with calling me the author’s real name, Mary Ann Evans, she would’ve.
I can’t remember if I’ve mentioned, but she was a librarian, so everything had to be book themed for her.
And it’s why I still make sure I check books out regularly instead of buying them.
My brother got the same treatment, by the way.
He’s called Austen – I’m sure you can guess who that’s honouring.
We were both into drama as kids, and even the plays we did had to be book themed!
Anyway, it’s really nice to meet you, Jemma.
If you’d be keen to meet in person, I can’t promise a rose in the lapel, but I could wear tiger print in honour of The Tiger Who Came to Tea , or green for The Very Hungry Caterpillar .
Maybe we could go for dinner, and eat one shortbread, two chocolate Hobnobs, three digestives, four jaffa cakes, five Viennese whirls (or custard creams) and then a whole box of chocolate fingers.
Never forgetting the solitary Garibaldi for afters.
Hoping to hear from you soon.
Eliot x
God, that’s a great note. I’ve been wandering around with all of that in my pocket for a whole week – even taking it with me on the aeroplane!
– and yet I’d barely taken any of it in, beyond his name.
I was so focused on that Eliot part – on what it meant – that I hadn’t really absorbed the rest of it.
There’s such a warmth to him, such a loveliness.
And I immediately know I want to meet this guy.
I have real feelings for him, I realize.
I don’t care what he looks like and I don’t care that he’s a complete stranger, I want to see him; to touch him.
‘What a sweetheart!’ Mum announces. ‘But that sounds like an awful lot of biscuits he’s proposing you eat between you.
’ She sounds worried. ‘Especially for a first date! Goodness! You’ll spend all night high as a kite on E numbers.
’ She frowns, looking at Salma. ‘And why would he wear tiger print? Is that in fashion these days?’
Salma laughs. ‘Tiger print is a neutral,’ she says, eyeballing me.
‘He sounds really delightful,’ Angela declares happily. ‘Although what’s wrong with a nice rich tea or Bourbon biscuit?’ She pauses. ‘Did you know Brits eat more biscuits than anywhere else on earth? We consume 204 million biscuits a day.’
I shake my head in amazement. ‘You know stuff like that, but you don’t know what a ghostwriter is?’
Angela raises her eyebrows in confusion and takes another shot. ‘So you write about ghosting? I’ve heard about ghosting! Before I met your mum I got ghosted quite a few times!’
‘Never mind,’ I mumble, as Buffy whines with frustration.
‘Can you stop going off on fucking tangents?’ Buffy shouts.
‘Look, I didn’t understand any of that dumb note, but if a real life living man is willing to meet up with you ’ – she jabs a finger in my direction like I’m the most disgusting creature to walk the earth – ‘then you should probably take him up on it.’ She gives me a withering look.
‘It’s not like you’ve got many choices. Especially at your age.
’ She smirks. ‘Although, hello, if you’ve ignored him and this note for a couple of weeks when he’s put his heart on the line like that, he’s probably found someone else by now.
I bet you’ll never hear from him again!’
I stare at her, blinking hard. ‘Shit,’ I reply quietly, as alarm fills my chest. She’s right.
We’d been exchanging regular notes for months, and now I’ve disappeared completely!
He must think I’m blowing him off. He must think that the name Eliot was a dealbreaker for me and I’m no longer interested.
Oh god, have I really missed my chance? What if he never comes back to the library again?
It’s not like he’s included a number or a surname in this note – I can’t just look him up! OH GOD I’VE FUCKED THIS UP!
Salma catches my panicked expression. ‘Don’t listen to her, Jem!’ she says with confidence. ‘There’s no way he’d give up on you after just a bit of silence.’
I shake my head, knowing I would have, if it were me. If I’d written a note like this – so heartfelt and lovely; putting myself on the line like this – and he hadn’t replied, I’d have quit my library membership and hidden in my room for the next six months.
‘I’ve messed up,’ I say. ‘I was so obsessed with my own stuff and worrying about ruining this magic little corner of my life, that I’ve gone and done exactly that: I’ve ruined it.’
‘Don’t say that!’ Mum cries, looking agonized. ‘Do you really think?’
‘You should reply right now!’ Angela says with determination. ‘We’ll get it into your book.’
Salma checks her watch. ‘It’s seven o’ clock at night! It’ll have to wait until tomorrow.’
I stand up. ‘No, it doesn’t have to! The library isn’t staffed at this hour, but there’s access all evening!’ I pull out my purse, brandishing the fob that lets me in, out of hours. ‘I’ll go right now,’ I say breathlessly.
Maybe it’s not too late. There’s a chance, right? I have to try!
‘Let’s all go!’ Salma says excitedly. ‘Right now!’
‘Yeah!’ Buffy actually looks enthusiastic, as Angela and Mum regard each other with bright eyes.
‘Ummmmm.’ Clara makes a weird noise as we all grab at coats and bags. ‘Um, look, there are loads of you, right?’ She glances over at Harry, who nods at her encouragingly.
‘Right, exactly!’ he says, trying to swallow down obvious excitement. ‘You don’t really need us, do you, guys? We’re just going to… I mean, I’m actually not feeling that well, y’know… um, yeah, I might just… get an early night.’ He elaborately fake yawns and Clara joins in.
‘Yeah, gosh, boy, am I tired!’ She blows out her cheeks really unconvincingly.
‘Huge day, massive day tomorrow’ – she gestures at Mum and Angela who look amused, but nod along – ‘and it’s my first time as a bridesmaid.
I would not want to mess that up. So I’ll probably, y’know’ – she nods at Harry again as they both start backing away and out of the living room – ‘just get an early night so I’m – we’re – well rested, yeah? So… yeah! See you guys later?’
‘Good luuuuuuck!’ Harry yells as they both take off running towards the stairs, hand in hand.
The rest of us look at each other and start laughing. Horny idiots.