Chapter Forty-Four Jemma #2
Catching my expression, she groans impatiently.
‘I’m serious, Jem! It’s him! That mum librarian thing rang a bell.
I remembered reading an interview with him once where he mentioned it.
And I just double checked Wikipedia – his full name is Eliot Milo Samuels.
He goes by Milo for work, and Eliot at home with his family – which includes a brother called Austen ! ’
I gape at her, her words sinking in. It’s…
my note writer… my E is… Eliot is…? No, surely this is nonsense.
It’s got to be nonsense! But if it’s true…
? Then – oh god! – I gave him such a hard time at that party when I was drunk!
I was awful to him, ranting away about him ruining my favourite book.
He thought I was mad! And then I threw up on him after the kickboxing.
Oh my god. And – even more oh god! – he’s so horribly horribly horribly handsome.
This is awful ! There’s no way he’ll be interested in me when he sees I’m just a plain old beige civilian.
‘You can’t be right,’ I say in a low voice, my brain buzzing and my heart racing.
I try to match the sincere, funny, sweet note writer – Eliot – with the actor we’ve watched on the TV every week.
The one we helped Clara chase around London all this time.
‘No,’ I say again, surer this time, my head shaking involuntarily. ‘You’re wrong, you have to be.’
‘No way!’ Salma breathes out beside me. ‘But the drama kid thing… it does make sense!’ She turns to look at me, her whole face alight.
‘I’m interviewing him this afternoon! I’m supposed to be leaving here in a few minutes.
I’m heading straight for a hotel where there are interviews happening with the actors from the show.
It’s an end of series thing.’ She swallows, her eyes bulging.
‘You have to come! You have to see him and speak to him. Tell him who you are! You have to tell him, Jem! He thinks you ghosted him!’
‘No!’ I exclaim, unable to find any other words. ‘No, I can’t! If it really is him – if! – then it’s… absurd. It’s stupid! He’d never be interested in me in a thousand years. I’m just a nobody and he’s… oh my god, he’s famous .’
Harry moves closer. ‘Firstly, Jemma, one British TV series does not really a proper famous make.’ He smiles before continuing, ‘And more importantly, he’d be insanely lucky to be with someone like you. You’ve always put yourself down and you really shouldn’t. You’re my best mate—’
‘I’m her best mate,’ Salma interjects as Clara elbows him.
‘I’m her twin sister,’ Clara huffs, ‘that’s, like, auto best mate.’
‘I really, really don’t like any of you,’ I say as sincerely as I can, and we all burst out laughing.
Harry stops first. ‘Seriously, though, Jem, you’re a major catch and he is going to be so ecstatic to find out it’s you who’s been writing the notes.’
Mum leans across the table. ‘Sweetheart, you absolutely must go with Salma!’ She glances at Angela affectionately. ‘Call it our wedding present?’
‘I mean,’ I frown, ‘I did actually get you a wedding present so—’
‘Come on!’ Salma says impatiently.
‘Yeah, come on!’ Clara says, standing up.
‘Why are you coming?’ I ask and she looks baffled.
‘Are you fucking kidding me? You think I’d miss you propositioning my famous friend after all I’ve done to bring you two together?’
‘Er, you seem to have that a bit confused,’ I begin, but no one is listening.
‘All of you go!’ Mum calls happily. ‘We’ll stay here with the Great-Aunts and have a romantic lunch just, er, us.’
‘Much cheaper that way,’ Angela says gleefully.
‘And more romantic,’ Mum laughs, giving the nearest Great-Aunt a small wave.
Beside Angela, Buffy pulls a face. ‘Oh what? You’re saying I have to go, too? I couldn’t give a fuck about any of this.’
‘Come on, Buffy!’ Clara calls cheerfully. ‘It’s time to slay.’
She rolls her eyes, standing up. ‘Fine!’ She turns away from the Great-Aunts. ‘Bye, sluts!’ she shouts and they regard one another with fury.
I stand up. I’m wearing a hideous greenish, ruffly bridesmaid dress, I have makeup stains all over my face and swollen eyes from crying.
And I’m going to tell a famous actor I might kind of be into him – that is, if his real name happens to be Eliot and he leaves notes for strangers in romantic fiction.
‘What’s happening?’ A Great-Aunt peers over at us with confusion as we gather bags.
Clara leans across the table. ‘We’re off to track down this guy,’ she explains, flashing the screen of her phone, still in her hand.
The Great-Aunt squints at what I can now see is Milo’s Wikipedia page.
I catch a glimpse of his picture, sitting in the top right corner.
He’s laughing and gazing off into the distance, looking gorgeous and happy.
Something tickles at the back of my head and then the truth hits me – just like that.
I do know him. I recognize him. Every time I’ve seen him, I’ve wondered why he was familiar; at the party and again at kickboxing.
I wondered what other shows or films I might’ve seen him in.
And suddenly it’s so clear. It’s not what I’ve seen him in .
It’s where I’ve seen him. I’ve seen him at the library.
Not for ages, but definitely, definitely, definitely.
I’ve seen this man in passing at my library.
Milo is my note writer. He’s my E. My Eliot.
Oh my god.
‘Let’s go,’ I say calmly as everyone cheers and bundles out of the pub.