Chapter Forty-Five Clara
Chapter Forty-Five CLARA
Wow, this is a mega fancy hotel. I bet they have really nice loo paper.
I make a mental note to steal a few rolls for the house.
Salma is leading the charge up ahead, since she knows the way and also because she’s technically the only one allowed to be here.
‘This way!’ she yells with authority, leading us past a cavernous room with a bar in one corner and sofas scattered about.
I fight an urge to drag Harry to the nearest of them for a lie-down snog.
Instead I squeeze his hand in mine and we exchange a grin.
God, I like him. It’s scary but also so suddenly easy and straightforward.
For so long I’ve felt like love was a battle.
I thought it was meant to be! I saw it as a constant stressful rollercoaster of fear and self-loathing and disappointment.
Will he text, what does this text mean, should I text back.
Never knowing where you stand, never understanding intention, never feeling safe.
With Harry, it’s just… effortless. I know that he likes me because he tells me and he’s showing me every day.
He has been showing me all along, but love and romance had become such a twisted-up, knotted thing in my head, I couldn’t see it.
I couldn’t recognize goodness and loveliness for what it was until my sister clonked me on the head with it.
‘It’s through there!’ Salma shouts, pointing towards a door at the end of a long corridor. A sign outside reads, ‘Press interviews’, and underneath the magical words, ‘ Book Boyfriend ’. She gathers us up in a huddle.
‘Look, we probably can’t get you all in.’ She glances at Buffy, adding, ‘Definitely not the teenager.’
‘I’ll sue you for ageism,’ Buffy says mildly, breaking away from the group and wandering off down the corridor, back towards the sofas. And the bar.
Jemma and I exchange a look, wondering what our responsibility level is here. She shrugs and I beam back. Minimal . After all, Buffy only became our step-sister literally today, and she is, like, seventeen, right? Shebeaight.
Salma clears her throat. ‘My name will be on the list, obviously, so one of you can be my photographer.’ She nods. ‘Harry.’
‘Don’t we need, like, official press credentials or something?’ He looks worried and Salma scoffs.
‘Nah!’ She waves her hand dismissively. ‘Nobody gives a crap at things like this. I’ve never ever had to show any form of ID.
And quite often, some intern’s forgotten to add my name to the list anyway and they don’t much care about that either.
The team organizing this just want as many faces in that room as possible, so it looks like the show had loads of excitement and interest around it.
’ She looks at Jemma with determination. ‘Which is why this is going to work.’
‘What is, exactly?’ Jemma asks nervously and Salma takes her by the shoulders.
‘Through that door will be a woman with a clipboard. You’re going to go up to her and you’re going to have so much confidence. You’re going to say you’re Jemma Poyntz, a magazine freelancer, here for the Book Boyfriend round tables.’
Jemma is already shaking her head. ‘I can’t!’ But Salma glares her into silence.
‘You are! And when they run their pen lid up and down that list and can’t find you, you’re going to tut and seem harassed.
I’ll be arriving just after you, and if the woman starts to make noises about it being a problem, I will tell her I know you and confirm you’re an industry colleague.
You will also have your photographer with you.
’ She waves in my direction and I gasp excitedly.
I love this. This is proper stupid, mad drama that has the potential to go so wrong and be so embarrassing. I live for this stuff!
But it’s clear Jemma does not.
I swing an arm around her shoulders. ‘Look, I could do it if you want?’ I offer nicely. ‘I could be the big time journo, and you can be my pap?’
Salma looks at me with annoyance and I understand. She’s trying to force Jem out of her comfort zone and I’ve just given her an easy out.
Jemma takes a deep breath. And then another one. ‘No,’ she says at last. ‘I’ll do it.’ Her face takes on a steely expression. ‘I’m ready to do something ridiculous and brave.’
‘Amazing!’ Salma grins, looking delighted. ‘And then, once we’re in there, it’ll be a bit of a messy melee. We can totally hang back and grab Milo – Eliot – and ask him if he’s your library letter man.’
Jemma pales again, but after a second, her determined expression is back. She nods fiercely and takes off, leading the four of us to quiver in her wake over the thrill of this absurd plan.
As Salma predicted, there is a clipboard, but it’s a man holding it. He shoots Jemma a distinctly surly, impatient look as she approaches and I almost step on her heels as Jemma suddenly slows down, her confident strut morphing into a Valium-y slouch.
‘Stand up straight,’ I hiss at her, giving her a little shove, and she does so.
For half a second she stands in front of the clipboard man, and I fear she will bottle it until—
‘Er, Louise Theroux here,’ she shouts in his face and I look at her in confusion.
This was so not the plan. ‘Louise Theroux for the round table.’ She barks it this time and the man glares back.
She swallows, her face utterly unconvincing.
When he still doesn’t speak after a second, she starts talking.
‘I am a journalist, a freelance journalist, called – as I said – Louise Theroux, and I’m here to interview the cast of Book Boyfriend .
I know all about Book Boyfriend because, again, I am a professional freelance journalist who is here to interview the cast and therefore have seen the whole series for research purposes and am prepared with questions.
I work with many different kinds of media outlets, but mostly…
magazines. I will be selling my wares to…
a magazine after this – my wares being interviews with the cast of Book Boyfriend – which is what I do for a profession.
I have a press badge here if you need to see it?
’ He looks at her blankly and she starts patting herself down with stupidly exaggerated movements.
She looks at me and I stare back at her with genuine horror.
She is so so so bad at this! ‘Have you, er, got my press badge?’ she asks me and I dumbly shake my head.
Jem turns back to the man, who is looking increasingly bewildered and pissed off.
‘This is my photographer, by the way,’ she says in a tone that I assume she thinks is breezy. ‘She is called… Andi Leibovitz.’
Oh fuck.
‘And she is a very, very good photographer. She has won all the different photography awards like… the main ones.’ She looks inspired.
‘She won the Photos R Us award. And the… Nobel photography prize. And she has photographed… the Queen actually.’ She pauses.
‘Before and after she was dead. King Charles asked her personally to come take that… final shot.’ She licks her lips.
‘And she didn’t even have to queue! Um, just like Holly and Phil, eh?
’ She nods now. ‘But they’ve had a rough time of it since, haven’t they?
That felt like quite a pile on and I felt bad that they both ended up quitting This Morning .
They’d done it for a long time, hadn’t they?
It seems a shame they had to resign but I’m sure they are both doing well now and will stage a comeback.
So anyway, to recap, I am a freelance journalist called Louise Theroux and this is my photographer, Andi Leibovitz, but I can’t remember if we said she’s freelance or not.
’ She stares at me in a panic and I stare back at her.
Eventually the man speaks. ‘I’m sorry, my lovely, what did you say your name was? Louise, was it? Soz, I’d totally zoned out there!’ He looks at me when Jemma doesn’t reply.
‘Louise Theroux,’ I offer quietly, adding, ‘And I’m Andi… Leibovitz. We’re not sure if I’m freelance or not.’
He cocks his head and breaks into a huge smile. ‘ So great to meet you, Louise and Andi! I’m George and you can go right in! We’re just about to start. We’re so glad you could make it!’ He beams and all the terrifying energy from before is gone.
Jem looks at him. ‘Um, don’t you have to…’ She waves at the clipboard in his hands and I elbow her. Is she determined to fuck this up?
George giggles. ‘Oh my gawd, lovely, this is just my to-do list. It’s mostly my grocery shopping actually, if I’m honest with you, babes!
Running out of hand soap at home and I never remember to get it when I’m in the shop.
Do you do that?’ He rolls his eyes laughing.
‘I’m such a scatterbrain. Anyway, the intern couldn’t get the printer to work for the attending list and lord knows where all the iPads are that we’re supposed to be using these days!
’ He waves at the door just as Salma arrives behind us. ‘Go on in, my lovelies, have fun!’
Salma passes him breezily, unfazed by the lack of list checking, but Jemma is still standing there, stock still, staring at him.
‘Come on, er, Louise Theroux, let’s get in there.
’ I grab her arm and frogmarch her in. If I can just get her past this man and inside the room, she’ll surely chill out.
She won’t be under scrutiny, no more one-on-ones with clipboards, where she has to lie.
She can just be Jemma again and we can find Milo – or Eliot, whatever we’re calling him now – and she can be normal.
I force her through the doorway into a slightly fancier version of a boardroom.
The lights are bright and there are a lot of people milling around chatting, large tables dotted about.
I spot Salma about ten feet away, but before we can regroup and get searching for our man, a woman approaches.
‘TV, radio or print?’ she asks impatiently and I jump in quickly with an answer.
Don’t want Jemma to start making any more speeches about Holly and Phil.
‘Print,’ I say and she points towards the closest table.
‘Sit,’ she instructs and stares us out, until we move to take our seats.
Several others sit down around us as the woman continues smoothly, ‘We’re starting in ninety seconds.
You’ve got Milo Samuels coming to your table first. He plays George in Book Boyfriend .
There are bios in front of you. We’ll do intros first—’
Wait, what the fuck is happening? Did she say ninety seconds? And Milo’s coming here ? Oh god oh god oh god. Jemma grabs for my hand under the table and squeezes it until I nearly scream. I can feel the terror pulsing off her. Maybe there’s still time to—
The room falls silent as everyone else takes their seats and a door opens at the back.
A select few are brought out. I recognize the cast of the show – and Milo among them.
I glance around fearfully, spotting Salma being ushered away – presumably to the radio section.
She looks over in our direction and her face says everything.
Fuck. This is a disaster. We’re screwed.