Chapter 57
Mallory
‘Ready?’ Meghan says.
I peer through the gap in the curtains. We have been told to wait here, just off to the side of the main function room, until we are given the go-ahead.
I can see the last stragglers of the audience taking their seats, removing their bags, whispering to each other, apologising as people have to stand for them to shuffle along the rows.
Eyes meeting, but with a look of approval rather than annoyance.
You’re here, I’m here too! Congratulations!
Each with a copy of my book in their hands.
There are so many of them.
At the back of the audience, Alice makes her way to a seat next to Stan.
When I see him, I feel like I might burst into tears.
He is wearing a blazer and a crisp white shirt, and a look of complete wonder on his face.
His eyes are wide, beaming as he takes in the room, tears glinting.
He told me in the card that came with the flowers he sent me that this would be one of the happiest days of his life.
He told me: ‘This is why I do the job, for moments like this. You have made me so proud.’ When Alice taps him on the shoulder, he looks up to see her, and it’s as though he might spill over with joy.
Alice, hi! I see him say. So, so good to see you.
Isn’t this all amazing? He stands excitedly, nearly knocking his chair over.
Are you responsible for these?! He holds something up between his fingers.
I squint. The size of a matchbox, in bright neon green.
It is a biscuit. A biscuit with the cover of my book iced onto it. ‘There are biscuits of my book,’ I whisper, more to myself than anyone else, but Meghan replies, because apparently she hears everything.
‘Oh, don’t eat those,’ she says. ‘They taste like cardboard. They’re just for Insta, really.’
‘Right.’
‘Talking of Insta,’ she adds, pulling on my shoulder and turning me to face her. ‘Can I just get a snap of you here, nervously waiting to go on stage?’
I wait to see her laugh, or eyeroll – any sign of irony – but then I realise she is being deadly serious.
‘Really?’ I ask. ‘Now?’
‘Yes, it’ll be so cute.’
‘Cute?’
‘Yeah! Very on brand.’
‘On brand?’
I can hear the confusion in my voice, which clearly ignites some profound awe in her as she looks at me again.
Who is this stupid, old, bumbling genius?
‘Yes, Mal. Your brand is kind of, unassuming and, I’m not sure how all this happened to me...
’ She waves her hands about and makes her eyes bulge in a naive, silly, vulnerable way.
I assume, imitating me. Or the way she wants me to be.
Meghan should be an actress. She really should.
‘A nervy pic will work perfectly for that. And you look super adorbs in that cardy.’ She tugs at my sleeve.
‘Oh, thanks.’
She starts moving me, turning my body, doing something to my hair, realigning my necklace, then she opens the gap in the curtain behind me a little more. ‘Just so we can see the size of the audience...’ she says, then holds her phone up to my face. ‘Right. Look scared.’
Again, no irony.
I try to pull the face she’s pulled. I wonder if I should stick my tongue out and make a peace sign.
I don’t.
‘This is perfect...’ she says, smiling. ‘Oh my God, you look terrified. Brilliant.’ She moves the camera down to find the best shot, and starts furiously pressing her screen. ‘To filter or not to filter...?’
‘Sorry, are you asking me?’
‘No. Hmm. I think... No filter. Yes. Authenticity is key. OK.’ She exhales slowly, then pushes the screen hard with her index finger, like she is sending the code to ignite a nuclear bomb. ‘Posted!’
‘Great!’
She watches the screen. ‘OK... twenty-four likes so far...’
‘Amazing,’ I say, but her face doesn’t change, so I start to panic. ‘Isn’t it? Isn’t it amazing?’
‘It’ll do,’ she replies, then looks up at me. ‘Babe, don’t look so scared!’
‘You just told me—’
‘This isn’t for you to worry about. That’s what I’m here for. You need to focus!’ She takes my shoulders and turns me back to face the curtain. ‘Zone in.’
Zone in.
Through the gap I see the members of the audience begin to shush each other. Something is happening. The lights dim, with one left illuminating the stage. Two chairs are visible, a single table between them, with a single copy of my book displayed on top.
I suddenly see my mother.
My mother on the front row. Beaming.
‘OK, everyone!’ someone says. It is the baby-faced boy with the earpiece, now appearing on the stage, hovering half in, half out of the light, a little awkwardly, like he doesn’t want to be stealing the spotlight.
‘My name is Brad, I’m the manager of Waterstones Piccadilly – welcome.
’ A short round of applause for Brad. ‘Just a few ground rules before we get started,’ he says.
I notice his tone has the right blend of modest and confident.
I need that. I need to do what Brad is doing.
‘Fire exits are here and here.’ He points to the back of the room.
‘And, I have been asked to inform you that tonight’s discussion will delve into sensitive topics, so if you need to step out, please do so quietly.
’ He pauses sombrely. The slightest bow of his head.
Brad is very good at this. ‘I have also been told by the publisher to make you aware that should this discussion stir things up for you, the details of a support hotline you can text, should you wish, will be given out at the end.’ The audience shuffle about in their seats, suddenly a little terrified, but also a little thrilled.
What will be said that will make us need to text a support hotline?
‘Now, it is time.’ Oh, God. ‘Before we bring out the author in question, as you all know, we have an incredibly special guest who has agreed to interview her. And we couldn’t be more delighted, as their work so clearly aligns.
If you could put your hands together, this author has flown in especially from California for tonight’s event.
The incredible, the prolific, P.K. Anderson!
’ He holds his hand out, to the front row, where I see she is sat.
She is sat next to my mother.
My mother met P.K. Anderson before I did.
The actual Paula Kate. She looks so... Correct.
Exactly how you would imagine an author to look.
Warm and kind at first glance, but there’s a shrewdness to her.
An intensity. An intelligence that feels almost above the rest of us.
She continues to carry herself this way as she walks up the three steps into the spotlight and the crowd cheer.
She has an aura about her.
A stoic glow.
I try to align my expression with hers.
‘Mal?’
Meghan, behind me, on her phone, not once looking up at Paula Kate.
‘One minute...’ I say. I don’t mean to be rude, but Paula Kate is about to speak. To introduce me and—
‘Can I just tell you something, before you go up there,’ Meghan whispers. I really want to say Not really, no, and I nearly do, but stop myself, because when I look at her I can see she actually looks upset. Which is unexpected.
‘Of course,’ I whisper back, simultaneously trying to hear what superlatives Paula Kate is using to describe my book.
‘I just wanted to say, I’m so proud of you.’ Oh.
That’s sweet. She’s sweet. ‘Thanks, Meghan, that’s really kind.’ I go to turn back to the gap in the curtain, to Paula, but Meghan holds my arm, gripping tightly.
‘I know how much you’ve been through and I just want you to know...
’ she says, ‘...you deserve all this. And I haven’t told anyone this before but...
I had a bit of difficult time with my ex, he was quite emotionally’ – she lowers her voice even further, to a barely audible whisper – ‘abusive – and the way you touched on that in Slay – with Mandy and Richard – I just wanted to say, it really resonated.’
I pause. ‘Really?’
‘Really. It meant a lot, to read it.’
‘Oh, Meghan. I’m so sorry you went through that.’
‘You’re really brave.’
‘I don’t know about that...’ I suddenly feel myself. ‘It’s just a book.’
‘No, not to write the book. You’re really brave for leaving him.
’ Twenty-two-year-old Meghan squeezes my arm.
I look at her, and in the silence between us I see someone I hadn’t seen before.
Someone beneath the PR facade. Someone gentle, someone kind, someone who has built up an armour – a Gen-Z armour – whose purpose is fundamentally identical to my own, but looks incredibly different.
And there is a sadness in her eyes, a deep sadness that I feel inside myself, and—
‘Mal, what the hell are you staring at? You need to be on stage, now.’ She turns me around and pushes me through the curtain.
The whole room erupts with applause.