Chapter 61
Mallory
The pub down the road from Waterstones is quiet and dimly lit, with a few suits dotted around after a day of corporate exertion.
Gina, Stan, Meghan and a whole host of other people from the publisher, who I have never met before (or have, and can’t remember), are all huddled around a table in the corner.
‘It was such a success, Mal.’
‘Such a success.’
‘You were amazing.’
‘So amazing.’
‘I nearly cried at one point.’
‘Oh, I was silently sobbing...’
They all look at me, waiting for me to say something. ‘Did anyone speak to someone called Leo tonight?’
They frown, confused.
‘Leo?’
‘No.’
‘I don’t remember a Leo.’
‘Never mind,’ I say.
‘Sorry, Mal.’
‘Why?’
‘It doesn’t matter. I’m not very with it, I’m just frazzled.’
‘You must be exhausted.’
‘Of course you are, Mal. You don’t have to say a thing. Just sit there and drink your wine.’
I can’t think straight. Did he dye his hair? Or am I imagining things? Was he even there? ‘Did you manage to speak to Paula, afterwards, Mal?’
‘I didn’t.’ I didn’t speak to her at all, other than when we were on stage.
I watched her signing autographs and then taking photographs outside the front of the building.
I overheard her publicist beside her say she should get to the hotel, because she has a big day tomorrow.
She’s going to Paris, for the launch of her next book.
I tried to catch her eye, but she either didn’t see, or she—
‘She’s so lovely.’
‘So lovely.’
‘It was so kind of her to come.’
‘She’s so brilliant. So insightful.’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘She is.’
‘You handled the questions so well, Mal.’
‘Thanks, Gina.’ Was it Leo? Was it him?
‘Are you sure you’re OK, Mal? You don’t look great.’
It can’t have been him.
I stopped sleeping. For so many months I couldn’t sleep, worrying about him. I got a therapist. A proper therapist. And I separated from Ronan.
Part of me thought that one day I’d see Leo on the news.
I dreamt I would.
And that I wouldn’t be able to cope.
‘Look at this, Mal.’ Meghan shoves her phone across the table-top so the screen lands directly in front of me. ‘This tweet will cheer you up.’
I GOT TO MEET MALLORY MADDOX TONIGHT
SHE WAS SOOOO NICEEEEEE
WAAAAA
HER BOOK THOUGH! THIS BOOOOOOOOK
IS SO BLEAK
YOU WILL DIE
YOU ARE NOT READDDYYYYY!!
I HAVE BEEN FKIN TRAUMATISED SINCE I READ IT
WHHUTTT !!!
‘Oh, wow,’ I say. I look at the name of the person who posted it. @kellyannreads. ‘Yeah, that’s great.’
‘So what’s your plan for the rest of the week, Mal?’ someone asks.
‘We have a big schedule,’ Meghan says. ‘She needs to rest tonight and then after this week’ – she looks at me – ‘you can have your break.’
I smile at her. ‘Yes.’
‘How is the house coming on, Mal?’ Stan asks. ‘The pictures look stunning. White walls. Plants climbing up it. Right by the sea. Glorious.’
‘It’s great, yeah. I mean, I still have a lot of work to do to it, but it’s taking shape.’ I pause. ‘The air is fresh. It gives me mental space. I feel peace there.’
They all stare at me longingly. ‘Oh, Mal. You deserve it.’
‘You really do.’
‘Maybe you should go back to your hotel... I think you’re just overwhelmed.’
‘Yes, I think I need to get to bed.’
As I rise from the table, and I’m given hug after hug after hug, things blur.
Stan tells me he is so excited for the next one.
He says the American money will be coming soon.
Gina tells me to rest, then for me to pitch her the next book idea in the coming weeks.
They ideally want to publish the follow-up next year, off the back of the success of this one.
Meghan tells me that she will meet me in the morning, by the entrance to Foyles, where we will do a signing.
The next two weeks will be spent with booksellers and podcasters and interviewers and photographers.
As I wind my way through the quiet London streets, to the hotel in Piccadilly, I keep stopping.
Turning.
Looking.
I hear...
I swear...
‘Hello?’ I swear... I swear I keep seeing him. ‘Leo?’
No.
It can’t be. It’s me. It’s my mind.
When I get back to the hotel room, I sit on the bed. Safe.
I am safe.
I put on my meditation app and do my breathing exercises, as I’ve been told to do.
I am safe now.
I am.
When I am done, I sit on the bed, and I stare at the book in my hand.
SLAY
A NOVEL
By Mallory Maddox
I open the front page.
To the dedication.
For one person in particular.
Who helped me more than he will ever know.
A droplet of water appears on the page. I wipe my eyes.
I was going to pay for him to go to rehab, but my therapist told me it was a bad idea. She told me no one could help him but himself.
And that I needed to put distance between us.
I think about him every night.
Every single night.
I open the notes app on my phone, where I composed the letter that I wrote to him, last year. I read it occasionally, to comfort myself.
Dear Leo,
I am so, so sorry that I cannot be a part of your life anymore. I was sincerely hoping that we could be friends, and that I could help you.
I wanted to – in whatever way I could.
But now I have learnt that the best way for us both to move forward is to separate our paths. You have changed me in such a wonderful way. Your strength of character has inspired me. I really hope you manage to find happiness, and peace.
I hope that life brings you everything you’ve ever wanted.
All the best,
Mal
But this time there is no comfort. This time, I cringe. I feel sick.
I delete the note and get into bed. Every time I am about to drift off, I see the dragons’ eyes, watching from the darkness.
I take a pill.
It helps.
*
Over the next two weeks, the publicity tour is a haze. So many people. So many questions. The same ones, over and over again. And I keep seeing glimpses of him. His ghost. His shadow.
Just behind me.
Just out of reach.
In the periphery of the half-light.
And now I am home – this place I have made a home – where I am safe, I see him in the waves. When I am walking across the beach. In the pages of the books I try to read. Out of the window, late at night, when I cannot sleep.
Part of this comforts me.
To know he is still there. Moving forward.
I hope he is.
I hope he gets the life he deserves.