Chapter 17
“Can you see it?”
Kate and Liv stood in front of the wall of paperbacks in the supermarket, scanning.
“It should definitely be in here today,” Kate said. “Prue said so.”
“Maybe they’ve already sold out,” Liv suggested, frowning.
“Surely not.” Kate bent to check the lower shelves. “Why can’t I find it, Liv?”
In all of her imaginings of shelf-spotting her first-ever copy of the book, she hadn’t considered it just not being there.
“Shall I ask someone?” Liv said, glancing around.
“I’ll do it.” Kate spotted a guy with a name badge loitering farther down the aisle. Clearing her throat, awkward, she said, “Excuse me, do you have any copies of The Power of Love by Kate Darrowby, please?”
The guy put his head to one side, scanning the books. “Have you looked all over?”
She wrinkled her nose and nodded. “It’s not there.”
“I think we had a delivery this morning.” He looked doubtful. “I can go and check if you want?”
She nodded, giving him a grateful smile.
“What was the name again?”
“Darrowby. The Power of Love by Kate Darrowby.”
He wandered away, and Liv elbowed her, laughing. “How did you resist telling him you’re Kate Darrowby?”
“Because I’m not a complete nob?” Kate said, looking at the myriad of book covers in front of her. “I know I’m biased, but my cover is the prettiest, don’t you reckon?”
Liv nodded. “I’m just going to go and grab some milk,” she said. “Be right back.”
She disappeared around one end of the aisle just as the guy ambled back around the other holding a couple of books in his hands.
Kate’s heart banged as he drew nearer. So this is what it felt like.
Her palms were actually clammy, but she wasn’t about to wipe them on the beautiful launch-day dress Liv had made her.
“Is this it?” He handed her a thriller by someone called Kate, but with a totally different surname and title.
“No,” she mumbled. “Sorry.”
“Yeah, didn’t think it would be. Sorry.” He passed her the other book in his hands, the latest Jojo Moyes. “In that case, try this one, my missus loved it.”
“Thanks,” she sighed, downcast and feeling like a fool. “I’ll, umm, I’ll have a read of the back.”
“That Kate Davison one might come in at some point, you never know.” He shrugged. “Just a case of keep checking, really.”
He walked away, leaving her holding his book recommendations, and she stood in the deserted aisle and looked from side to side, deflated and embarrassed in her fancy new dress. She should have taken H’s advice to set her expectations low more seriously.
“Did he find it?” Liv said, returning with milk.
“Not exactly.” Kate showed her the books he’d left her with. “Gave me these instead.”
“What?” Liv’s annoyance was instant. “Where did he go? I’ll ask him to look again, it must be here somewhere.”
Kate put a hand on her sister’s arm. “Can we just leave?” Her voice threatened tears, startling them both.
“But—”
“I know,” Kate said. “Let’s just try somewhere else. Please?”
Liv scowled, ready for battle, then dumped the milk on a random shelf and stalked away, shooting daggers at the guy’s back as he filled the magazine rack, oblivious.
—
They were luckier second time around. Copies weren’t on the shelf yet but a girl working on the display produced several from a pull-out drawer beneath the book stand.
“This one, you mean?” she said.
Kate pressed a hand against her heart. “Yes, that’s it,” she breathed, taking all three copies. “Thank you.”
“I was just about to put them out, actually,” the assistant said. “It’s change-over day.”
“Someone should tell that to the guy at the last store,” Liv muttered.
Kate handed the books back. “For the shelf,” she said.
“Can I film you putting them out?” Liv said.
The wary look in the assistant’s eyes reminded them they hadn’t made a great job of explaining themselves.
“She’s the author.” Liv nodded toward Kate.
The assistant looked down at the cover then up at Kate, unconvinced. “You’re Kate Darrowby?”
Kate was starting to feel awkward again. “I am, yes. Look, we’ll go and do a bit of shopping, come back when you’re done.”
Liv shot her an incredulous let-me-take-this-from-here look. “It’d be cool to film them going on the shelf for Kate’s social media, if you don’t mind?” She checked the girl’s name badge. “Claire?”
Claire’s silence had Liv flipping her phone around to show her Kate’s official author page and headshot.
The assistant narrowed her eyes and zoomed in on Kate’s picture with two fingers, then clocked Kate’s cover-themed dress.
Strapless silk really was too much for the supermarket run, but this was Kate’s one and only chance for a debut author shelfie and she’d gone all out.
“My nails match too,” Kate said, holding her hands out as evidence. It was enough to tip the balance.
“Yeah okay, go on then, if you’ll tag me in the pics. I run a book blog so it’ll be cool for my Insta.” Claire dug a lip gloss out of her trouser pocket and slicked some on. “Shall I say something first or just shelve them?”
“Just do whatever you’d normally do,” Liv said. “Pretend we’re not here.”
They stood back and watched Claire change the ticket on the shelf where the books needed to go, then fill the slot with beautiful, pristine copies. She turned to the camera at the end with a cheesy smile and double thumbs-up, then walked out of shot.
“Perfect, thank you,” Kate laughed.
“So are you famous, then?” Claire said. “Can I grab a photo together for my followers?”
“God, no, I’m definitely not famous,” Kate said.
“It’s her debut, though, she will be,” Liv said, brisk as she pushed them together. “Cozy up, gals, I’ll take the shot.”
Footage in the bag and Insta handles swapped, Claire went off on her break, leaving Kate and Liv gazing at the book sitting pretty among all the others.
“You came on like Fiona a bit back there, you know,” Kate said. “I thought you were going to start doing a breathy voiceover, like David Attenborough.”
“And here we see Claire in her natural habitat,” Liv whispered into an invisible microphone on her lapel. “About to shelve copies of debut author Kate Darrowby’s heart-wrenching new blockbuster, The Power of Love. ”
They took a few more shots under Liv’s strict direction: Kate pointing at the books with a goofy grin; Kate holding a copy in front of the display, her perfectly matched nails gripping the cover so as not to hide her name or the title.
“That was exhausting,” Kate said with a laugh afterward. “Let’s go and drink that champagne.”
She walked away, then turned back to see Liv rearranging the shelves to spread the book around more of the slots.
“No,” Kate said, gathering them back into their rightful place again. “Don’t.”
“But it looked so good,” Liv wheedled.
“Think of Claire,” Kate said. “She might get fired and her children would starve.”
“It’s survival of the fittest on those nature shows,” Liv said. “I think Claire would understand.”
“We’re leaving now, before we’re caught on camera and I go viral for the wrong reasons. Fiona would come after us with pitchforks.”
“I could take her down,” Liv said.
“Honestly, Liv, I’d very rarely bet against you, but when it comes to Fiona, you’d lose.”
Kate linked her arm through her sister’s so she couldn’t run back and rearrange the shelf again, then marched her out of the store in search of champagne.
Dear H,
It was so lovely to hear from you, today of all days!
God, publication day is a bit of a whirlwind, isn’t it?
I’ve typed my fingertips sore replying to social media messages and emails, resisted chewing my fancily painted nails when the first reviews appeared online.
I’ve cried, I’ve laughed, and I’ve drunk champagne!
Not my average Thursday! Sorry for so many! !!!!s, it’s been that kind of day!
Thank you for sharing such personal details with me, you can absolutely trust me to keep those things private.
It’s helped me understand where the story came from—I’m so sorry you’ve been through so much.
That you’ve found the strength to articulate and translate your pain into something so heartrendingly beautiful is impossibly romantic.
I can almost see the real story woven into the blank spaces between the lines now and my admiration for your talent has grown exponentially.
Thank you, H, for allowing me this taste of how being an author feels.
Confession—I started to write myself years ago when my daughter was a baby, but life took over and it fell by the wayside.
I had this same conversation with Charlie and he suggested that the distinction between writers and non-writers might be the will to persevere, regardless?
And the ability to touch people’s souls, of course.
Just so you know, being the guardian angel of your story is something I’ll never take for granted. You’ve trusted me with something precious—it’s safe in my hands.
Kate x