Chapter Thirty-Three
‘And so there I was, stuck in the chemical toilet at the back of The Foo Fighters’ tour bus, in Florida, which happened to be the wrong state for the Parker gig I was playing that night.’
‘What happened then?’ Jude had stopped apologizing for his interruptions. His mouth hung open as he held the phone camera up to Crush.
‘They eventually found a roadie sober enough to break the lock, and Dave got me a ride back to Alabama where we played to ten thousand people ten minutes after I arrived.’
There was awed silence in the studio. Even Earnest was staring at Crush with wide, gleaming eyes. Eventually Grace recovered herself. ‘I wasn’t expecting that. Thank you, Crush. And what’s your final Desert Island Read?’
They took a brief break after Crush’s interview ended. ‘You should write your own book,’ said Annie. ‘You could probably give your man Dave a run for his money.’
‘Nah,’ said Crush. ‘Like I said, I’m only sharing this stuff publicly because of book club. I don’t want to be the story. It’s not my bag.’
Jude glanced up from where he was replaying the footage. ‘You might want to rethink letting us use this, then. I don’t want to derail the project, but this is pure gold. If this goes out, I can tell you now, it will go viral.’
Crush shrugged. ‘I’m good with that. I’m doing it on my terms. I’ve only said what I’m comfortable sharing. I didn’t say why I was put in care or expose anyone I’m close to. I’m cool with it.’
Jude grinned. ‘Great.’ He set the camera back on the tripod. ‘Who’s next?’
‘I can’t follow that,’ said Tracy, scratching her neck. ‘The only celebrity I’ve met is Alan Titchmarsh at Kew Gardens, and even then, we only talked about the size of his peony.’
‘How big was his peony?’ said Annie, with a straight face, then erupted into laughter.
‘Mind your own business,’ said Tracy. ‘Although, to be fair, I’d have preferred to see Charlie Dimmock’s magnificent hanging baskets.’
They burst into raucous laughter and Earnest joined in, mewling and padding his paws up and down on Harry’s lap.
‘I hate to be a spoil sport,’ said Jasmine over the noise. ‘But the clock is ticking.’
‘I’ll go next,’ said Harry. He lifted Earnest and swapped places with Crush, placing three books on the desk. ‘Do we do the opening music again, or will you edit it in?’
‘Let’s edit it in to save time now,’ said Jasmine. ‘Grace, could you start by introducing Harry, please?’
Grace met Harry’s eye before speaking and was struck by a brightness in them she hadn’t noticed before.
She’d never really looked beyond his smart clothes and the shine of his bald head.
Earnest was the one who got all the attention.
But now she was directly opposite Harry, she found it hard to look away from the greenness of his irises.
She felt a wave of gratitude for having met this kind, interesting, and upstanding man.
‘Welcome to Desert Island Reads with The Silent Book Club. I’m Grace Bray and with me today is Harry Cartright-Hamilton, and I must mention his trusty feline companion, beautiful Balinese, Earnest.’
‘Oh, you like that, don’t you, Earnest? Beautiful Balinese.’ Harry tickled Earnest under his chin.
Earnest purred his appreciation, and they all laughed.
‘One of the special things about our book club is that all members are free to read whatever they like, and we often find books we might not otherwise read by sharing what we love. You’re a military man, Harry, and I believe your preferred genre is historical fiction with a military theme?’
Harry raised his eyebrows, making his forehead wrinkle up to his crown.
‘You’re right, Grace, most of the books I read at book club do have an armed forces element.
My path was set quite early in my life, you see, and I was encouraged to read literature that, for want of a better word, glorified war.
It was rather thrilling, I suppose, as a young chap, to read about battles fought and won, baddies defeated, the enemy put in their place and all that.
But when you’ve seen some of the things I’ve seen, well, the sheen goes off it, somewhat.
That’s why I’ve brought this book.’ He held up a copy of All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque.
‘It shows more of the reality of war, the horror and disillusionment of life in the trenches. It’s a very human book, although not sentimental.
Would I recommend it? I’m not sure. There are so many wonderful books to choose from and I understand people might want to select more uplifting tomes. But it means something to me.’
‘Thank you, Harry. ‘What’s your second Desert Island Read?’
‘This one might surprise you.’ He lifted a copy of Pride and Prejudice and held it up to the camera.
‘Since we’re talking about our Desert Island Reads, I couldn’t leave Jane Austen off the list. Not only was she a writer of outstanding talent, but she was also my late wife’s favourite author.
I lost Marjorie fifteen years ago, and I’ve read and reread Austen’s novels many times since. ’
He was right, Grace was surprised, but she tried not to show it.
Harry continued, ‘Oddly, times hadn’t changed as much as they ought to have when I was a youth, not for people of my generation and my background.
My making a suitable match was one of my mother’s main preoccupations.
Marjorie and I were destined for each other whether we liked it or not, and we were lucky that in the main part, we did.
I do worry the life of a military wife was hard for her.
We looked forward to more freedom when I retired, but, sadly, she was taken too soon, and we never had the opportunity to enjoy our old age together. ’
He stroked the book’s jacket fondly and Grace choked back the emotions threatening to close her throat.
She hadn’t anticipated people’s reasons for choosing the books they had would be so emotive.
How foolish of her. She knew Frank would have felt exactly the same and that thought made the grief swell inside her.
‘I love that book too,’ she said gently, and the two shared a sympathetic smile.
After Harry, it was Tracy’s turn. Her first book was Shuggie Bain.
‘I’m Scottish, so I admit, I’m drawn towards Scottish literature,’ she said.
‘But it’s not just my bias that makes me think this book should be on every school curriculum, especially the ones where the posh-knob politicians go, you know?
I honestly don’t think enough people know that this is what life is like for some people.
My heart went out to poor Shuggie, and his ma.
The poverty is harrowing, and the way it’s written grips your heart and squeezes.
I grew up not far from where this is set, and I recognize the streets and the tenements, but I’ve always been lucky, my life was nothing like his.
Me and my girlfriend live a privileged life, and it does me no harm to remember not everyone has what we have.
It’s an important book. I’m glad it got the recognition it deserved. ’
When Tracy finished, Jasmine glanced at the time and grimaced. ‘We’ve only got three-quarters of an hour left. We need to get a move on. Who’s up next?’
‘Me.’ Lee’s hand shot up. He dropped it but not before a flush of embarrassment spread across his cheeks. He sat in the chair and flattened his hair, despite Grace not being able to spot a strand out of place.
She’d given a lot of consideration to how she’d introduce Lee, and unfortunately many of the phrases which popped into her mind were along the lines of ‘our book club’s resident know-it-all’, or ‘everyone’s favourite mansplainer’.
She took a deep breath and smiled. ‘Welcome to Desert Island Reads with The Silent Book Club. I’m Grace Bray and with me today is Lee Anderson, possibly our member with the most literary tastes.
’ Lee’s face lit up with a child-like delight and she was glad she’d chosen those words.
‘What’s your first Desert Island Read, Lee? ’
Lee held up a book with a pale cover, with red writing, green shoots weaving through the text. ‘My Name is Leon by Kit de Waal.’
‘Could you tell us a little bit about the book?’
Lee nodded towards Tracy. ‘In a similar vein to Shuggie Bain, it’s told through the eyes of a young boy who has no agency.
His life is controlled by other people, adults, and most of them let him down.
’ Lee’s eyes dropped to the cover, but Grace could see his words were at risk of breaking him.
He continued, ‘Even though he’s young, Leon knows exactly what people think of him, he hears what they say when they think he’s not listening or isn’t bright enough to understand.
But he does understand. He just doesn’t know what to do about it.
He doesn’t have the authority, or even the language to help himself. Nobody hears him. Nobody’s listening.’
He said the last words quietly, but everyone in the room strained to hear him.
With this one choice of book Grace felt like she understood something about this guarded young man at last. He might be a know-it-all and a mansplainer, but inside he was someone who’d had no agency himself.
He was someone who didn’t feel listened to, so developed his own strategy to make his voice heard.
His tactic might be poorly thought out, but at its core it was a cry to be acknowledged in this world.
‘I hear what you’re saying,’ she said. ‘That sounds like a wonderful book. I’m going to get a copy to read myself.’
He looked up, his expression surprised and hopeful. ‘You can borrow mine, if you like.’ He held the book out to her.
She took it and smiled. ‘That’s very kind of you, Lee. I’ll take good care of it.’ She put it down in front of her and kept her hand on it as they discussed his next choice.