Page 34 of Slow Burn Summer

“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

18

“So first-class train travel ismy new favorite thing,” Kate murmured into her mobile even though there was only one other person in the quiet, sun-warmed carriage.

“Only the best for Kate Darrowby,” Liv said. “Wish I was with you instead of making this giant bloody birthday cake. Coffee flavor as well, which I hate, with peanut-butter icing, which I hate even more. I’ve got the radio on ready to listen, though, can’t wait.”

Kate’s stomach rolled at the mention of the impending Glynn Weston radio interview. She’d woken to a “good luck” voicemail from Charlie, his voice tense and far away, and a “don’t stuff this up” voicemail from Fiona, shouty as if she was in the next room. An email from Rachel, the chirpy PR girl too, assuring her she’d be brilliant and Glynn was a sweetie and here was her number, just in case. In case of what, Kate had wondered, saving it to her phone anyway. Rachel had been over the moon when she’d called last week to confirm the interview had got the final go-ahead—a real scoop, she’d said, “Such amazing coverage for a debut book in its publication week. Just be yourself and everything will be marvelous!” Kate had hung up and stroked the wine bottle in the door of the fridge before reaching for the milk for her morning coffee.

She’d heard a trailer for the weekend show while she was driving on Friday morning and Glynn had name-checked Kate Darrowby as his upcoming guest. She’d yelped and slammed her fingers over the radio buttons to stop him speaking before she almost threw up, thoroughly panicked.

And now here she was, London-bound, her color-coded character notes all laid out on the train table for a last minute reread.

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