Page 82 of Love or Your Money Back

A shocked passer-by takes a wider path around our stand.

‘Sorry.’ I attempt a placating smile, but my mouth doesn’t lift all the way.

Ohshit.

I take a seat, struggling to open my water bottle.

‘Excuse me?’ A pink-suited woman with gleaming, black hair steps onto the stand.

I look up, eyes swivelling in their sockets. ‘The toilets are over the-re.’ The word ‘there’ is slurred.

‘Actually, we have a meeting. Katerina, isn’t it? I’m Heidi Wong. From Penguin Random House.’

‘Heidi?’ My mouth turns dry. ‘But it’s only 11 am. We’re meeting at nooo-on.’

Stop slurring!

‘Are you okay?’ says Heidi. ‘You sound …’

‘I’m fine.’ I struggle to clip my words. ‘Heidi, I’m sorry. My schedule says we’re meeting at noon.’

‘Oh!’ Heidi checks her phone. ‘Perhaps my assistant got the time wrong. Her calendar does something odd when she books meetings with people from different countries. Do you have time to meet now? I do apologise, but my schedule is fully booked otherwise.’

‘Yes. Of course. I’ll take whatever time you have.’ I get the slurring somewhat under control that time and manage a (probably lopsided) smile.

Heidi holds out her hand.

Oh. Right.

She expects me to shake it.

This is a terrible bind.

Everyone knows that if you remain seated to shake someone’s hand, it shows disrespect or under-confidence. Which means somehow, I’ll have to stand.

I put a careful palm on the table and slowly, slowly move weight onto my right leg. I rise in a surprisingly regal way, like I’d imagine my favourite angry queen, Queen Elizabeth I, to rise.

Once upright, I smile at Heidi and reach out my free hand. Unfortunately, my left leg chooses that moment to jerk out and throw me off balance.

I fall.

It feels slow. Slow enough to hear Heidi’s gasp and see her horrified expression. But in reality, it probably happens quite quickly.

Oof!

I hit the chequered rug with a thud that reverberates through my spine and teeth. It hurts. A lot.

Heidi’s red high heels come into view.

For some reason, I feel the need to apologise.

‘I’m sorry.’ My voice is now slurred and trembling. ‘I’m not drunk.’ Which is of course exactly what a drunk person would say.

Heidi kneels beside me. ‘I think you should have a lie-down,’ she whispers. ‘Were you out late last night?’

Tears come.She does think I’m drunk. And my voice isn’t working well enough to correct her.

There are scuffles. More feet come into view, including an expensive, shiny pair of hand-stitched men’s shoes. And then I hear Freddy’s voice.

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