Page 35 of Knowing You
Casey
A lovely person. Liquid heat fills my chest and for a moment expunges the cold Lenny left.
Hey Casey,
I’m sorry. You’re right – I was just so excited about the manuscript and appreciate you keeping this to yourself. I promise it won’t happen again. I can’t think who you’re talking about. But get used to it, Casey. You’ll have to get used to female fans fawning over you once this book is released.
Cheers.
Lenny
I grin when I see that Casey doesn’t feel Lenny’s comment dignifies a response.
‘I’d almost forgotten what that beaming smile looked like,’ says Irfan opposite me.
‘Just something stupid on Facebook.’
Perfect. I can relax. Casey’s a good sort. This makes me all the more intent on acquiring him. And that’ll teach Lenny for assuming it couldn’t possibly be me that he met. I deliberate over whether to now share his manuscript with Felicity and decide not. I’ll ask Casey on Saturday. Clearly he likes things doing by the book. I lean over the desk and pluck a single chocolate out of Irfan’s box and then put it back, recalling the low wolf whistle Hugo gave me this morning before he moaned that it was weird suddenly seeing someone in the friend zone as hot.
I click into Instagram. My last photo got more than sixty likes. That extinguishes the anger building over Lenny’s insensitive email. I lift up my phone and take a selfie in my work clothes. Irfan shoots me a strange look. I smile and go about the important task of choosing the right filter.
Chapter 15
‘That cafe is wonderful. A place built to make memories. I can’t believe I’ve never been in there before,’ says Casey as we walk towards Camden market. I try to keep up. Bemusement crosses his strong features and he slows. His long legs are wrapped up in tight black jeans to match his hair and leather jacket. There’s a hint of Danny Zuko. Does that make me Sandy? I watchedGreaseas a child with the acceptance that I’d never be the kind of girl that boys raced cars for.
I’m wearing a new pair of blue jeans. The style is skinny. At first I thought there was some mistake. The thrill I enjoyed when fitting them on in the changing room last night matched the high of acquiring a new author. Bella encouraged me to buy a matching denim jacket. She bought one too. Underneath is a white blouse that’s practically see-through and reveals my bra straps. A subtle floral pattern masks my cleavage.
‘You know this area well?’ I ask, fighting an unexpected urge to link my arm with his. It’s almost out of my control in the same way that I haven’t been able to stop remembering those penetrating eyes or the intelligent, confident tone of his voice.
‘I lived near here as a teenager. My family moved down from Manchester. It reminded me of the indoor market there, Afflecks Palace, and the Northern Quarter. Best of all, I could buy cannabis-flavoured lollipops without a Proof of Age ID card. It’s one of my favourite parts of London for a day out.’
‘You haven’t got a strong Mancunian accent.’
‘No. Mum grew up in London. I guess that rubbed off.’
Camden is my favourite part too, with its diverse shops and market stalls. It’s probably one of the places I used to feel I most blended in. Over the years, I’ve bought a purse made from leaves and a hand-knitted dress. I’ve browsed through second-hand bookshops and watched customers have feathers sewn into their hair. I’ve eaten a wide selection of authentic street food and drunk from coconut shells, while accompanied by the smell of joss sticks in the air.
Another reason I like it is that in an ever-changing world, its free spirit has never changed. Except that now as we walk along, and I stop to thumb through a rail or taste a free sample of fresh juice, the male stallholders treat me a different way. One compliments my pink cat-eye style sunglasses. Another glares at a male pedestrian who accidentally bumps into me and asks if I’m okay. Stallholders were always polite in the past, but some of the young, good-looking ones had even started to call me madam. Not anymore.
‘So where is the Chapter Battle being held?’ I ask and wish I hadn’t bought boots with such high heels. I smile to myself. Every now and again the old me makes a comment like that.
We turn down a side street. ‘Just here. I’m glad you could come. It’s no fun on your own.’
We stop outside a Tudor pub. Suitably, it’s called Canterbury Tales. I follow Casey in. The bar is crowded and all the scratched mahogany tables are full, apart from one in the corner with a sign marked reserved. At the back is a small laminate dance floor with a mike in the middle. Customers face it expectantly, drinks in their hands. To the side stand a group of people – the authors, presumably – holding sheets of paper and notebooks. They shuffle nervously on their feet. The walls could do with a lick of paint and the layout is ramshackle, but the atmosphere is warmer than an English beer.
‘Seeing as you insisted on paying for lunch, drinks are on me,’ says Casey.
‘Diet coke, please.’
‘I’ll need a whiskey to steady my nerves.’
It turns out that the reserved table is for us. Casey is good friends with the landlord who takes us to our table and pulls out the chair for me. He wishes me luck sitting next to an ego as big as Casey’s. He says I’m more than welcome to sit with him at the bar instead. Playfully, Casey throws a slow-motion fist and his landlord friend ducks. I glow from tip to toe. I was lucky if Lenny even introduced me to his friends.
‘You’re taking part?’ I remove my sunglasses, feeling like a VIP after the barman’s attention. ‘No wonder you wanted moral support although you’re remarkably calm.’
‘I thought I’d read out the first chapter ofAlien Hearts. Or the prologue, to be exact – that’s allowed as well.’ He sipped his drink. ‘It went out on submission this week. To a few indies and two of the Big Five. My agent wants to test the water.’
I pick up my glass, drain it and stare into the bottom. Casey’s agent hasn’t submitted to Thoth. Felicity would have mentioned it.
