Page 9 of Knowing You
‘But it’s too good an opportunity for you to miss,’ I say, because that’s what Mum’s been saying. Sometimes she sounds more like his mother than his sister, but then he is younger than her by ten years.
I’m glad Uncle Kevin hasn’t noticed the wobble I feel in my lip. I can’t do that to him or to Mum. She’s been quiet all week. Those circles under her eyes look darker than ever. Despite the car and the telly and the freezer, I know she’ll miss Uncle Kevin more than anyone. So when we get back home, I pretend that tomorrow isn’t really happening. I’m not starting at a new school and Uncle Kevin isn’t getting on a plane all the way to somewhere called New York City.
Chapter 5
Since I saw him at the retirement home last Sunday, Hugo has talked to me about things we don’t usually discuss, like clothes and health trends. I feel like a ship that has sailed into unchartered waters. He complimented me again today; said he liked my outfit. I’d worn a skirt for a change – an old size fourteen I hadn’t fit into for years.
I sit at my desk and straighten the keyboard. This evening, Lenny will be at a book launch for our author Gary Smith, who is represented by his agency. My stomach clenches. I haven’t seen him for almost four weeks, except on social media. Not that I’ve looked at his profiles. Apart from a couple of times on Twitter. Yesterday he posted a selfie of him and Beatrix. Their relationship must be public now.
Tonight’s launch is for Gary’s Young Adult book calledBubbles. It’s about a rich teenager whose family comes from nothing but ends up producing champagne. It’s highly unusual – almost like a saga for young adults. The story spans several generations, from the penniless, hardworking ancestors to their modern indulged offspring. Early reviews expect it to be a huge hit. Translation rights sales are already dynamic. So Thoth Publishing is more than happy to celebrate in style. We’ve ordered in canapés and the interns are decorating our biggest conference room with gold streamers and balloons. Each guest will receive a goody bag containing a signed copy, luxury truffles and a mini bottle of posh lemonade.
Normally I’d make my usual excuses and curl up with a book on the settee. Old habits die hard. I did much the same during my university Freshers’ week, despite everyone else partying. And there is never a shortage of editors happy to have a drink and talk publishing. However, the author, Gary Smith, is particularly nervous and he and I have worked closely these last few months. His agent can’t make it tonight, which makes me think it is even more likely that Lenny will appear in his place. Plus Gary’s wife has to work and his kids are away studying, so he’s coming alone. I can’t let him down.
Bubblesis his debut. Gary works on the bins, which was a surprise to me and everyone else at Thoth. He’s a modest, middle-aged dad who plays snooker in the pub and goes to the football at the weekend. He left school at sixteen and took the first job he was offered. A swanky book launch is so far out of his comfort zone that we joke he’ll need a geomap to get back. Gary wrote the story when his wife lost her job and had to take a position working nights. The local paper had run an article about a dyslexic teenager who’d just been published, which gave Gary the confidence to have a go as, on the sly, he’d always liked reading his wife’s romance books. Inadvertently, his novel provides a moving insight into his impoverished childhood. Without being preachy, the story sends a strong message that material gains and emotional well-being are not always linked.
So when six o’clock arrives, I head into the ladies’ room to brush my hair. Perhaps I should make more effort, I think, as my colleagues change into high shoes and swap jumpers for blouses. Lipstick is applied. Squirts of perfume hijack the stale air. But I have no time anyway, having agreed to meet Gary outside the building at six fifteen. The party starts at seven thirty, but he needs to arrive early to sign books. I go to the lift and within minutes am downstairs in reception. I pass through the revolving door and stand outside for a few moments, blowing on my hands to keep warm.
I could have waited inside, but I need to quell my irrational fear that Gary will change his mind at the last minute and go for a few pints at the Red Lion next door. The sunny spring day is disappearing. Commuters rush by, swerving around Gabby, the homeless woman who sits leaning up against our building. She mouths hello at me. Most lunchtimes I stop for a quick chat and give her a sandwich bag. Lenny said she’s probably one of those professional beggars and thought me naïve to make a spare packed lunch for her each day.
I look up and down the street. I don’t want Lenny to come. Yet I do. Perhaps he’s missed me. Maybe I won’t feel anything and can let go of what he did. Will we talk to each other? How do I greet him?
It’s a rickety bridge I need to cross, which makes me think of the ones on the jungle reality show Lenny liked to watch. If I reach the other side, the confidence boost I’ll enjoy will make it worthwhile.
‘Violet?’
I look up. Gary smiles nervously. We shake hands.
‘You look great,’ I say, making an effort to observe his outfit. I’m not that interested in clothes, but Gary needs a shot of self-esteem.
How similar our situations are this evening. I bared my soul to Lenny. Gary has bared his soul to readers. It’s left us both vulnerable to rejection.
‘You don’t think the tie is too much?’ He loosens his collar.
‘Definitely not. You should see the fashion show being put together in the women’s toilets.’
We head up to the first floor and into the conference room. Interns buzz around, tying balloons. A pop-up bar has been set up at the back. Caterers hurry to and fro, laying out glasses to fill and stacking small plates and napkins. I lead Gary over to a table where earlier I set up a pile of his books.
Gary sits down and runs a hand over his receding hairline.
‘Glass of champagne?’ I say.
‘Yes. No. I don’t know. Perhaps I should keep a clear head.’
I sit down next to him. ‘Try not to worry. I know this is your first event, but you’ll be absolutely fine.’
I chat while he scribbles, but Gary is very quiet. I know him well enough to realise that means he’s nervous.
I head over to Irfan. ‘Our author could do with some moral support,’ I say.
Irfan fills a glass with champagne for Gary and then carries that, and his own orange juice, over to the table. I help with the last minute decorations and dim the lights just as the first guests arrive. I chat with some bloggers whilst I sip my coke. I mustn’t forget to give them goody bags when they leave. Their support for books is unpaid, and I tell my authors never to forget that. Music plays in the background and I gaze out of the windows at illuminated buildings, tired of trying to pretend to myself that I’m not looking out for Lenny. I’m glad to escape the gloss of the party. My job gives me a sense of belonging that only falters at such glittering get-togethers.
‘Do you think he’s jumped?’ says a familiar voice in my ear.
I turn around. Irfan pulls a face. ‘Gary’s disappeared. People are waiting to talk to him – especially some of the youngsters.’
‘Toilets?’
‘Irfan’s looked there,’ says Farah, with a sparkle on her face that complements the book’s fizzy drink theme. She’s like a teenager at her first disco every time she attends one of these events. Gold tassel earrings shake as she speaks and she’s wearing a blue embroidered silk top with sequins around the neck.
