‘I was telling him how much better he could make thelibrary!’ Clara says with enthusiasm. ‘And I don’t mean just the shit walls and ugly carpets. I mean, like, you could have author events and book clubs and writer workshops – fun things! He said they don’t do anything like that at the moment, can you believe that? It’s so short-sighted!’
I give her a sideways look. ‘That’s actually really smart,’ I tell her slowly. ‘And what did he say?’
‘He said it was something they’d get around to eventually. And then he got distracted by something on his phone.’ She grimaces, glancing over at me. ‘It seemed like bad news. Do you think he’s OK? Maybe there’s a reason he’s so angry all the time.’
I raise my eyebrows at her. ‘Maybe the reason is that he’s a dickhead?’
‘Maybe,’ she snorts agreeably as we wait at a crossing. ‘He’s fit, though.’
I roll my eyes hard as the green man begins to flash. Clara would think the green man was fit if he glared at her long enough.
Actually, the red man is probably more her type. Walking red flags are her bag.
Chapter Twenty-FiveCLARA
I climb into my glittery jumpsuit, immediately getting tangled up. I’m too excited for complicated clothing – I can’t focus or keep still enough.
This afternoon was great, hanging out with Jemma – dropping off her latest note – and tonight’s going to be even better. I yank at the jumpsuit’s sleeve, which I realize now is a leg, sending a spray of glitter across the floor.
If I can somehow get into this outfit-contraption, me, Jemma, Salma and Harry are heading to a fancy hotel rooftop bar that I’ve always wanted to check out. It’s going to be wall-to-wall glitz and glamour, not to mention there’s a guestlist that features my beloved Milo Samuels.
I’m also hoping tonight will put paid to any remaining weirdness with Harry. I think he’s been avoiding me since our stupid drunken snog almost a week ago. We are on the same page of pretending it never happened, but we have undeniably been a little bit awkward. There has been a lotof uncomfortable staring at the ceiling and nervous laughter when we’re in the same room.
And oh god it wasmegaawkward last night, when we all watched episode eight ofBook Boyfriend. The whole thirty minutes was basically just one long sex scene – which would usually be totally Mia cup of tea, but when you’re watching your future husband having fake sex with someone else, while sitting next to a lad you snogged the week before, whilealsositting near your sister who clearly fancies that snoggee… well, it was a tiny bit bananapants confusing. I couldn’t concentrate on the action at all, I was so worried about pulling the right facial expression and putting out the right body language. I didn’t want to seem like the show was bothering me, like I’m some kind of prude, but I alsoreallydidn’t want to look like I was aroused in any way.
Thank god for Salma being there. Halfway through, she started telling us about the last person she’d had sex with, and how she snorted a snot bubble in their face halfway through having an orgasm. That definitely helped break the ice. And then Jemma said her anecdote was like something out of a Jane Austen novel, and so I said, ‘Or its TV adaptation starring Keira Knightley,’ and we all started laughing. It got a lot less weird and tense after that.
‘Are you ready?’ Jemma pokes her head around the door. She looks lovely, in a yellow dress and cardi combo I recognize from some Great-Aunt wedding years ago. Before I went to America. How does she always make old stuff lookgood? All the clothes I own feel dated and ugly halfway through their first wear.
‘Just about.’ I grimace, throwing another sleeve in the wrong direction. Jemma laughs and comes in, adjusting my outfit around me and doing up the zip. ‘Thanks,’ I tell her with genuine relief. I was starting to panic there.
She looks stern. ‘Just don’t be dragging me into the loos every twenty minutes to help you go for a wee.’
I hold up a hand in the Brownie promise. ‘I swear I won’t. I haven’t drunk any liquids all day in preparation for wearing this jumpsuit.’ I pause. ‘To be honest, the main reason I’m wearing it is because it feels like a safe segue from the onesie I’ve worn for two months straight.’
She laughs and I study her. She looksrelaxed. I’m surprised – I thought she’d be all over the place after leaving that note for her pen pal earlier. I mean, I’d be freaking out if I were her. Three solid months of chatting to this mystery guy and it’s all about to be revealed. I mean, maybe. I suppose he could tell her his name is none of her business or ghost her.
To be honest, I thought Jemma would also be having a meltdown about going to an actual party for basically the first time in her life. Shenevergoes out to stuff like this. But, taking her energy in now, she seems… excited? Maybe my predictable, rut-loving bookworm sister is finally learning to embrace the unknown – embrace anadventure…
An hour later, and I’m slightly missing my predictable, rut-loving bookworm, adventure-averse sister. She’s had three shots, two large gins and is now draining her second largeglass of wine. She grins sloppily at me now, her face red, her teeth and lips already purple.
‘This is afantasticparty,’ she stage-whispers at me, turning several heads with her loudness. ‘Where’s your man from the TV? Is he here?’ She looks around, almost losing her balance, and I reach out to steady her. I feel a bit jealous. I want to be that drunk.
‘Not yet, I don’t think,’ I say, shaking my head and scanning the room’s occupants. But then – ohhhh – there he is! He’s here. He enters the room from a side entrance that barely looks like a door. His publicist and definitely-not-his-girlfriend Katiezzz is right behind him again, annoyingly. But this time he’shereto schmooze. It’s a party. She can’t drag him away – or glare me away – not this time. We’re going to chat, and by the end of this night, that man is going to ask me out on a date.
‘He’s there!’ I whack Jemma on the arm and she stands up straighter. Or at least, she attempts to.
Harry and Salma are suddenly upon us, fresh from the bar, drinks in hand.
‘Have you seen?’ Salma squeals. ‘He’s over there!’
Harry shrugs. ‘I saw him,’ he says, playing it cool. ‘I’ve met him before, we’re, like, mates or whatever.’
I laugh and our eyes meet briefly, before we both look away. ‘I saw! He looks so hot,’ I say excitedly. ‘So, do I justgo over? Just casual-like? And sayhi, it’s me, Clara, the Ambrosiac?’
‘Amnesiac.’ Even a drunk Jemma still has to be a right Jemma.
‘Ignore her,’ Salma instructs. ‘Go do your thang!’ She grabs my arm. ‘Wait, do you want us to come with you?’
