‘What are you talking about? I didn’t turn up on my actual first day. That’s kind of frowned upon by employers, I believe.’
I smirk at her. ‘Imayhave told them you had a brutal stomach bug and were throwing up all over the place this whole week. Anita was really lovely about it.’ I make a face. ‘Obviously Mack was an arsehole but Anita told him to shut up. They said you can start next week – as long as you’re feeling better.’
Clara leaps up. ‘No way!’ She hugs me hard and I let her. ‘You’re the best sister in the universe. Thank you so much!’
Salma leans in impatiently. ‘Speaking of the library, whereare we with the note writer, Eliot? You’ve replied, right? Have you made plans to meet up?’
I squint at a point above her head. ‘Ummmmm…’
She gasps. ‘You haven’t replied!’ she says accusingly. ‘Why the hell not? You asked him for his name, like, two weeks ago! Were you hoping it would be someone you knew? Was there someone particular you wanted it to be?’
‘I was hoping it would be the sexy mountaineer,’ Clara says dreamily. ‘He’s perfect boyfriend material, with the exception of his missing toes.’ Harry grabs at her waist and she giggles, falling into him for another kiss.
‘No, it’s not that!’ I protest. ‘It’s just… well, ithasbeen a busy week since I collected the note. Give me a break! I barely had a chance to read it properly before we were flying across the Atlantic to fetch a wayward child.’
‘Who’s happening, what?’ Clara looks up from Harry’s mouth, her eyes unfocused and hazy. ‘What am I?’
‘Never mind,’ I tell her, smiling warmly. ‘You get back to checking Harry’s saliva pH levels.’
Salma rolls her eyes. ‘So come on then, was the last note not all that exciting? What did it actually say? Please read it to us.’
I go to fetch it from my coat pocket, where it’s been sitting on and off since I retrieved it fromToo Good to Be Truewell over a week ago.
As I re-enter the living room, Salma and Clara are filling Mum, Angela and Buffy in on the whole saga. They are wide-eyed, enraptured by the story of a pair of strangersswapping notes via a library book. I feel embarrassed as they all look up at me, one by one, universally awed by the romance.
‘So you have this man’s name?’ Mum asks, her voice high and enthralled. ‘You know who he is? But you alsodon’tknow who he is? So he could be a serial killer?’
I shake my head and Salma whips the note from my grasp. ‘I’ll read it aloud,’ she announces excitedly, unfolding the piece of paper.
She clears her throat, and begins reading to a captivated audience.
Well hi, Jemma, what a genuinely lovely name.
I always think names define us, don’t you?
Like, Lyndseys – however they spell it – are always no nonsense go-getters, aren’t they? And Millys and Mollys always have the biggest hearts. Fatimas are always super cool. Lucys are always hilarious. Aishas are fashionable. And I think Jemmas are kind and funny and – I’m hoping – might want to meet up with me one day soon. My name is Eliot, I’m 32, and yes – obviously my mum named me for George Eliot. If she could’ve got away with calling me the author’s real name, Mary Ann Evans, she would’ve. I can’t remember if I’ve mentioned, but she was a librarian, so everything had to be book themed for her. And it’s why I still make sure I check books out regularly instead of buying them. My brother got the same treatment, by the way. He’s called Austen – I’m sure you can guess who that’shonouring. We were both into drama as kids, and even the plays we did had to be book themed!
Anyway, it’s really nice to meet you, Jemma. If you’d be keen to meet in person, I can’t promise a rose in the lapel, but I could wear tiger print in honour ofThe Tiger Who Came to Tea, or green forThe Very Hungry Caterpillar. Maybe we could go for dinner, and eat one shortbread, two chocolate Hobnobs, three digestives, four jaffa cakes, five Viennese whirls (or custard creams) and then a whole box of chocolate fingers. Never forgetting the solitary Garibaldi for afters.
Hoping to hear from you soon.
Eliot x
God, that’s a great note. I’ve been wandering around with all of that in my pocket for a whole week – even taking it with me on the aeroplane! – and yet I’d barely taken any of it in, beyond his name. I was so focused on that Eliot part – on what it meant – that I hadn’t really absorbed the rest of it. There’s such a warmth to him, such a loveliness. And I immediately know I want to meet this guy. I have real feelings for him, I realize. I don’t care what he looks like and I don’t care that he’s a complete stranger, I want to see him; to touch him.
‘What a sweetheart!’ Mum announces. ‘But that sounds like an awful lot of biscuits he’s proposing you eat between you.’ She sounds worried. ‘Especially for a first date! Goodness! You’ll spend all night high as a kite on Enumbers.’ She frowns, looking at Salma. ‘And why would he wear tiger print? Is that in fashion these days?’
Salma laughs. ‘Tiger print is a neutral,’ she says, eyeballing me.
‘He sounds really delightful,’ Angela declares happily. ‘Although what’s wrong with a nice rich tea or Bourbon biscuit?’ She pauses. ‘Did you know Brits eat more biscuits than anywhere else on earth? We consume 204 million biscuits a day.’
I shake my head in amazement. ‘You know stuff like that, but you don’t know what a ghostwriter is?’
Angela raises her eyebrows in confusion and takes another shot. ‘So you write about ghosting? I’ve heard about ghosting! Before I met your mum I got ghosted quite a few times!’
‘Never mind,’ I mumble, as Buffy whines with frustration.
‘Can you stop going off on fucking tangents?’ Buffy shouts. ‘Look, I didn’t understand any of that dumb note, but if a real life living man is willing to meet up withyou’ – she jabs a finger in my direction like I’m the most disgusting creature to walk the earth – ‘then you should probably take him up on it.’ She gives me a withering look. ‘It’s not like you’ve got many choices. Especially atyourage.’ She smirks. ‘Although, hello, if you’ve ignored him and this note for a couple of weeks when he’s put his heart on the line like that, he’s probably found someone else by now. I bet you’ll never hear from him again!’
