‘And more romantic,’ Mum laughs, giving the nearest Great-Aunt a small wave.
Beside Angela, Buffy pulls a face. ‘Oh what? You’re saying I have to go, too? I couldn’t give a fuck about any of this.’
‘Come on, Buffy!’ Clara calls cheerfully. ‘It’s time to slay.’
She rolls her eyes, standing up. ‘Fine!’ She turns away from the Great-Aunts. ‘Bye, sluts!’ she shouts and they regard one another with fury.
I stand up. I’m wearing a hideous greenish, ruffly bridesmaid dress, I have makeup stains all over my face and swollen eyes from crying. And I’m going to tell a famous actor I might kind of be into him – that is, if his real name happens to be Eliot and he leaves notes for strangers in romantic fiction.
‘What’s happening?’ A Great-Aunt peers over at us with confusion as we gather bags.
Clara leans across the table. ‘We’re off to track down this guy,’ she explains, flashing the screen of her phone, still in her hand. The Great-Aunt squints at what I can now see is Milo’s Wikipedia page. I catch a glimpse of his picture, sitting inthe top right corner. He’s laughing and gazing off into the distance, looking gorgeous and happy.
Something tickles at the back of my head and then the truth hits me – just like that.
Idoknow him. I recognize him. Every time I’ve seen him, I’ve wondered why he was familiar; at the party and again at kickboxing. I wondered what other shows or films I might’ve seen him in. And suddenly it’s so clear. It’s not what I’ve seen himin. It’swhereI’ve seen him. I’ve seen him at the library. Not for ages, but definitely, definitely, definitely. I’ve seen this man in passing at my library.
Milo is my note writer. He’s my E. My Eliot.
Oh my god.
‘Let’s go,’ I say calmly as everyone cheers and bundles out of the pub.
Chapter Forty-FiveCLARA
Wow, this is a mega fancy hotel. I bet they have really nice loo paper.
I make a mental note to steal a few rolls for the house.
Salma is leading the charge up ahead, since she knows the way and also because she’s technically the only one allowed to be here.
‘This way!’ she yells with authority, leading us past a cavernous room with a bar in one corner and sofas scattered about. I fight an urge to drag Harry to the nearest of them for a lie-down snog. Instead I squeeze his hand in mine and we exchange a grin. God, I like him. It’s scary but also so suddenly easy and straightforward. For so long I’ve felt like love was a battle. I thought it was meant to be! I saw it as a constant stressful rollercoaster of fear and self-loathing and disappointment. Will he text, what does this text mean, should I text back. Never knowing where you stand, never understanding intention, never feeling safe.
With Harry, it’s just… effortless. I know that he likes me because he tells me and he’s showing me every day. He has been showing me all along, but love and romance had become such a twisted-up, knotted thing in my head, I couldn’t see it. I couldn’t recognize goodness and loveliness for what it was until my sister clonked me on the head with it.
‘It’s through there!’ Salma shouts, pointing towards a door at the end of a long corridor. A sign outside reads, ‘Press interviews’, and underneath the magical words, ‘Book Boyfriend’. She gathers us up in a huddle.
‘Look, we probably can’t get you all in.’ She glances at Buffy, adding, ‘Definitely not the teenager.’
‘I’ll sue you for ageism,’ Buffy says mildly, breaking away from the group and wandering off down the corridor, back towards the sofas. And the bar.
Jemma and I exchange a look, wondering what our responsibility level is here. She shrugs and I beam back.Minimal. After all, Buffy only became our step-sister literally today, and she is, like, seventeen, right? Shebeaight.
Salma clears her throat. ‘My name will be on the list, obviously, so one of you can be my photographer.’ She nods. ‘Harry.’
‘Don’t we need, like, official press credentials or something?’ He looks worried and Salma scoffs.
‘Nah!’ She waves her hand dismissively. ‘Nobody gives a crap at things like this. I’ve never ever had to show any form of ID. And quite often, some intern’s forgotten to add myname to the list anyway and they don’t much care about that either. The team organizing this just want as many faces in that room as possible, so it looks like the show had loads of excitement and interest around it.’ She looks at Jemma with determination. ‘Which is why this is going to work.’
‘What is, exactly?’ Jemma asks nervously and Salma takes her by the shoulders.
‘Through that door will be a woman with a clipboard. You’re going to go up to her and you’re going to havesomuch confidence. You’re going to say you’re Jemma Poyntz, a magazine freelancer, here for theBook Boyfriendround tables.’
Jemma is already shaking her head. ‘I can’t!’ But Salma glares her into silence.
‘You are! And when they run their pen lid up and down that list and can’t find you, you’re going to tut and seem harassed. I’ll be arriving just after you, and if the woman starts to make noises about it being a problem, I will tell her I know you and confirm you’re an industry colleague. You will also have your photographer with you.’ She waves in my direction and I gasp excitedly. Ilovethis. This is proper stupid, mad drama that has the potential to go so wrong and be so embarrassing. Ilivefor this stuff!
But it’s clear Jemma does not.
