‘Final question,’ the publicist barks at me and I look down at my shaking hands.
‘Um, Milo.’ I clear my throat, knowing it’s now or probably never. I have to be braver than I’ve ever been in my life. ‘Have you ever, um… have you ever… left a note – or, um, like twenty notes! – in a library book?’
I feel the tension shift at the table. There is a mix of confusion and intrigue. Milo stares hard at me, his dark eyes searching mine. Then – as if in slow motion – he looksbetween my face and the notebook I’m holding. I realize in that moment that of course this is the paper I’ve been using for my messages. Pretty much everything I wrote to him came from this notebook. The pages are fairly distinctive pale blue sheets, with a green border of ivy. His eyes return to mine and we stare at one another for a long few seconds. My heart is racing hard once again and I find myself swallowing away tears.
‘You know I have,’ he says at last, softly, in a voice meant just for me.
I shake my head. ‘I didn’t!’ I exclaim, then add, ‘I only found out today, honestly! I wasn’t sure… I…’ I frown. ‘But you knew? Youknow? How?’
He cocks his head. ‘I think I knew that first day we met, at that awful party. When you were drunk and falling about, stealing drinks from other tables. When you attacked me with such passion about your favourite book. Something in me saidit’s you.’ He laughs sweetly. ‘Then I picked up your note the next morning – where you told me your name – and I thought,it must be her. I wanted to ask you at the kickboxing class, but’ – he pouts playfully, then laughs – ‘you pretty much threw up every time I tried to speak to you.’
I burn with shame at the memory. He’s known all this time. How is that possible?
We stare at each other, my heart in my mouth. Beside Milo – Eliot – the publicist frowns. ‘Er, Milo,’ she mutters, ‘is everything… shall I?’ Her eyes dart between us but we keep staring at each other, the rest of the room falling away.
At last, I drag my eyes away. ‘I’m so sorry for not replying,’ I say, ‘y’know, I mean, to your last message. I wanted to – and I wanted to say yes to your question – but there were… distractions.’
He shakes his head, smiling. ‘Don’t apologize, I understood.’ He laughs again and it’s such a nice sound. ‘To be honest, I thought you’d realized who I was, too, and that you couldn’t handle the whole’ – he makes a face, waving his hand at the room – ‘fame thing.’ He sighs, adding hastily, ‘I couldn’t blame you. It’s a lot to ask of anyone and—’
‘No!’ I cry. ‘It wasn’t that at all. I just had to go and save Clara! She needed me.’
He glances at the empty seat she recently vacated. ‘That makes sense. You’re sisters, you’ve got each other.’ His eyes find mine again as he adds shyly, ‘And hey, sorry I’m not wearing tiger print. I didn’t know you were coming.’
The publicist stands up. ‘We need to move on, Milo.’ She looks confused by our exchange, as do the rest of the table. ‘Um, thanks everyone for your time. I’ll be in touch to talk embargoes and run dates.’ She looks at me, then at him. ‘Come on, Milo.’
‘One more minute?’ he pleads. She shakes her head.
He stands up at last, looking at me apologetically. ‘I have to go.’ He shrugs lightly. ‘Work, y’know.’ He grins. ‘But leave your number with the front desk? Or with the team?’ He nods at his confused publicist who nods back slowly, still baffled. He smiles one last time, staring at me intently. ‘We’ll go for that dinner of one shortbread—’
‘Two chocolate Hobnobs,’ I interject.
‘Three digestives,’ he says solemnly.
I make a face. ‘I can’t remember what’s next.’
‘Four jaffa cakes,’ he smiles widely. ‘Then five custard creams.’
I snort. ‘You mean Viennese whirls!’
‘Fine!’ he laughs. ‘Then a whole box of chocolate fingers—’
‘And one Garibaldi,’ I finish for him, smiling.
He holds our eye contact as he whispers, ‘For all those healthy currants.’
The publicist sighs as we stare at one another. ‘Come on, they’re all waiting. Say goodbye.’ She pulls him away and the journalists around me shout in a chorus, ‘Thanks, Milo! Bye!’
‘Bye, Milo,’ I call out last and he turns around, smiling from ear to ear.
‘Eliot,’ he reminds me, and I nod.
‘Eliot.’
Narrator:
Well, gosh!
And I promise that is my last ever gosh.
