Amy hadn’t realised just how old Malcolm was until she agreed to walk with him to Waitrose. She was a fast walker who liked to get where she was going. She quickly realised the average speed of Malcolm’s stride was glacial.
This was disconcerting as she had left her phone in the flat and Malcolm hadn’t spoken since they left the house. She was already regretting her decision.
‘Shall we get a cab?’ she asked.
‘What? Why? It’s just around the corner.’
‘How long does it normally take you to walk?’
‘I don’t know, I’ve never timed myself. Am I going too slowly for you? Should I pick up my speed?’
‘Is that possible?’
‘Probably not.’
‘You’re not that slow. I’m just a fast walker.’
‘Did Helen tell you Daniel called? He might be around tonight for dinner.’
‘I’m out tonight,’ lied Amy. She’d hide out in the flat to avoid meeting Daniel again.
When they reached the high street Amy could see how far along Waitrose was and sighed. As they made their way, Amy had time to look at everyone and everything. She even had time to pop into Costa for a takeaway coffee and catch Malcolm before he reached Waitrose. In Waitrose, Malcolm was all business. There was no time for browsing; he went straight to the products he needed and then back out of the door.
Amy had thought the walk to Waitrose was long. Malcolm’s pace halved when he was carrying shopping bags. And he wouldn’t let Amy take them all, something she was eager to do.
And then Malcolm surprised her by turning into the Oxfam bookshop.
‘You find gems in here,’ he said, leading her to the back of the shop. ‘But you have to be vigilant. They go quickly.’
Amy had never spent much time in Oxfam bookshops, or any second-hand bookshops. She’d never needed to. Her favourite bookshop was Daunt Books in Marylebone. They could get anything she needed. She wasn’t a fan of online shopping. She loved to be served.
The books on the shelf in the Oxfam bookshop looked dirty and old to her. Malcolm only saw treasures. He handed her a copy of Cecilia by Fanny Burney. It was a very thick Oxford Classics paperback. She placed it back on the shelf. It felt grimy.
‘A lot of book for a pound,’ he said, watching her set it down. ‘I haven’t read it. Jane Austen read it. Admired it, I think. So it can’t be all bad.’
Amy placed her shopping bags on the ground. Malcolm did so, too.
She watched him scan the shelves one after the other.
‘Malcolm?’ The young man who had been behind the counter approached.
‘Yes? Who was that?’
Amy moved out of the way.
‘We have a box of books I think you’d be interested in over by the counter. It just came in. I’m pricing them now.’
‘Okay. Okay. Thank you, Asher. I’ll be right over.’
He lifted his shopping bags and made his way through the shop to the counter. There was no one else in the shop. Amy looked around her. Saw titles she recognised. Some she had worked on. And then spotted a shelf full of Jack Cade novels. She went over to it. They were hardcovers and looked a little the worse for wear. She straightened them up. But the sight of them affected her. She didn’t like to see them here. They were her babies, after all. And these ones had fallen on hard times.
She picked up a copy of The Night and took it across to Malcolm.
‘This is one of mine,’ she said, popping it on the counter.
Malcolm glanced at it. ‘I know. They’re everywhere.’
‘But he’s been rejected by his owner.’
‘There are often a couple of mine here, too. Don’t take it to heart.’
‘I loved that book,’ said the guy behind the counter, Asher, pointing to The Night.
Malcolm looked at him and said, ‘Really?’
‘Yes, I’ve read all of Jack Cade’s books.’
Malcolm laughed. ‘Asher, this is my friend Amy.’
‘Nice to meet you,’ said Asher, who was probably about twenty-five.
Amy thought he looked unwashed. His long hair was greasy and pulled back behind his ears. And his face glistened. Definitely Slytherin.
‘Amy is Jack Cade.’
‘What do you mean?’
Amy stared at Malcolm and then at Asher, who seemed perplexed.
‘I work with a guy called Liam Smith to write the Jack Cade books.’
‘You’re shitting me. Really? That’s amazing.’ Then he paused and looked at Amy and Malcolm, searching their faces. ‘Nah, you’re shitting me, right?’
‘Asher, why is it so hard to believe?’
‘But I’ve met Jack Cade. He signed my book.’
‘You met Liam Smith. Look it up. Jack Cade and Liam Smith are the same guy. And I helped Liam become Jack.’
Asher pulled out his phone and googled Jack Cade and Liam Smith.
‘Hey, Asher, you know who your good mate Malcolm is, right?’ asked Amy. She was smiling at Malcolm because he was trying to get her to be quiet.
‘No, who?’ he asked, while reading Wikipedia.
‘The author Malcolm Taylor. He’s longlisted for the Man Booker.’
‘Holy shit, you’re right! Jack Cade and Liam Smith are the same dude. But it doesn’t say anything about you, Amy.’
‘Which is exactly the way I like it. I’m a silent partner. Will you keep my secret?’
‘Sure. Sure. My mind is blown. I can’t tell you how weird this all is for me.’
Malcolm paid Asher for a copy of Levels of Life by Julian Barnes and then led Amy out.
‘Do you think he believed me?’ Amy asked as they walked along the high street.
‘About me or you?’
‘About me. I don’t think he even registered what I said about you.’
‘Probably. I don’t know. He’s a strange kid.’
They walked on in silence for a bit.
‘Why don’t you write your own thrillers? Why take the back seat?’
‘It’s just how it worked out,’ said Amy, taking one of the bags from Malcolm. He had almost stopped moving altogether.
‘And do you write for yourself ever? Do you have anything I could take a look at?’
‘No. I mean I wrote a novel when I was at university, but it was rejected by nearly every publisher in London. I wrote it before I knew what I was doing. I’d do things differently now.’
‘How so?’
‘I don’t know. I just wouldn’t invest in it. Not in the way I did. I put everything I was into that book. It nearly killed me. And then for it to fail. It was awful. I think I could write with a bit more distance now. There’s no pressure anymore. I’ve done it. I’ve helped write a string of bestsellers. We’ve been number one in the UK and US; it doesn’t get much better than that.’
‘Doesn’t it?’ asked Malcolm.
‘No, it doesn’t.’
‘If you say so.’
Amy hated the way Malcolm said that. It was so smug. She wanted to hit him. But she restrained herself.
They walked the rest of the way in silence.
When they arrived back at the house, Daniel was there chatting with Helen. Amy was still angry at Malcolm and couldn’t stand the sight of Daniel, so she went downstairs.
As she opened the door to the flat, she suddenly realised why the conversation with Malcolm had so unsettled her.
He sounded just like Max. That’s what he had sounded like. Max.