Amy stared at the screen. And then took the glass of wine Malcolm was handing her. She took a sip and scrolled through the short exchange with Julia.
What was she playing at? One moment she was desperate for news of Helen’s book, the next she couldn’t care less. And why was she so perky?
‘Is something amiss?’ asked Malcolm. He sat at the kitchen table facing Amy, who was sitting on a barstool. Helen was putting together a plate of olives, bread and cheese.
‘Everything is amiss, Malcolm. Especially your use of “amiss”.’
‘What is amiss about my use of “amiss”?’
‘You wouldn’t say that.’
‘Wouldn’t I?’
‘Not if I had anything to do with it. I’d replace it with “wrong”. “Is something wrong?” I’d have you say.’
‘But if I’m me, an older literary chap, mightn’t I say “amiss”?’
‘Most likely, but why risk alienating the reader by using a word they’re not familiar with? Especially when there’s nothing to gain and a lot to lose.’
‘What’s there to lose?’
‘The reader could close the book. And that would be that. The you in the book is terminated over one word in one hundred thousand.’
‘Where’s Daniel?’ asked Helen, interrupting.
‘He went out. Said he’d be back for dinner,’ said Malcolm.
‘Shall we go into the front room?’ suggested Helen, who was already making her way to the hall carrying the plate of nibbles.
‘Amy, Trevor says I’m a meme.’ He was following her down the corridor.
‘I know! You’re Instafamous. There was a crazy quote of yours in the window of Waterstones. Something about a blood clot.’
‘Yes, that’s right. That’s what Trevor said. Stuff I said on radio is being used.’
‘I bought all of your competitors while I was there, the other longlisters. I’m going to try and read them all.’
‘Can you lend them to me afterwards? I haven’t read of any of them, yet. I mean, I know Coetzee. Disgrace was good. But I don’t really know any of the others. A.L. Kennedy sounds familiar, but I’m not sure I’ve read him or her. I feel so out of it.’
‘We can read them together,’ Amy said as she sat down in the front room. ‘All three of us. We’ll have our own Booker.’
‘I’d better win that.’
‘Shoo-in.’
‘Have you told him?’ asked Helen.
‘Told me what?’ asked Malcolm, sitting.