Dear Violet Vaughan,
Thanks so much for your email. I’m delighted that you enjoyed Alien Hearts. More than that, I’m extremely grateful that you sent me my very first piece of fan mail. Let me assure you it will be duly printed out and framed. ☺ Really, I’m thrilled that my work made you cry and realise I have possibly the only job in the world where saying that is acceptable. After years of rejections, I still can’t get used to people in the industry saying I’ve done a good job.
However, I am surprised your friend Lenny gave you a copy to read and revealed my gender identity which is currently Top Secret – I’m aware that makes me sound like the biggest idiot. I’m just worried readers may not take the book seriously if they know I’m a man – although my agent tries to reassure me that I don’t need to worry about that.
As you wish, I won’t mention that you’ve emailed to Lenny – or to the agency. I agree, from what I know of him, that he was probably just being overenthusiastic and I wouldn’t want him to get into trouble either.
Oh, by the way – your photo looks kind of familiar. Have we met before?
Thanks again.
Yours truly,
Casey Wilde
Heart pounding, I lean back in the sofa. He responded quickly. On first reading it, I feel an inexplicable anxiety and can’t face my morning plateful of fruit. But then I take a step back and tell myself I can deal with flirting. I stop overthinking and light-heartedly email back. It doesn’t come naturally and I try to give my words a tone that matches the filtered photo in my email signature. As for him thinking he recognised me, this is good. It means I must look more like other young women and don’t stand out anymore.
Dear Casey,
I’m moved to tears at the prospect of my words framed and hanging in your house. Thank you. It’s truly an honour. ☺ But seriously, Alien Hearts is unique. Bold. Romantic. Gripping. Emotional.
I wonder if I may tempt you with an invitation to meet up. I’m so excited about your writing and would love to discuss your methodology and how you researched. And I know a lovely coffee house next door to a vintage bookshop. Perhaps I could meet you there one day after work.
Yours equally truly,
Violet Vaughan
I hug the laptop to my chest, as if it’s a best friend. This is fun. I get up to take a shower. Will he bother to reply? I’m almost in my bedroom when an email landing in my inbox pings. I hurry back to the sofa.
Dear Violet,
That would be great. Meeting a fan will be good practise for when I undoubtedly become a household name. (I hope you realise I jest!) Jokes aside, I appreciate your kind words. But I drink more than enough coffee during the day – how about cocktails?
Yours,
Casey
Of course. The suggestion of a cafe next to a bookshop is too like the old me. I don’t want to appear ignorant and think hard of a cocktail bar I can suggest. They aren’t the kind of place I visit often, but one comes to mind. Months ago I went with Farah. We’d been chatting about the fact that she didn’t drink and I didn’t much either, so we found a place called The Olive Bar where the mocktail menu was wide-ranging, including a lavender spritzer and virgin ginger mimosa.
Dear Casey,
Do you know The Olive Bar in Covent Garden? I’ll remember to bring my autograph book!
Violet
I smile.
Dear Vi,
May I call you that? I feel we are friends now, since I made you cry and you’re aware of my gender dilemma!
That sounds perfect. I know it’s the weekend, but dare I hope that you are free tonight? Eight o’clock? I’ll even wear my new leopard print shirt.
Yours as ever.
Casey
My hands feel clammy. Can I really do this? Faceless exchanges online are one thing, but what about meeting him in the flesh?
But then I think of Bella. She’d tell me to go for it. And she’s right. I’m an editor. Casey’s a writer. We’ll have lots of talk about. It’ll be all right. And besides, more than anything, I’m doing this for Felicity and Thoth.
I press send on my reply to confirm. What should I wear? I wish I was as small as Bella. She has such exquisite clothes that literally hang on her. Luckily she gets home early and we go shopping. Eventually I find a bright green dress. Normally that colour would complement my purple glasses, but after a week of getting used to contacts, I hardly wear them now. It’s cinched in at the waist – not a body part that’s been in my vocabulary much before. I stare at the full-length mirror. The dress is low cut at the front but not too revealing. I buy a bright red lipstick. Bella has a pair of high nude shoes I can borrow.
I’m so grateful for her help. She does my nails, make-up and hair. I promise her a trip to the cinema next week, my treat.
At seven thirty, I look down at myself. I take a few selfies for Instagram and carefully choose the best filter. As soon as it’s shared, the likes start to come in. It’s helped that I’ve researched the best hashtags and add on #weekendvibes.
I scroll back through the few photos already uploaded on my account. Before heading out to the underground, I delete all the shots of the old me.
I was glad to leave school yesterday. Fridays are my favourite because they mean the weekend is here and this week Alice has been more horrible than usual. She keeps talking about America. About burning bodies. About people jumping to their death. Her older brother keeps showing her videos on his phone. I don’t think he should. They sound like horror movies. Mum tries to keep her newspaper away from me, but I’ve seen some of the photos.
It’s scary. My knees feel funny when I think about Uncle Kevin helpless. Adults in uniforms are supposed to keep everyone safe, but in America they didn’t. What if it happens near us? What if the bad people fly aeroplanes into school or where Mum works or our street? I don’t want us to die in a fire. I don’t want to have to jump out a window. And with all the noise, Tinker would run away.
I thought I couldn’t hate Alice any more than I did until yesterday because she started to be nice and for a while stopped calling me Shrinking Violet. I couldn’t work out why, at first, but then it hit me. It’s because she’s sick of me getting attention from Mrs Warham, the dinner ladies and even the boys who asked me to play football yesterday. I got a goal and some of them clapped just as Alice was walking past.
Later, Alice walked with her arm around my shoulder and looked important. I pull a face at Flint as I tell him about it. We’re sitting in the treehouse. It’s late Saturday morning. October is colder but such a pretty month with red, orange and yellow leaves. Mum is still in bed. I run home every hour to say hello to her and pretend me and Flint have been in the garden with my toys. She’d be cross if she knew I’d gone over the fence.
‘Alice sounds like a real dragon fart,’ he says and lets a beetle crawl over his hand. Half of his hair hangs loose from his ponytail and his anorak is covered in grass stains. His mum lets him play outside most of the time.
‘She even helped me tidy up the pencil pots, one of my favourite jobs. But she just kept yawning and didn’t bother sharpening the ones that had gone blunt. I couldn’t take it anymore, after lunch, and shook her off; told her to keep away.’
Flint hugs his knees. ‘What did she do?’
‘Pinched me really hard on my leg and then ran off to her friends saying that I smelled bad and must have pooped my pants like a baby.’
Flint shakes his head. ‘Who does she think she is? You need to let me help you think of a revenge plan.’ He sits up straight. ‘If my brothers and sisters get me into trouble – blame me for something they did – I always get them back. It’s not like I’m being mean. It’s only fair.’
I put down my book. ‘What have you done?’
‘Once Skye ate all the bottoms of the carrot muffins Mum made. She thought no one would find out as you couldn’t really tell when they sat the right way up. Skye said she saw me do it. Put a bit of muffin in my coat pocket as evidence. I got my own back. Our rabbits like carrots and that gave me the idea of mixing their poo pellets in with her muesli. They look just like raisins.’
My eyes widen. ‘She didn’t eat them?’
He laughs. ‘Yes. One. She was sick. She hasn’t got me into trouble since.’ He shrugs. ‘Sometimes you have to stand up for yourself. I can help you think of a way to get back at that idiot Alice.’
I hug my knees too. It feels good to have someone on my side. We meet up outside most days, either in the woods or out front. Flint’s allowed to walk to my house and I was really happy on Monday because Mum let him come inside to play. She poured us drinks and cut two slices of cake, although she gave Flint a funny look. I’m not that surprised. He was wearing one of the jumpers his mum knitted. It had gone wrong and the neck almost came off his shoulders. But Mum’s polite and she didn’t say anything. Then we went up to my room. Flint said it was cool because it wasn’t all pink and he thought the cuckoo clock from Uncle Kevin was amazing.
Flint gives me a cheeky grin and points in the corner of the treehouse. There is a big hairy spider. After reading Charlotte’s Web, I don’t mind picking it up.
‘They are probably more frightened of us than the other way around,’ says Flint.
‘That’s what Uncle Kevin used to say. Alice hates them. She screamed louder than a fire engine the other day when she saw one run out of the school games cupboard.’
‘Really?’ Flint leaned forwards as I release the spider and it scurries away. ‘Then you know what to do. It’s Halloween soon.’
‘You mean catch one from the woods and—’
His head nods up and down really quickly. ‘You could put it in her school bag or,’ His eyes gleam, ‘down her back.’
‘I can’t.’
‘You can. It’s only fair after all the things she’s said about your Uncle Kevin.’
I think about Flint’s idea when I’m tucked up in bed that night. He’s the best ever friend. He’s looking out for me. And he’s right. It’s time I stood up to Alice.