‘That cafe is wonderful. A place built to make memories. I can’t believe I’ve never been in there before,’ says Casey as we walk towards Camden market. I try to keep up. Bemusement crosses his strong features and he slows. His long legs are wrapped up in tight black jeans to match his hair and leather jacket. There’s a hint of Danny Zuko. Does that make me Sandy? I watched Grease as a child with the acceptance that I’d never be the kind of girl that boys raced cars for.
I’m wearing a new pair of blue jeans. The style is skinny. At first I thought there was some mistake. The thrill I enjoyed when fitting them on in the changing room last night matched the high of acquiring a new author. Bella encouraged me to buy a matching denim jacket. She bought one too. Underneath is a white blouse that’s practically see-through and reveals my bra straps. A subtle floral pattern masks my cleavage.
‘You know this area well?’ I ask, fighting an unexpected urge to link my arm with his. It’s almost out of my control in the same way that I haven’t been able to stop remembering those penetrating eyes or the intelligent, confident tone of his voice.
‘I lived near here as a teenager. My family moved down from Manchester. It reminded me of the indoor market there, Afflecks Palace, and the Northern Quarter. Best of all, I could buy cannabis-flavoured lollipops without a Proof of Age ID card. It’s one of my favourite parts of London for a day out.’
‘You haven’t got a strong Mancunian accent.’
‘No. Mum grew up in London. I guess that rubbed off.’
Camden is my favourite part too, with its diverse shops and market stalls. It’s probably one of the places I used to feel I most blended in. Over the years, I’ve bought a purse made from leaves and a hand-knitted dress. I’ve browsed through second-hand bookshops and watched customers have feathers sewn into their hair. I’ve eaten a wide selection of authentic street food and drunk from coconut shells, while accompanied by the smell of joss sticks in the air.
Another reason I like it is that in an ever-changing world, its free spirit has never changed. Except that now as we walk along, and I stop to thumb through a rail or taste a free sample of fresh juice, the male stallholders treat me a different way. One compliments my pink cat-eye style sunglasses. Another glares at a male pedestrian who accidentally bumps into me and asks if I’m okay. Stallholders were always polite in the past, but some of the young, good-looking ones had even started to call me madam. Not anymore.
‘So where is the Chapter Battle being held?’ I ask and wish I hadn’t bought boots with such high heels. I smile to myself. Every now and again the old me makes a comment like that.
We turn down a side street. ‘Just here. I’m glad you could come. It’s no fun on your own.’
We stop outside a Tudor pub. Suitably, it’s called Canterbury Tales. I follow Casey in. The bar is crowded and all the scratched mahogany tables are full, apart from one in the corner with a sign marked reserved. At the back is a small laminate dance floor with a mike in the middle. Customers face it expectantly, drinks in their hands. To the side stand a group of people – the authors, presumably – holding sheets of paper and notebooks. They shuffle nervously on their feet. The walls could do with a lick of paint and the layout is ramshackle, but the atmosphere is warmer than an English beer.
‘Seeing as you insisted on paying for lunch, drinks are on me,’ says Casey.
‘Diet coke, please.’
‘I’ll need a whiskey to steady my nerves.’
It turns out that the reserved table is for us. Casey is good friends with the landlord who takes us to our table and pulls out the chair for me. He wishes me luck sitting next to an ego as big as Casey’s. He says I’m more than welcome to sit with him at the bar instead. Playfully, Casey throws a slow-motion fist and his landlord friend ducks. I glow from tip to toe. I was lucky if Lenny even introduced me to his friends.
‘You’re taking part?’ I remove my sunglasses, feeling like a VIP after the barman’s attention. ‘No wonder you wanted moral support although you’re remarkably calm.’
‘I thought I’d read out the first chapter of Alien Hearts. Or the prologue, to be exact – that’s allowed as well.’ He sipped his drink. ‘It went out on submission this week. To a few indies and two of the Big Five. My agent wants to test the water.’
I pick up my glass, drain it and stare into the bottom. Casey’s agent hasn’t submitted to Thoth. Felicity would have mentioned it.
I’m failing. Failing with the plan to sign Casey. That must mean I’m failing in the glamour stakes as well. For a moment, it’s as if I’m back in the playground of Applegrove Primary with no friend group. I glance down at myself and all of a sudden miss my odd socks. Who am I kidding? As if I could carry off a transparent top and tight jeans. I must look a right joke.
‘Vi?’
‘What? Sorry. It’s all very exciting for you. Great news,’ I say brightly, without giving him eye contact.
He takes off his jacket and fully displays his Jackson Pollock style T-shirt to the room like a peacock fanning its tail. I’m embarrassed to think back to my flirting now over cocktails. Talk about out of my league.
‘Look, Vi, I’m working on my agent about Thoth,’ he says. ‘It’s clear from what you say that they’d have a real vision and passion and honestly, I—’
‘Don’t worry. Really. I don’t have any expectations.’
Casey says something else but I hardly hear. As if I could compete with Beatrix Bingham. It’s not as if he’s asked me out on a date. It’s a Chapter Battle. I need to get a grip.
I breathe a sigh of relief as the landlord announces the start of the proceedings and amongst the clapping it’s too noisy for anyone to talk. The first author takes to the dance floor. His hand shakes as he holds the mike as if it could predict the boos that were going to arrive after just two paragraphs.
‘Too many adverbs,’ whispers Casey.
‘And not a gripping enough start,’ I say without looking away from the mike, inwardly waging a battle against my negative thoughts.
My pulse rate slows as I feel the welcome embrace of my comfort zone now that we are talking about words. The next author takes position and starts to read. She lasts longer and even garners a few laughs.
‘Not bad. That was funny,’ says Casey and waves to her. She blows him a kiss.
‘She just needs to make the dialogue sound more realistic,’ I say. ‘Of course, there’s no doubt you’ll win.’
‘Don’t jinx it. Look, about the submissions,’ he says but is interrupted as the landlord calls his name. A chink of sunlight breaks through the side window and I put on my sunglasses as Casey begins.
The barman takes a break from pulling pints. A man next to me stops scrunching his crisp packet. Silence falls as Casey begins to read. The prologue is a sensuous scene of two characters dancing. It’s not obvious until the last paragraph that one of them isn’t from this planet and that revelation draws gasps.
A woman whistles and claps just before he finishes, as if she knew the end was imminent. I turn left to look and my mouth goes dry.
Beatrix? And Lenny?
It can’t be.
It is.
My heart pounds.
I’m amazed they’ve spurned the glamorous meet and greet at Alpaca Books. This isn’t happening. He must be carrying on our weekend tradition of Camden lunches. Wearing funky shorts and a stylish halter neck top, she heads over to Casey and kisses him on both cheeks. Perfume wafts across the room and smells like the most expensive thing in the pub.
It chokes me as if it’s poisonous gas. I inhale and exhale, trying to take back control of my emotions as she moves her arm up and down his shoulder and pulls his collar gently. He bends down and whispers something in her ear. Casey’s laugh drifts over to me.
My chair scrapes as I stand up and feel dizzy for a second. I navigate the chairs and head for the door. Just as I pass, Lenny steps backwards and into me.
‘Watch where you’re going,’ he mutters without turning around.
I lower my head and escape into the spring air. Please don’t let him recognise me. I head up the side street and then left towards the station. Footsteps sound behind me. Instinctively I quicken my pace. Lenny must have turned to look. This isn’t part of the plan. I need to look my very best when he sees the new Violet Vaughan – not this half-baked version who, at the moment, hasn’t convinced Casey to give Thoth Publishing a chance. I still have a few weeks left to turn things around. However, fingers curl around my elbow. I try to shake it off but the grip becomes tighter.
‘Vi?’
Casey. Thank God. Oh no. He darts in front of me. I can’t meet his eye.
‘What’s the matter? Why did you leave? Is everything all right?’
‘Yes. Sorry. I should have said goodbye. I just don’t feel well. I didn’t want to cause a fuss.’ I force a smile. ‘Well done on the reading, Casey. You were fantastic. Best of luck with Alien Hearts. I’m sure it’s going to be a smash hit.’
‘Vi, about submissions. Look at me for a minute.’
No. Because that means he’ll be looking at me. I couldn’t bear that – not after he’s been looking at the vision that is Beatrix Bingham.
‘Sorry. I think I’m going to be sick.’ I shake his hand briefly – keep it professional – and then run as best as I can in my heels.
I don’t mind school today because Flint is coming around tonight for Halloween. Mum said we could go trick or treating together. She has to come with us – even Flint’s mum insisted on that – but she’s promised to stay at the end of each house’s drive so that we don’t look like babies. He came to tea at the weekend. Mum made us chicken and vegetables. I prefer fish fingers and chips but Flint said it was really yum. His dad has a vegetable garden and they have chickens, mostly for eggs but sometimes for meat. We talked about what outfits we’d wear.
Flint is going as a skeleton. Mum bought me a glittery witch’s hat and a cape from the supermarket. She’s not sleeping so much now, so it’s more difficult for me and Flint to sneak into Applegrove Wood. We have to go at the weekend. I crawl through the gap in the fence when Mum is watching telly. Her eyes aren’t so red. It’s strange but she somehow seems better since last weekend when she got a phone call saying Uncle Kevin had been found. He was on the second floor of his tower. Masonry (I wonder what that is) had fallen on his head. Mum didn’t tell me, but I heard her repeating what the person on the phone said: that Uncle Kevin must have got to work seconds before the plane hit and not been high up and at his desk. So he started to walk back down the tower again. Being found on the second floor meant that he almost got out.
I cried a lot, in secret, when I heard that. Thinking that he nearly lived makes his death much worse.
But not for Mum. I heard her talking to another friend. Listening in is the only way I find things out these days. Mum said she could cope now that she was no longer in a place called limbo. I don’t know where that is – perhaps it’s near work and she goes there when I’m at school. It can’t be very nice because all these weeks it’s made her so miserable.
‘Let’s go, Violet,’ calls Mum.
I pull open my bedroom drawer and take out a sandwich bag. Inside is Muffet. He’s not the spindly sort of spider but has lovely thick, furry legs. I’m so happy that he is still alive. I took one of Mum’s sewing needles and made holes in the plastic so that he could breathe. I found him down the bottom of the garden last night near the woods. Last weekend Flint and I talked through my plan. I almost chickened out but Flint kept on encouraging me to be brave.
Halloween is the perfect day to do it. Alice is such a scaredy-cat. And it serves her right for not asking me to her party. I’m the only girl in the class who didn’t get an invitation.
‘It’s not personal,’ said Alice, who likes to use grown-up phrases. ‘But you’re such a Shrinking Violet I know you’d rather stay at home. You’d only cry at the biscuits Mum has bought with monsters on the front. And me and everyone else will be doing pretty Halloween make-up. It wouldn’t show behind your big purple glasses.’
As I wave goodbye to Mum, my stomach hurts as if I want to eat. But I had a big breakfast. Mum bought half-moon shaped pastries with chocolate in the middle. She hasn’t done that for a long time. The pain must be because I feel a bit nervous. What if Alice finds out it was me? And I don’t want Muffet hurt. I hope he manages to run away. Flint said Alice deserves it. I know he’s right. She’s been so unkind.
I make sure I am one of the last to go in the classroom. When I get to my peg, Alice and her friends are already sitting on the carpet. I wait until everyone else has hung up their coats and then quickly I pull out the sandwich bag. I tug off my bobble hat and jiggle it over my peg. I turn around to check no one is looking. Everyone is listening to Alice showing off about the games her mum has organised for the party tonight. Apple dunking sounds like fun.
Alice’s peg is at the other end of the wall near the toilets. I put the sandwich bag on the ground and hang up my coat. I head for Alice’s bag. It doesn’t take me long to let Muffet escape. I do her bag up again and go into the toilets where I pretend to wee.
Heart thumping, I return to my peg, stuff the empty sandwich bag in my coat pocket and sit on the carpet. That’s the good thing about having a second name beginning with V. It gives you a bit of extra time when Mrs Warham is calling the register.
After what seems like a whole year, we come back from assembly, fetch our bags and sit at our desks. It’s maths first today. I stare very hard at my notebook, not daring to look up in case I catch Alice’s eye. My hands feel damp. Suddenly a loud scream echoes around the classroom.
Alice stands up quickly and falls back onto the floor. She flashes her knickers. They are red with white spots today. Alice likes to do that if it’s her choice, but not when it’s an accident and everyone giggles.
‘A huge spider! It jumped out of my bag. It ran onto my book,’ she says in between sobs.
‘Calm down, Alice, and sit back at your desk,’ snaps Mrs Warham.
Alice shakes her head. It matches her whole body.
‘Do as you’re told this instant,’ says Mrs Warham, who checks Alice’s chair. ‘There are no spiders here. You must have imagined it.’
‘There was.’ Tears run down her face.
I’ve never seen Alice cry before. Lots of her so-called friends grin. It’s a relief to see that her face gets blotchy and swollen too. But I can’t help feeling sorry for her. Her tears make me realise that underneath she’s just like me.
At break she is still crying. But then, Muffet was quite big. And especially hairy. As we all hurry into the October sunshine, I go up to Alice and give her a tissue.
She sneers. ‘You think that is going to make me invite you to my party?’
‘No, I—’ I’m stuttering. I only wanted to make her feel better.
Flint is right. There’s no point in feeling sorry for Alice.
‘I’d rather invite that spider,’ she says and seems to feel better when the others laugh at her joke. She stuffs the tissue down the front of my jumper and, holding hands with Georgie, skips away.
But I’m not bothered. Her tears have shown me that Alice isn’t as brave as she likes to think.