by Jane Fallon
‘I actually miss her,’ she said gruffly. ‘How mad is that?’
‘I do too, Mum. But it’s better, isn’t it …?’
‘It is,’ she said, and I knew from the purse of her top lip that she was trying not to cry. ‘Whoever would have thought.’
Her first book – Game of Gnomes – came out a few weeks ago. I had been obsessively googling both the title and her name for months until I finally gave in and asked Antoinette when it was being published. For weeks before I woke up every night in a cold sweat, imagining her being hailed as the new Quentin Blake, storming the charts, appearing on breakfast TV, the new big thing. As the date grew closer I scoured the internet for reviews. I was trying to concentrate on Wilbur eight (Wilbur seven – Wilbur at the Zoo – having come out at the end of last year and done nicely enough to keep everyone happy), but all my old insecurities started flooding back, threatening self-sabotage, and I took to dragging Igor out on ever longer and more arduous walks to try to distract myself.
So far there have been no reviews. No TV appearances or spreads in magazines – she’s an unknown author in a crowded market; there was no big fanfare at all. A week or so ago, once I finally accepted my darkest fears hadn’t yet been realized, I ordered a copy and, when it arrived, I sneaked it up to my office guiltily and pored over it secretively. It was a thing of beauty: there was no doubt about that. The illustrations were pure Lydia. Dark and intricate. Layer upon layer of detail. Black and white. I turned it over and over in my hands.
On the fourth or fifth time of flicking through I noticed the dedication.
‘For Georgia, my sister’.
Having Anne Marie be at home on maternity leave with Nat has been a joy. We meet up almost every day as she tries to negotiate having a new baby again eleven years after she did it last. Her pregnancy had been a complete shock to both her and Harry. She had panicked that she was too old, too settled in her career, too relieved that those small-baby days were over for good to go through it all again. But in the end she knew it was the right thing. Nat was a happy, contented bundle. A mini-Harry. And a living, breathing symbol of the fact that they were OK.
Jez had left the school at Easter last year as he’d said he was going to, but not before Harry had been to see him. In typical Harry fashion, as soon as he knew that everything between him and Anne Marie was going to be all right again, he’d started to worry about his rival. Was he sabotaging his own career by leaving so soon after he’d arrived? Did he already have another job to go to? He’d started to fret about it so much that he’d found out from Billie where Mr Grey lived and turned up, unannounced, one day after work.
Apparently, Jez had gone into panic mode when he found him on the doorstep, and ummed and aahed his way through an attempted justification of his behaviour. Harry had told him he didn’t care about any of that any more, he just wanted Jez to know he didn’t have to leave on account of him. They were all grown-ups; they could work it out. He’d been relieved to hear that Jez had found a post at a private school in Berkshire and also – he told me and Nick, asking us not to say anything to Anne Marie – that he really was going to be leaving. There was no doubt it would make the healing process easier. Once Jez had realized Harry wasn’t there to hit him he’d apologized profusely, taken all the blame on himself (‘I … um … should have … er … backed away. I did all the … erm … running’) and promised – unasked – that he would never darken their door again.
‘I’m really pleased you’ve … um …’
‘I can’t really see what she saw in him,’ Harry said when he told us.
You and me both, I thought, but I wasn’t about to own up to my own chat with Jez. ‘I don’t think it was about that,’ I said. ‘It was about her feeling invisible. It could have been anyone. I mean … that came out wrong … I think he was just there at the right time, paying her all this attention …’
Harry had wished him luck in his new job. He felt sorry for him, he said. Jez’s flat was in a tired block with no lift and broken windows on the stairways. There was an Asda Macaroni and Cheese for one ready to go on the kitchen counter. The One Show on the TV with the sound down.
‘I don’t think he’s got much of a life,’ Harry said. I was doubly glad Jez was moving away because otherwise I’d have worried Harry was about to take it upon himself to befriend him.
‘Don’t you think that’s a bit … weird?’ Anne Marie said on the phone later when I told her about the dedication. I could hear Nat burbling away in the background.
‘I can’t decide. Maybe she’s just trying to be nice. Make a big gesture.’
‘There are easier, less attention-seeking ways.’ Anne Marie was never going to forgive Lydia; I knew that. Not just for what she did to her but for what she tried to do to me.
I was sitting at my desk, feet up, leaning back in my chair. ‘I’ve realized it’s just another book. A beautiful book, I’ll give you that, but it’s not going to change the world.’
‘Exactly. So all your worst fears came true and – what? Nothing, that’s what.’
‘Well, not exactly all of them …’
‘A big one,’ she said. ‘One that’s been eating you up for years.’
I reached down and petted Igor’s ears. ‘I know. I don’t know what I thought was going to happen.’
‘Maybe now you can have more faith in your own fabulousness,’ she said and I laughed.
‘I’m getting there.’
And I actually think I am. Slowly.
CHAPTER 59
It’s been years since I went out on publication day and scoured the shops for books bearing my name, but this time Nick has taken the day off work and insisted we go on a tour of all the bookstores we can think of in easy public transport access of Primrose Hill. We’re fine, Nick and I. I worried that my accusations might have destroyed our hard-earned trust, that Nick would feel he could never live down his old mistake after all, and so what was the point in trying? And for a while I did have a homeopathic trace of distrust. I would wake up in the night sweating, heart pounding, and think that something was wrong, that I had something to worry about, before remembering that it was all a lie.
We take Igor with us, so he can pose for pictures next to his image. It’s a few days since the schools went back so there’s a hint of autumn in the air, even though it’s nearly eighty degrees outside. Nina started secondary school on Tuesday although, happily for her, her mum won’t be back at work till after Christmas, so she doesn’t have to be labelled ‘the teacher’s kid’. At least, not yet. But the bigger news is that Gino left for Boston a week ago to start what will undoubtedly be his brilliant academic career – after taking a hastily arranged, unscheduled gap year to get some life experience first. (‘I’ve realized I’ve been very sheltered, Georgia,’ he said the night before starting work at a hostel for the homeless) and Anne Marie and Harry have been mired in a swamp of anxiety ever since, despite the fact that he’s called home almost every night with news of the chess club he’s joined and the likeminded friends he’s made. Billie, who, against all the odds, has fallen hard for her new little brother, has moved into Gino’s old room and allowed the baby to move in with her, ‘at least until he starts toddling around, then Nina can have him’. All is well in their world.
We find Mummy, Why Is That Dog So Big? on a display table in the first shop we visit, in among the other new releases. Nick props the top copy up and we snap a few pictures of Igor looking at it, bemused. It turns out he’s the best sales boy ever, because a kid makes a beeline for him and, when I explain that he’s the dog on the cover of the book I’m holding, she insists her mum buy it for her.
‘He can finally earn his keep,’ Nick says as we head off in search of shop number two. Here the book is on the shelf, but not on a table in a prominent position. Nick grabs the three copies and plonks them down on top of a pile of someone else’s opus while the assistant isn’t looking. I can’t help myself: I scour the shelves for Game of Gnomes. I know
from Kate that Phoenix have offered Lydia a deal for a second book, and I know from always indiscreet Antoinette that while she pushed for a contract for two more titles Phoenix didn’t feel they could make that big an investment at this point.
‘Is it bad that I’m relieved?’ I said to Anne Marie. We were sitting in my patio garden with Nat bouncing on her knee.
‘It’s human,’ she said. ‘That’s what it is.’
At shop number three (the novelty is wearing off. I’d like to go and sit somewhere and have lunch and a glass of wine, but I don’t want to rain on Nick’s parade. He’s so proud of me. So thrilled on my behalf), I spot a copy of Game of Gnomes on the shelf. Shepherd and Somers being in close proximity alphabetically. Nick sees me looking. He pulls it out and puts it back spine first.
‘No,’ I say, righting it. ‘I want to play fair.’ Now I’ve been able to show what I can do I’m actually OK with it if she ends up becoming a success. I don’t care. There can be room for us both.
We snap another photo: me holding the book like a trophy, Igor next to me. The girl behind the counter looks over quizzically. ‘She’s Georgia Shepherd,’ Nick says and I cringe waiting for the inevitable ‘Who’s Georgia Shepherd?’ Thankfully she’s too polite.
‘And this is the dog, look.’ Nick holds the book up next to Igor’s face.
‘Oh, well, in that case you should sign them,’ the assistant says to me. ‘And we’ll put them up front with “Signed by the author” stickers on. People love that.’ I do as I’m told and let her snap a few pictures before suggesting that Igor is a better subject. ‘Good idea,’ she says. ‘I can put him on our Facebook page.’
‘OK,’ Nick says as we leave. ‘Covent Garden next.’
‘We don’t have to do this,’ I say hopefully.
‘Only four more on the list,’ he says cheerfully. I suggest maybe we could stop for sustenance and then pick up again after but he’s not having it. ‘Igor could do with some water,’ I say and he produces a bottle and a foldable rubber bowl from somewhere.
‘It was genius bringing him with us,’ he says, leading me towards Seven Dials. I’m getting a bit grumpy; my feet are hurting and I need a drink.
‘Where are we going now?’ I say sulkily.
‘There’s one just up round this corner. I forget the name.’
‘The thing is, no one knows who I am and we can’t keep—’ I stop dead as I spot Joe sitting at a table outside a restaurant up ahead. I thought he was on his way back to Brighton today; we said goodbye this morning before Nick and I left for our epic quest. ‘What …?’ I start to say, and then I see Edie – who returned to Bath a week ago – sitting next to him, and then Anne Marie and Harry, Antoinette, Kate. Finally my gaze lands on my mum and then Frank. Last spotted on FaceTime the day before yesterday sitting by their pool, glistening with oil, roasting themselves slowly.
‘Surprise,’ Nick crows just as Mum spots me.
‘Here she is!’ she shouts at the top of her voice and, inevitably, I burst into tears.
I hear the pop of a champagne cork. I’m swallowed up in a sea of hugs from the people who mean most to me in the world. I can’t even fathom the logistics. Kate hands me a glass and then raises hers. ‘Here’s to Mummy, Why Is That Dog So Big?,’ she says. ‘And to Wilbur, of course. Let’s not forget Wilbur.’
‘You sneaky bastard,’ I say to Nick as we settle ourselves at the table, Igor plonking himself down between Anne Marie and Joe, historically the most likely to feed him snacks. Nick beams at me, proud of himself for pulling it off.
The sun is shining; London is at its best. I look around the table at the happy, smiling faces toasting my good fortune. I wonder, briefly, who Lydia celebrated with. Who was in her corner cheering her on when Game of Gnomes hit the shelves.
Every now and then I look at her Instagram page. I can’t help myself. It’s still the same old, same old, with a few added shots of her posing with the book. There are dates and nights out and she’s still living her best life and blessed and it still looks like perfection.
But it turned out it was never true and I’m pretty sure it isn’t now.
Later on we all go back to ours – minus Kate and Antoinette – a little bit merry and a lot overemotional. Nick opens more champagne, and it’s like Christmas except there’s no arguing and no one’s trying to make me play charades. There’s nobody else I would want to be here; my whole world is in my kitchen.
Eventually they all start to drift off: Anne Marie and Harry to relieve the babysitter; the twins to get their trains; Mum and Frank to the hotel they’ve booked near Heathrow ready for their early flight home. I collapse on the sofa, Igor beside me. Nick flops at the other end.
‘We could do those other bookshops tomorrow, if you like,’ he says, and I don’t have the strength to do anything other than throw a cushion at him.
‘Best day ever,’ I manage to say. I mean it.
He raises his eyebrows. ‘Better than the day we got married?’
‘Oh God, yes. Much. Today was just about me.’ I wriggle round so my head is in his lap. Close my eyes. He strokes my hair.
‘Do you think you can make it to bed?’
‘Nope,’ I say. I don’t think I’ve ever been so comfortable.
My phone beeps with a message. I dig around in the sofa cushions till I find it. It’s from a number I don’t know. A mobile.
Congratulations on the new book, it says. It’s gorgeous. There’s no name, just an initial. L xxx.
I hold it up to show Nick. He rolls his eyes.
Thanks, I reply. And then I block the number.
Acknowledgements
Thank you to the stellar team at Michael Joseph who make me feel both completely supported and trusted to get on with it alone at all times. Most especially to the wonderful powerhouse that is Louise Moore and my brilliant editor, Maxine Hitchcock (who couldn’t be less like Bibi if she tried). And to everyone at my agents, Curtis Brown, particularly, of course, Jonny Geller. I’m indebted to Charlotte Edwards for her eagle eyes and to my gorgeous friend Anna Higginson who always listens to me panic that nothing in my first draft is working and never says ‘You say this every time’.
THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING
Find us online and join the conversation
Follow us on Twitter twitter.com/penguinukbooks
Like us on Facebook facebook.com/penguinbooks
Share the love on Instagram instagram.com/penguinukbooks
Watch our authors on YouTube youtube.com/penguinbooks
Pin Penguin books to your Pinterest pinterest.com/penguinukbooks
Listen to audiobook clips at soundcloud.com/penguin-books
Find out more about the author and discover
your next read at penguin.co.uk
PENGUIN BOOKS
UK | USA | Canada | Ireland | Australia
New Zealand | India | South Africa
Penguin Books is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.
First published by Michael Joseph in 2021
Published in Penguin Books 2021
Copyright © Jane Fallon, 2021
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Image © Getty Images
ISBN: 978-1-405-94337-6
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Net