by Helly Acton
Praise for Helly Acton’s debut novel
‘I absolutely LOVED The Shelf. One of those delicious books you just can’t put down. So many gorgeous witty one-liners. Utter PERFECTION!’
MARIAN KEYES
‘Brilliant and original. Helly’s writing is compelling and hilarious. The Shelf is a must-read and I cannot recommend it highly enough’
LUCY VINE
‘Fun, thought-provoking and unapologetically feminist . . . the perfect antidote to lockdown life’
DAISY EDGAR-JONES
‘I really loved it! Subversive, feminist and a real breath of fresh air. I inhaled this!’
LAURA JANE WILLIAMS
‘I absolutely loved it – such a clever concept, so well executed and with a perfect ending! Such a clever, brilliant book!’
KATIE FFORDE
‘You know when you put your whole life on hold, because you’re so absorbed in a book? That. So original and sparkly, the freshest, funniest book, I adored it!! It made me feel strong and empowered and wonderful’
CLAUDIA CARROLL
‘A fabulous romp of a novel’
CLARE POOLEY
‘Fascinating, funny, gut wrenching and not just a rollicking read but belongs on the school curriculum’
ANNA MCPARTLIN
‘An astute and entertaining analysis of the ways in which women live under society’s microscope and a moving depiction of the sisterhood. It made me laugh and made my blood boil – definitely the signs of a successful book!’
SARA-ELLA OZBEK
‘A gripping, original concept that is both hilarious and truthful’
HELEN LEDERER
‘Couldn’t put it down! Fell in love with the characters and how they each challenge the idea of what a “perfect” woman should be!’
MICHELLE ELMAN AKA @Scarrednotscared
‘As addictive as they come . . . a witty, life-affirming page-turner. A breath of fresh air’
WOMAN & HOME
‘The Shelf is honestly such a delight. The concept in itself is genius, but the execution is even better – both laugh-out-loud funny and full of heart. I loved it!’
KATIE LOWE
‘Brilliant and really fun read. Very entertaining!’
JO WHILEY, RADIO 2
‘Fun, fresh and thought-provoking’
LINDSEY KELK
For Chris
Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Letter from Author
Reading Group Questions
Copyright
One
‘OK, if I were wine, what would my label say?’ Millie asks, reading the back of their bottle of red at their local, Buddies.
June taps her chin with her signature black fingernail. ‘Soft at the start, but she’ll leave you with a bitter aftertaste and a thumping headache.’ She grins, proud of her creativity. ‘OK, do me.’
‘This old plonk is bold, complex and pairs well with a pungent cheese,’ Millie quickly replies.
‘Hmmm . . . pungent cheese.’ June smiles, turning to the menu.
‘Why are we drinking red anyway? It’s July! We should be drinking white,’ Msillie protests.
‘Because the only white I like has bubbles in it. And the only bubbles they have here is Cava.’
Millie can’t imagine life without her pocket rocket pal, June Moon. Aged six, June moved in with Millie and her mum, the founder and CEO of Big, a large advertising agency. Now, both aged twenty-nine, they live five minutes away from each other, Millie a senior creative, June a solicitor. And, aged sixty-five, the two of them will retire together to a house by the sea. They’ve shared every milestone moment: their first day of school; their first period and the following freak-out; their last day of school; the time Millie cut her red curls into a bowl cut and wept when the other kids called her Willy; when June waxed her thick black eyebrows and wept when the other kids called her Loonie. Away from school, Millie protected June from the poison of her parents.
And June protects Millie from the pressure of her mother’s expectations.
‘OK, what do you want?’ sighs Al holding a notepad, a pen in her mouth, appearing at their table looking like death warmed up. Before they can answer, she scooches onto the diner chair next to June and slowly lowers her forehead onto the tabletop, using the notepad as a pillow.
‘Just . . . write it down yourselves,’ she moans, rolling the pen towards Millie without lifting her head.
‘Al, do you think you should be working tonight?’ asks June. ‘You’re a bit off-putting, to be honest. Like a living advert for sobriety.’
‘Not living, I’m dead,’ Al groans and blows her overgrown brown fringe away from her cheeks.
‘Yeah, if anyone’s dead, it’s me,’ June replies, unsympathetically. ‘This is the first night I’ve left the office before midnight this month.’
‘Oh please, you love being important,’ Al replies.
June smiles, knowing Al’s quite right.
‘Should we wait?’ Millie says, turning back to June.
‘Yes! Why do they have to keep changing the menu? I’m barely past the starters,’ June replies, running her smoky eyes down the menu before looking up. ‘You read the menu before we got here, didn’t you?’
‘No!’ Millie says, defensively. ‘OK, yes.’
‘Millie!’ June cries. ‘Reading the menu is part of the fun! Why do you always ruin it?’
‘Do you know what ruins the fun?’ Millie cries back. ‘Panic-ordering and then regretting it.’
‘But we aren’t in a rush!’ June shakes her head.
‘Can you two stop talking so loudly?’ Al whines, lifting her head up and slumping against the back of the chair.
‘Al, can you give us a few minutes? We’re still waiting for Ruth,’ Millie asks.
‘I’ll send Jade over. I need to go home.’ Al stands up. ‘Thirsty Thursday is, hands down, the worst idea I’ve ever had.’
‘You said that about Whisky Wednesday,’ Millie points out.
‘And Tequila Tuesday,’ June helpfully adds.
‘I hate my job,’ Al moans.
‘Go home!’ June calls out, as Al drags herself back to the bar with sloth-level energy.
‘Wait!’ Al spins round and shouts, hushing the crowd. ‘Do not order the frittata,’ she says, bringing her hand up to her mouth and gagging behind her palm. Jared the bar manager glares.
Millie turns back to the menu that she doesn’t need. She’s always been a planner. She’s quite proud of it. Quietly, of course. She would hate to sound boastful. Others admire it too, but out loud and to her face, which triggers instant awkwardness. Criticism helps her improve, but compliments make her queasy. Millie blames her mum. Vivian’s fed her too much praise over the years, and now
the smell of it makes her feel sick. She isn’t ungrateful, she knows her mum is proud and wants the best for her. And June.
‘Sorry!’ Ruth says breathlessly, plonking herself down and dropping a hundred shopping bags by her feet, before tightening her blonde ponytail and exhaling loudly. ‘It’s Sam’s birthday on Saturday, and I couldn’t decide what to get.’
‘So, you got her . . . everything?’ Millie replies.
‘Well, there’s a lot of pressure! It’s the first birthday we’re celebrating as a . . . couple.’ Ruth looks around as she whispers the word; even after all these months she seems a bit shy saying it out loud. ‘Do I get her something sentimental that she doesn’t need, or something practical that she’ll actually use?’
‘So, what did you go for?’
‘Books from the gallery where we met, and a load of stuff for our ski trip at the end of the year. Our first holiday together.’
‘Ruth, please tell me you didn’t read the menu beforehand, too?’ June asks.
June always changes the subject when the conversation gets ‘couply’, and it makes Millie squirm. She’s not used to this kind of chat either, but she tries to support Ruth’s bold decision. When Millie points out that June avoids talking about it, she always gives the same explanation: ‘What am I meant to say? When Ruth talks about Sam, all that’s running through my head is “what the hell are you doing letting a relationship hold you back? You’re smart, successful, beautiful. Why is someone like you in a couple? You’re more than enough on your own. Probably five stars on Slide. Don’t you get bored, being with one person?” But if I ever blurted that out, it would just make her feel bad.’
Being in a couple is different. And it does make people feel uncomfortable. They don’t say it out loud, but you know they’re quietly wondering what went wrong. When Ruth told Millie she was in a couple, Millie had to use every facial muscle to avoid looking shocked, or worse, pitying. But she’s used to it now. Almost. Ruth talks about Sam all the time. Millie would hate to be in a couple, but Ruth seems happy. So who is she to judge?
‘I didn’t read the menu,’ Ruth replies, pouring herself a glass of wine. ‘But, and I’m taking a wild guess here, I’m going to have the mushroom burger with a side of coleslaw, polenta chips and a pistachio brownie to finish off.’
June moans dramatically.
‘Sorry!’ Ruth says. ‘Sam says I’m a complete fun sponge at a restaurant.’
June shuts her eyes and starts to run her fingertip up and down the menu. ‘OK, tell me when to stop!’ she cries.
‘STOP,’ Millie and Ruth say in unison.
‘One . . . small side salad for me,’ June says, reading the result, and wrapping her sleek black bob behind her ear. ‘Yeah. Don’t tell me I don’t know how to live!’
June has more reason than most to find couples uncomfortable. She was born in a couple-parent household. An unusual start to life, to say the least. Having two parents is rare, let alone as a couple; parents don’t do relationships. Like everyone else, they know they don’t last. June’s parents were no exception; it turned sour. Very sour. June was the tiny casualty, constantly torn between the two. They weren’t at war over their love for her, they were at war over their loathing for each other. Then her mum moved to China with work, and June was left with a father who’d pace around for hours ranting about his sorry situation. To escape, June started to spend all her time at Millie’s house. ‘Having two daughters wasn’t in my life plan!’ Vivian once joked, while nailing a ‘June’s Room’ sign to the spare bedroom door. She’d promised June’s mum, an old family friend, that she’d take care of her daughter. And she did, guiding her all the way through university and her training to become a solicitor.
‘You see!’ Millie says gleefully. ‘What did I tell you? Bars aren’t the place to take risks.’
‘Well, according to you,’ June replies slowly, ‘neither are . . . shops, the park, the train, the office, the library, the cinema, the chemist, the lift, the bath, your home, a room full of cotton wool . . . Need I go on?’
‘Millie Jones, the biggest risk you’ve ever taken is nicking a glug of someone’s milk from the work fridge,’ Ruth says.
‘I replaced it the next day!’ Millie cries.
‘I once saw Millie crossing the road outside of the pedestrian crossing,’ June brags, with mock awe.
‘I would never do that.’ Millie smiles.
‘But that’s why I love working with you,’ Ruth continues. ‘You’re reliable, and honest to the core.’
Ruth is the chief creative officer at Slide, the world’s fastest-growing strings-free sex app. She’s also Millie’s boss. But in reality, she’s far more. She is Millie’s work wife and career mentor. Ruth was one of Slide’s founding hires, taken on as a creative intern when the app was a start-up. Ten years on, and a few months ago Slide was bought by Human, an American corporation employing 200,000 people globally and constantly hitting the headlines for lawsuits, innovative new products, tax evasion, insane working hours and generally being an evil giant. But they did give big bonuses and free breakfast on Fridays. And, with Ruth at the helm of their little creative team, even the move to Slide’s state-of-the-art Battersea HQ didn’t stop it from feeling like family.
When Al returns to take their orders, her demeanour has shifted. She stares at Millie with a twinkle in her eye and a big grin.
‘DON’T,’ Millie says sternly.
Al takes a deep breath. ‘Happy bir—’ she sings, slowly and loudly.
‘Shhh!’ Millie hisses, sinking into her seat. ‘OK, yes, it’s my birthday. This is fact. Now, next subject please. I am happy to discuss anything else.’
‘OK. Would you rather shave Uncle Derek’s back or . . .’ June suggests.
‘. . . Adrian’s teeny-tiny penis perm?’ Ruth ends.
‘But why?’ Millie replies despondently.
The three of them stare at her in silence, waiting for an answer.
‘Fine! Uncle Derek’s back. Can we move on now, please?’ Millie begs.
‘OK, we’re not moving on until we’ve given you this,’ Ruth says, reaching into one of her bags and retrieving a large green box. When Millie sees what’s on the outside, she grabs it and throws it under the table.
‘Ruth!’ she cries, as Al cracks up.
‘What?’ Ruth laughs. ‘Don’t think we haven’t noticed that you haven’t been getting much lately, Mils.’
‘We thought you might be feeling a little . . . frustrated. And if anyone ever needed to let off some steam, it’s you,’ June adds with a smirk, lifting The Pear up to examine the back of the box. The Pear is a lifelike vibrator that went viral after appearing in fruit bowl pranks around the country this summer.
‘Just because you two want to slide every night, doesn’t mean I do! God, you lot really are Scum Chums,’ Millie says, referencing their group chat name and snatching the box back.
‘I will never understand how such a prude is so brilliant at coming up with creative campaigns about sliding,’ Ruth says.
Last week, Ruth told Millie that her pitch for the Slide Christmas campaign was the ‘best idea she’s ever seen’ in front of the whole team. She knew full well it made Millie squirm. How was Millie supposed to respond? Agree, and she’s cocky. Smile, and she’s the smug teacher’s pet. Slowly roll her chair away from the table out through the meeting room door and round the corner, and she’s an HR alert. Millie chose a fake throat-clear and an unusually long sip of water until the conversation moved on and her cheeks cooled down.
‘Have you teed up the other waiters for the cake and candles?’ Ruth asks Al.
‘If I catch so much as a whiff of a candle, I’m legging it to the loo and climbing out of the window,’ Millie says.
‘But it’s your birthday, Mils!’ June cries. ‘You’re twenty-nine! You might not want to celebrate your existence, but we do. And you’ve only got twelve months to go until the big three-oh. Why can’t we do it properly for once?’
‘Because you know I hate the attention! It’s bad enough that next year’s my thirtieth. Let me enjoy this one by celebrating it my way,’ Millie replies.
‘With no celebration at all?’ Al asks.
‘Yup.’
Praise and attention aren’t the only things that make Millie’s insides crawl. Her mind is a melting pot of panics. Imposter syndrome when she does well at work. Guilt about neglecting her mum. That choking fear of change. Losing control over a life she’s so carefully curated. And these are just the main courses. For starters, there’s an unlimited buffet of freak-outs. Running late. Running early. Running at all. The doorbell. Someone at work asking for ‘a quick chat’. But watching her, you wouldn’t guess. Millie keeps the lid on tight as she scuttles about her strictly organised routine.
‘OK, fine. We won’t mention the B-word again tonight, promise,’ June says, lowering her glass.
‘Thank you,’ Millie replies.
‘Happy p-irthday,’ Al shout-whispers, retreating from the table.
Millie glowers at her.
‘Talking about B-words, our new creative strategist starts on Monday,’ Ruth says.
The two of them look at her, confused.
‘Ben Evans. He’s coming over from the Cardiff office,’ she explains, then, when she sees that intel hasn’t made things any clearer, ‘His name starts with a B . . . Ben?’
‘Is he fit?’ June asks.
‘I couldn’t possibly say without looking unprofessional.’
‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ June replies.
‘He looks a bit like a pixie,’ Ruth says. ‘Big eyes, black hair. Pointy teeth.’
‘Isn’t that a vampire?’ June asks.
‘He’s too cute to be a vampire. He’s got freckles and dimples. Why have I never seen a vampire with freckles?’
‘Because they disappear in a cloud of smoke in sunlight.’
‘Ah, yes. Of course.’
‘Wait, what are we talking about now?’ Millie asks.
‘Ben Evans,’ Ruth says. ‘You’re going to hate him.’
‘Hey, I don’t hate anyone!’ Millie replies.
‘You hate Sasha,’ June replies.
‘OK, I strongly dislike one person. But why won’t I like him?’ Millie asks.
‘Because he is your exact opposite. Utter chaos. He came in a day too early for our interview. And, when he went to shake my hand, he knocked his coffee all over the table. There’s also a strong chance he’ll offend someone in his first five minutes, because he doesn’t seem to have a filter. But he’s super smart, and knows the market inside out. I don’t know – he’s Marmite. You’ll see what I mean on Monday.’