by John Purcell
‘They’re saying horrible things about Helen on social media,’ said Daniel.
‘I was there in the audience. Everyone was stunned. And she just left the building after the speech. I moved in here the next day expecting her to be, I don’t know, rattled or remorseful, I suppose, but she was fine. She hadn’t seen any of the horrible things people said on social media. I suppose that’s one benefit of being older. Neither of them has any online presence. When a journalist did get through on the phone, Helen wouldn’t speak to her. You know Malcolm had already said publicly he wouldn’t do any more interviews – just when the world finds him more interesting than ever!’
‘It serves them both right. They’re out of touch. I bet they both voted for Brexit.’
‘I doubt that. Helen was wrong to say what she said, but she wasn’t saying anything new. A lot of women her age feel as she does.’
‘It wasn’t what was said, it was who said it. The organisers invited her expecting her to condone the whole thing. People don’t like to be schooled. Especially those who think they’re doing the right thing.’
‘They both deserve better.’
‘Do they? You know, the last time I was in this room I said things to them I regret. But I would never admit as much to them. Or take the words back.’
‘What happened between you guys? They evidently love you, this place is like a shrine. There’s a photo of you in nearly every room. That’s why I recognised you at the door.’
‘Nothing happened. And that’s probably the problem. They were absent. Even when they were present. You must know what writers are like.’
‘No two are the same.’
‘Helen and Malcolm are. They’re almost identical twins.’
‘Not the Helen and Malcolm I know.’
‘They work to the same schedules, they never leave each other’s side, they think the same, hold the same opinions, read the same books and newspapers.’
‘Not anymore. Neither is writing consistently. They argue. Malcolm watches more TV than he reads. Helen goes out for hours without him. When she’s out he might go up to his office. But at other times he might sit at that window or in the park and watch the world go by. Other than meals they live fairly separate lives.’
‘Are you living here?’
‘Downstairs. For now.’
He glanced around the room. ‘Did you ever visit them in Brixton?’
Amy shook her head.
‘I can’t believe this place.’
‘Neither can Malcolm. I don’t get the feeling he’s happy here.’
‘Because she sold out.’
‘Yes, that’s what Malcolm thinks, too.’
‘You don’t think so?’
‘I think writers like Helen and Malcolm should be better rewarded for their work.’
‘Work like this?’ he said, holding up Malcolm’s book.
‘You’ve read it?’
‘It’s a bitter book.’
‘No, it isn’t! I really hope it wins.’
‘The Booker? No chance. There’s always a commercial aspect to these awards. There’s no money in old writers. I doubt he’ll even be shortlisted. Anyway, it’s an ugly little book.’
‘I think it’s dark, wise and funny,’ she said, sitting up.
‘They’re always teasing horrible things out of the poor people in their books. Not that they know what life is really like. They’ve never lived it.’
‘It’s like we’re talking about different people and different books.’
‘Didn’t you say they were going to Waitrose? Shouldn’t they be back by now?’
‘That’s what they said they were doing.’
‘I can’t wait around.’ He picked up the empty beer bottle and rose.
‘You can’t go without seeing them,’ she said, standing. In the back of her mind she was trying to remember if Helen and Malcolm had said they were doing anything else while they were out. She wondered what the time was.
‘I’ll come round again tomorrow. I’m in London for a few days.’
He left the room and made his way down the hall to the kitchen. She followed him and watched him put his jacket back on.
‘Where are you staying?’
‘At the Hunter Hotel in Earl’s Court. I’m here for a conference.’
‘Shall I get them to call you? I’m sure they’d love to see you.’
He held up his phone. ‘They have my number.’
*
After Daniel had gone, Amy ran over in her mind the last moments of his stay. It had happened so fast. Without saying anything, Daniel had taken a sudden, rapid step towards her. She was between him and the hall door, so he might have expected her to move aside. But his hand was extended, as if to take hold of her hip, wrist or waist. He might have intended giving her a goodbye peck on the cheek. But at the time, she had flinched. It was entirely instinctive. She flinched and she lifted her hands as if to fend off a blow.
Daniel’s face went white, then reddened. He took a step back and then walked quickly around her and, moving very swiftly, left the house without another word.
As the minutes passed, Amy’s original instinctive conviction returned. She poured herself another drink. He was going to kiss her. He was going to grab her. He had misread the signals, or had ignored them. Perhaps he was just an opportunist. He was alone with her, after all. She ran through their short time together. The only marginally provocative thing she had done was lie across the couch. But she was relaxed because she was with the married son of her hosts. The balding, soft-around-the-middle son of her hosts. She had considered him family. Safe. Entirely sexless. He reminded her of someone from a film.
Amy took another sip of white wine and fell onto the kitchen stool. She was uneasy and unsettled. He had left in anger. She felt it now. He was angry at her for rejecting him. But they had just met. How could he think . . . ? Where do men get their sense of entitlement from?
Amy opened the fridge, took the bottle of wine and went downstairs. She wanted to be out of the way when Helen and Malcolm returned.
Chapter 17
Don’t Fuck the Boss
I had only just arrived at the book launch at the new Waterstones on Tottenham Court Road, having headed straight downstairs to the basement, when Julia came up to me. I wouldn’t have gone if I’d known she’d be there. I’d been drinking since Daniel had left and hadn’t even spoken to Helen and Malcolm before leaving the house. I’d decided to have some fun. To put that prick Daniel behind me.
‘Hello, Amy, you’re a hard woman to find. What news?’ asked Julia.
‘You don’t usually come to these things, Julia,’ I replied. ‘Val McDermid isn’t even one of our authors.’ Trying to shake her, I pushed through the crowd towards the bar. But before I reached it a waiter passed by with a tray of champagne. I took two.
I saw Liam on the other side of the room talking with Val and the Australian crime writer Michael Robotham. Once again, Liam was the only black man at one of these events. His success had changed nothing in publishing. He smiled and waved me over. I couldn’t see Gail anywhere. Val and Michael turned to see who Liam was beckoning. I downed the first glass of champagne.
Michael was staying with Liam and Gail while he was in England. Liam loved playing host to international authors.
I started to make my way over. But Julia wasn’t going to be ignored. She took hold of my elbow. The noise in the basement was deafening.
‘Amy, I need to speak to you,’ she said, into my ear. ‘I only came tonight in the hope you’d be here.’
The second glass followed the first.
‘I love your dress, Julia. Seriously, you look amazing.’
Julia seemed perplexed.
I leant forward and said into her ear, ‘I mean it. You look gorgeous. Are you here with someone or on the prowl?’
I didn’t wait for a reply. I had to get rid of the glasses so I made my way to the bar and left them there. The barman gave me another full glass.
Julia was still with me. I knew I wouldn’t shake her until she’d had her say.
Julia opened her mouth, but I said, ‘The barman just checked you out.’ I put a glass of champagne in her hand. ‘When was the last time you let a stranger fuck you?’
Julia glanced across at the barman. He was attractive, but young. Probably not even twenty.
‘Stop messing around.’ She put the glass on the bar. ‘You haven’t answered my calls or my emails. No one has seen you.’
‘You asked me to fix the Helen Owen problem. That’s what I’m doing.’
‘Helen has been getting a lot of press since the awards, not all of it bad. We need to capitalise. Can Helen deliver?’
‘He just did it again. I’ve never seen you look this good, Julia. Those shoes, where did you get them?’
That’s when I saw tattoo boy. I mean Josh. I don’t know if he had already seen me. I turned away quickly. I had known there would come a time when I’d run into him again. I just didn’t think it would be this soon. My whole body reacted to the sight of him.
‘Helen can do anything she sets her mind to,’ I said into Julia’s ear. ‘I can’t guarantee success but I think there may be a way to get what you want. Maxine was right, there’s great potential in the novel.’
‘You’re running out of time.’
‘I know. I’ll call you next week.’
Josh was pushing his way towards us.
I leant forward and, almost kissing Julia’s ear, said, ‘I know how these things work. If you want a fling, the barman’s yours. He can’t take his eyes off you. Believe me.’
Julia looked again. I couldn’t tell if there was blood in her veins or not. I didn’t know much about her. I took no interest in her personally. I’d have guessed she was forty. She had great skin so it was hard to tell. She could have been married for all I knew. But she did look good; I wasn’t having her on. There wasn’t much to her, but what she had was perfectly suited to the little black dress and strappy stilettos.
‘You’ll call me next week about Helen?’ she asked, then glanced again at the barman, who smiled at her.
‘See, I told you so. Live a little,’ I said. ‘And yes, I promise to call you.’
Someone began tapping the side of their glass with a fork. I looked across and saw Liam standing in front of a large banner for Val’s new book, Out of Bounds. The speeches were about to begin. I pushed my way through the crowd, taking Josh’s hand as I passed him, and dragged him with me. He knew what I was about and led me through the back of the basement into an office. There was no time for niceties. He lifted my dress, ripped down my G-string, bent me over the desk and fucked me. We hadn’t even spoken. It was hot, and over as soon as it had begun.
‘I’m keeping this,’ he said, and pocketed my G-string. He led the way out. The speeches were still going on. Liam was speaking. I let go of Josh’s hand. He went one way, I went the other. I joined the crowd and clapped when they did. My legs were giving way. I leant against a bookcase.
Liam’s speech was winding up. He was introducing Val. His speeches are never long. We must only have been gone for a few minutes, tops. A real quickie.
I needed another drink. I looked around for more champagne and found Liam’s eyes. Had he seen? It didn’t matter. I wasn’t his wife. I was his lover. Very different. He could fuck off if he thought I should be loyal to him.
If Gail hadn’t come up for the launch, Liam would probably have expected me to join him, Val and Michael for dinner after the event. And after dinner, Liam would have expected to take me back to his office. The idea of being with two different men in such a short space of time was interesting. Especially if Liam knew and still fucked me.
Scanning the room I suddenly saw Helen over by the stairs. For some reason my heart skipped a beat. It was like being caught masturbating by the housemistress. When I looked closer I realised it wasn’t her. The two women looked nothing alike.
Josh drew near with a tray of champagne. He looked very pleased with himself. Grossly so. And I was struck by that feeling of collision again. I lifted a glass from his tray and took a sip. Josh tried to brush his hand against my bottom, but I evaded him. I watched him go. Nothing could spoil his mood.
Another waiter was carrying little quiches. But he was too far away. I was ravenous. I hadn’t eaten anything all afternoon.
The champagne was going to my head. The champagne and the fuck.
The crowd erupted into laughter. I had missed what Val said, but I had heard her speak before. She’s a good speaker. Always gets a laugh, too. Then it was over. Val made her way to the signing table and guests started to line up. I searched the room for Josh but couldn’t find him. Julia was talking to the barman, I saw. Then I found Josh; he was speaking with Liam. This made my heart skip a beat. What the fuck could they be talking about? Liam laughed and patted Josh on the back, then they posed for a selfie. Afterwards Josh moved on.
I couldn’t get to Liam easily, but he saw me coming and headed over.
‘Who were you talking to?’
‘He’s another fan slash wannabe writer.’
So he didn’t see me with Josh . . . Josh wanted to be a writer?
‘Are you coming to dinner?’ he asked.
‘Are you asking?’
‘Would you like to come to dinner, Amy?’
‘Thank you for asking, but no, not this time.’ I said this before I knew why I was saying it. Moments before I had wanted to go. In my line of sight the woman who wasn’t Helen was getting her book signed by Val.
‘We’re not going down to the country tonight. Michael’s flying to Berlin early tomorrow, so is staying at the Langham. I’ll be staying in town. Will you be over later? Gail wasn’t feeling well and stayed at home.’
I didn’t like this. There was no need to mention Gail.
‘No, I’m going to get an early night,’ I said. ‘The Helen Owen thing I told you about is getting messy. Julia is being a real bitch about it, too. They want the manuscript by next week.’
Liam wasn’t happy being denied: it was written all over his face. He expected me to be in his bed later. But he didn’t risk a second denial. Instead he asked, ‘What about our work?’
‘Already done. Sitting in your inbox.’
He gave me one of those smiles I had told him I find irresistible. I resisted it. Then, feeling the spirit of mischief enter me, I said, ‘By the way, check out Julia. She’s by the bar. I think she’s going to fuck the barman.’
‘Is that Julia? Our Julia? She looks different.’
‘She looks hot.’
‘She does.’
‘Perhaps I’ll see if she’ll come to dinner.’
‘Don’t fuck the boss, Liam.’
‘Don’t fuck the waiter, Amy.’
Chapter 18
A Little Charity
Amy hadn’t realised just how old Malcolm was until she agreed to walk with him to Waitrose. She was a fast walker who liked to get where she was going. She quickly realised the average speed of Malcolm’s stride was glacial.
This was disconcerting as she had left her phone in the flat and Malcolm hadn’t spoken since they left the house. She was already regretting her decision.
‘Shall we get a cab?’ she asked.
‘What? Why? It’s just around the corner.’
‘How long does it normally take you to walk?’
‘I don’t know, I’ve never timed myself. Am I going too slowly for you? Should I pick up my speed?’
‘Is that possible?’
‘Probably not.’
‘You’re not that slow. I’m just a fast walker.’
‘Did Helen tell you Daniel called? He might be around tonight for dinner.’
‘I’m out tonight,’ lied Amy. She’d hide out in the flat to avoid meeting Daniel again.
When they reached the high street Amy could see how far along Waitrose was and sighed. As they made their way, Amy had time to look at everyone and everything. She even had time t
o pop into Costa for a takeaway coffee and catch Malcolm before he reached Waitrose. In Waitrose, Malcolm was all business. There was no time for browsing; he went straight to the products he needed and then back out of the door.
Amy had thought the walk to Waitrose was long. Malcolm’s pace halved when he was carrying shopping bags. And he wouldn’t let Amy take them all, something she was eager to do.
And then Malcolm surprised her by turning into the Oxfam bookshop.
‘You find gems in here,’ he said, leading her to the back of the shop. ‘But you have to be vigilant. They go quickly.’
Amy had never spent much time in Oxfam bookshops, or any second-hand bookshops. She’d never needed to. Her favourite bookshop was Daunt Books in Marylebone. They could get anything she needed. She wasn’t a fan of online shopping. She loved to be served.
The books on the shelf in the Oxfam bookshop looked dirty and old to her. Malcolm only saw treasures. He handed her a copy of Cecilia by Fanny Burney. It was a very thick Oxford Classics paperback. She placed it back on the shelf. It felt grimy.
‘A lot of book for a pound,’ he said, watching her set it down. ‘I haven’t read it. Jane Austen read it. Admired it, I think. So it can’t be all bad.’
Amy placed her shopping bags on the ground. Malcolm did so, too.
She watched him scan the shelves one after the other.
‘Malcolm?’ The young man who had been behind the counter approached.
‘Yes? Who was that?’
Amy moved out of the way.
‘We have a box of books I think you’d be interested in over by the counter. It just came in. I’m pricing them now.’
‘Okay. Okay. Thank you, Asher. I’ll be right over.’
He lifted his shopping bags and made his way through the shop to the counter. There was no one else in the shop. Amy looked around her. Saw titles she recognised. Some she had worked on. And then spotted a shelf full of Jack Cade novels. She went over to it. They were hardcovers and looked a little the worse for wear. She straightened them up. But the sight of them affected her. She didn’t like to see them here. They were her babies, after all. And these ones had fallen on hard times.