Persuading Austen

by Brigid Coady

  And there it was in a nutshell, Annie thought. No one would ever believe that it was Austen who had said ‘I love you’ first.

  ‘Yeah,’ Annie sighed, her whole body slumping in the chair like a deflated balloon. ‘Just a little leftover psyche scarring,’ she lied so she could forego the disbelieving look.

  ‘Well get over it. You are going to the party,’ Cassie said. ‘This is the chance for you to be Anne Elliot, producer. Isn’t this what you wanted? A place in the business for you. Where you get introduced as yourself and not William Elliot’s daughter or Imogen or Marie’s sister? And wear something nice – not the usual “blend into the background” stuff you wear around the family. I’ve seen you dressed up for nights out. You scrub up well, when you want.

  ‘You need to do this for yourself as much as for the agency. You know that don’t you?’

  Cassie looked at her with concern, her curls rioting over her head like a halo.

  Of course she knew that. In theory Annie knew exactly what she had to do. And if Cassie could guarantee neither her family nor Austen would be there then she could be the biggest social schmoozer in the history of schmoozing.

  ‘And you replace that embarrassing memory of Austen with a completely professional one.’ Cassie winked as she waved Julie and Anna over from where they were hovering by the door waiting.

  Professional? Ha, Annie thought.

  ‘Hey,’ Annie said and handed out hugs and kisses.

  ‘You’ll never guess what we’re working on,’ Cassie said to their newly arrived friends. ‘Pride and Prejudice.’

  ‘Austen Wentworth? You lucky bitches,’ Julie screamed.

  Lucky? Ha, Annie thought again.

  How had she let her personal life start to bleed into her professional one this badly?

  ***

  ‘No. No. Definitely not. What was I thinking?’ Annie whispered to herself as she went through her wardrobe, clicking the hangers back one by one. Everything formal and work-related was black or a dark grey because it was practical. And it helped her hide in plain sight.

  Annie wasn’t sure what Cassie meant when she said she scrubbed up well. She couldn’t remember the last time she had dressed up. Most of her outings were to the pub or gigs. Jeans and band T-shirts worked fine there.

  She pulled out a black dress that had been squished near one side of the wardrobe, only one shoulder still on the hanger. She looked at it, frowning. It was scooped low at the back and looked as if it would cling to her curves. She didn’t remember this dress. When had she worn it? Annie never wore anything that showed off her shoulder blades now. The ink was hers alone, even if it was for someone else.

  A memory of wearing a pair of high heels and clutching a solid, muscled arm clad in scratchy wool flowed over her.

  Oh. Then. When things had been different. Before the tattoo.

  She’d bought it because for once she’d wanted to be seen, because her date had called her ‘Annie-matronix’ when he’d seen her come down in it. He’d spun her under his arm and had hugged her from behind as they stood in front of the mirror, his chin resting on her shoulder.

  The mark on her shoulder burned, yearning to be complete.

  Annie hugged the dress to her chest.

  It was also for a person who was at least two sizes smaller than she was now and didn’t have a piece of body art she’d regretted as soon as she’d got it.

  Why did she still have the dress in the wardrobe? She was never going to wear it again. But she couldn’t quite stop hugging it. She brought it to her face and sniffed. She didn’t know what she was trying to smell. She didn’t remember what Austen smelled like. Maybe she was trying to capture the past.

  No. There was no going back. Annie hesitated to put it back in the wardrobe.

  She looked at the overstuffed cupboard. She couldn’t take it all with her when they rented out the house.

  She turned and threw the dress onto a chair in the corner.

  There. She’d started her charity shop pile.

  Now if only she could throw her memories out as easily.

  Annie carried on flicking the hangers. She had to have something she could wear that didn’t evoke memories or expose them.

  There, that was what she’d wear. It was another black dress but it wasn’t really in the same genus as the previous one. The boat neck skimmed her collarbones, or where they should be. It fell straight to her knees. It was sleeveless, but a cardigan could deal with that, she thought.

  Cassie would have to deal with her blending in but she looked business-like. Nothing that would remind Austen of the girl she had been.

  Anne-onymous.

  ***

  ‘Hi, I’m Anne Elliot, producer,’ she said firmly in the mirror when she’d changed. The dress showed little skin. The pale skin on her arms glowed against it. She’d need a cardigan. She grabbed a black one and looked again.

  Annie saw a grim-faced businesswoman looking back at her. A take no prisoners type. She snorted. If only they knew that – for certain people – she would collapse at the slightest confrontation.

  ‘You are a producer,’ she told her reflection. ‘Not Dad’s daughter or Immy’s sister. You are supposed to be there.’

  Annie in the mirror didn’t look convinced.

  She could do this.

  She had to do this.

  The sound of ‘Supercalifragilistic’ came from her phone.

  Marie’s ringtone.

  What crisis had happened now?

  For once, Annie leapt on it as fast as possible, a potential escape route merely a swipe on a screen away. She fumbled with the phone as she stumbled over a pair of shoes she had kicked out of the way when they didn’t go with her dress.

  ‘Yes.’ Her voice was high and hopeful as she collapsed on the bed.

  ‘Annie, it is a disaster! Hector has fallen off his scooter and Angelique dialled one one one. They say he needs to be kept awake in case of concussion,’ Marie’s voice blasted at her.

  ‘Annie doesn’t mind coming over, Charlie – don’t be silly. You don’t mind do you? It’s just I’m supposed to be going to the party. I’m only asking, Charlie. Sheesh, she is my sister. I should know whether it is an imposition or not.’

  ‘I’ll come over.’ Annie looked at herself in the mirror. Nothing grim about her now.

  Cass would understand, wouldn’t she? Family came first.

  ‘Get off, Charlie, you’re mussing my outfit.’ Annie listened to the scuffle that was happening as Charlie was obviously trying to get Marie’s phone off her.

  The phone went dead.

  A few seconds later it rang again but this time it was Kanye West’s ‘Gold Digger’.

  ‘Hello, Charlie.’ She smiled.

  ‘Look, Annie, she shouldn’t have asked.’ He sounded flustered and this accentuated the slight pomposity that seemed to come into his voice.

  ‘I don’t mind,’ Annie said feeling as light as candyfloss. ‘I’ll see you there in half an hour.’

  There was no point in changing. She shoved another set of clothes and her wash stuff into a canvas tote bag and put on a pair of battered Vans.

  Forty minutes later, after an argument with her Addison Lee driver due to her change of destination, she was seeing the back of Marie and Charlie out of the door whilst Charlie was still apologizing to her.

  She tried not to grin too much at Hector’s misfortune.

  But it was for the best, she thought as she watched a flash of silky brown leg get into the car.

  The Musgrove girls would be big hits at the party. Annie was pleased that Louisa had landed the role of Kitty and was taking Henrietta as her plus one.

  Was there really only five and six years between them and her? Sometimes it felt like decades, a completely different generation. Had she ever been that glossy? That fingerprint-free?

  Annie in the mirror would be very grim next to them. Even if anyone noticed her at all.

  ‘I’m going to pull Austen. I’m the
oldest so it should be me,’ Louisa said loudly from the car, swinging her hair over her shoulder and winking at her sister.

  ‘Nah, you’re over the hill, you old bag. He’ll want someone with less miles on them,’ Henrietta said.

  ‘Hey, you’re the one with a boyfriend,’ Louisa said.

  ‘It’ll be fine; he’s one of my free passes. Robbie and I made a list last Christmas. His is Diana Tomlinson.’ She laughed as she pulled Louisa’s cheek to hers and, phone out, took a selfie.

  How did they do that? Annie thought as she watched them in the car and looked over at Marie who was fussing around getting in.

  She shuddered.

  The only way she and Marie would press cheeks was if they were trying to get through the same small space. And let’s be honest, Annie would let her go first.

  And Imogen?

  Annie shook her head.

  She always looked at the Musgrove girls as if they were an alien species. In fact the whole of the Musgrove family seemed foreign.

  It was so different from hers. Sometimes she felt like David Attenborough hiding in the undergrowth, and trying to work out what made them tick.

  And then with an almost silent purr the car pulled away, laughter trickling back, until they turned a corner.

  They were gone.

  Annie stood on the doorstep and stared at the place the red tail-lights had been.

  By the end of the night, one of them really could have pulled Austen …

  She took a breath, ignoring the way it shuddered.

  ‘Okay, Hector,’ she said turning back into the house and closing the door. She looked at her heavy-eyed nephew, his cheeks red and raw from crying. ‘A Pixar moment?’ She picked him up gently and carried him through to the living room.

  Living in Pixar’s world seemed better and more fulfilling than her reality.

  ***

  ‘He is gorgeous,’ Louisa said as she yawned through brunch the next day. ‘And his eyes …’

  Henrietta sighed in agreement as she dug into her scrambled eggs.

  ‘And his really cute friendship with his co-star, what’s his face …’ Henrietta flapped her hand.

  ‘Harry Harville. You know he plays the sidekick in Ten Peaks. How can you forget, Henry? He was all cuddly with his husband.’ Louisa waved a fork at Annie.

  ‘I know that. He’s married to Lewis Deakin, the record producer,’ Henrietta butted in and mumbled through a mouthful of egg. ‘I think it is great that Austen isn’t afraid to be so close with an openly gay couple,’ she finished.

  Annie tried not to roll her eyes at Henrietta’s gaucheness. Sometimes the Musgrove girls showed their white upper middle class background, as if they looked at anyone who wasn’t like themselves as exhibits in a zoo.

  Annie carried on helping herself to some bacon and moved to sit at the table.

  Silence reigned for a few moments, until the sound of heavy feet came down the stairs. For someone who was consistently on a diet and didn’t carry a lot of weight, Marie could make an elephant seem light-footed.

  ‘Austen said he remembered you,’ Marie said as she walked into the kitchen without saying good morning. She picked up a piece of bacon from the pile that their housekeeper had made and left warming on the top of the range.

  ‘No, I’m on a diet. If I could just have my shake?’ Marie sat down while still chewing on the bacon but waving away the offer of a full English that Angelique was about to make.

  ‘Yes, Annie. He said he remembered you from Stratford,’ Marie carried on.

  The piece of sausage Annie had been in the process of eating got stuck in her throat. She swallowed. The sausage went down but the lump remained.

  Her heart raced and the fork she held slipped in her now sweaty hands and fell on her plate.

  ‘Well, I’m surprised. It was so long ago,’ she whispered.

  Please, change the subject, she thought. She could feel the weight of all their gazes on her. Asking questions she couldn’t answer. Well she could but …

  ‘Oh and Cassie said she’d be calling you today.’

  Bugger. Annie had been avoiding looking at her phone. She knew there would be missed calls, texts, and messages sent on whatever social media platform Cassie could think to harangue her via.

  Not her most professional moment.

  Annie knew she shouldn’t have done it. She should have been the professional she knew she was. Hell, she had been offered the most amazing once-in-a-lifetime job and she’d ran out on her first obligation.

  Would Eric Cowell still want her now? Hell, would Cassie be talking to her? A family emergency wasn’t that great of an excuse for missing the party, especially as the rest of the family had managed to be there.

  Annie couldn’t blow this. She shouldn’t let some old flame be the reason her job went up in smoke.

  ‘Austen said he might drop round today. He’s staying around the corner,’ Louisa said dreamily as she pushed a mushroom round her plate with one hand and played around on her phone with the other.

  And of course he’d be in Pimlico, Annie thought, because her life was a soap opera full of stupid coincidences. Why the hell couldn’t he hang out in Primrose Hill like any normal self-respecting celebrity?

  ‘Maybe we should text him to come over for brunch?’ Henrietta bounced in her seat.

  They were like a basket full of puppies in their enthusiasm. Annie felt tired watching them. Even after the minimal amount of sleep they’d got the night before they looked box-fresh.

  When she’d woken up, Annie’s eyeballs had felt like they were coated in grit even though she’d had seven hours’ sleep. Absently she pushed her glasses further up her nose and put a hand up to sort out her hair, which she knew was squished flat on one side and up into a mohican on the other.

  ‘Already done, sister dearest. He’ll be here in ten.’ Louisa’s voice rang triumphantly through the kitchen as she brandished her phone like a weapon.

  Chapter Five

  Annie scratched her head as Louisa’s words bounced through the tiredness that clogged her ears.

  Austen.

  Coming here.

  Now.

  If she broke it down into small words then maybe it would go in.

  Austen. Here.

  Holy crap!

  Suddenly as if she’d been smacked in the head, it went in. As did the fact her hair was a rat’s nest and she had on a faded, torn Feckless Rogues band T-shirt that was two sizes too small along with jeans a size too big. Also her glasses had been fashionable when she’d last seen Austen.

  They’d actually chosen them together, she remembered. Laughing in the optician’s as she’d tried on different pairs, some good and most bad. Austen reaching out and pushing these ones up her nose as he smiled at her and told the saleswoman that they’d take them. And the T-shirt – she stroked it recalling the concert it had been bought at. She could feel the ghost of Austen’s chin resting on her shoulder, the warmth of his arms where they’d wrapped round her waist as they swayed to the music.

  It was as if she was stuck in an Austen memory loop, never moving on, cursed to relive their past.

  Without thinking she half got up from her chair; as she pushed it back, the feet scraped on the floor. Everyone stopped and looked at her.

  ‘I just … and …’ And what? She wasn’t sure what she was doing except she knew she needed to get out of there.

  ‘Annie, sit and finish your breakfast. You deserve it after last night,’ Charlie said whilst giving Marie a dirty look. A look that zipped right over Marie’s head as she had her mirror out and was checking her make-up.

  ‘And it’ll be nice if you got to see Austen again,’ he said. ‘Catch up.’

  ‘I’m surprised he remembered you,’ Marie said.

  There was a stunned silence round the table. All the Musgroves looked first at Marie and then quickly at Annie, their mouths hanging open. A blob of Nutella fell unnoticed off Henrietta’s toast onto the white tablecloth.
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br />   ‘Marie!’ Charlie almost shouted.

  ‘Of course he’d remember Annie,’ Louisa said and then turned to Annie and put a hand on her arm. ‘She’s only joking you know.’

  The pressure of her hand made Annie feel both better and worse. Because she knew Marie hadn’t been joking and really, she wasn’t being malicious. She was only voicing the family narrative. Bless Louisa for defending her. What would it feel like to be defended by one of her sisters?

  And what would it feel like to see pigs fly?

  Annie sat back down. Her hand trembled as she picked up her toast.

  This was it.

  Of all the ways she’d planned this moment, and she’d thought about it a lot, this wasn’t how she would have it happen.

  At the beginning she’d imagined that she’d have the guts to fly to Hollywood with an amazing job of her own, something like the producer job she now had. Surprise him once she got there and that would be it. They would be what they had been before, young, in love. Happy. If not better because they would be building AustenWorldTM.

  But back then she couldn’t think of a job or career to take her there. That was when she realized that she had no goals. No plans of her own.

  It was weird to think she’d mostly taken her first production accountant job to be closer to Austen’s life. Or at least to understand a little of his world.

  But she was damn good at it. And as the time spread between them, her career grew, not as big and glitzy as his had but big.

  And yet when it came to her personal life … still stuck and stagnant, looking after people who paid her no heed.

  ‘Who are you living for, Anne? You or them?’ She could still hear Austen saying it. And she knew that he meant it because he called her Anne.

  And she still couldn’t answer that question eight years later.

  She tugged at the hem of her T-shirt and hoped it covered her tummy.

  The doorbell went.

  This was it.

  She couldn’t breathe. That bloody lump was back in her throat bigger than ever. Maybe if she collapsed from lack of oxygen she could escape?