Knowing You

by Samantha Tonge

  Chapter 11

  It’s Friday and with only just over three weeks to the party, I feel shattered. I’ve gone all out to reach my target of creating a more professional image and found some great websites that give all sorts of tips. I’ve actually juiced for breakfast, done squats and sit-ups, I went for a facial and Bella helped me transform my feet with a loofah and nail polish. Farah and Irfan asked me to go for a coffee after work but I didn’t feel up to it. She’s beginning to irritate me with her comments about how peaky I look. And she brought in some home-baked muffins and made a big fuss about me taking one.

  Yet in the toilets, yesterday, two editors complimented my new style and asked where I’d bought my outfit. I can only conclude – and I don’t like to – that Bella’s right: Farah’s jealous. Goodness knows why, because it takes a lot of work to achieve the changes I’m making. Irfan’s not worried. He asked for my secret formula to getting fit as all his best efforts weren’t having much effect on the size of his belly.

  I yawn and gently nudge Flossie to one side before putting my laptop on my knees. It’s only two o’clock. I’m back early from work because of hours owed to me. I sink back into the sofa and click onto Facebook. I know Casey Wilde is friends with Lenny on there. I could look at his full profile through my ex’s page, seeing as I know the password. Perhaps I could work out places he likes to frequent or make arrangements for a rendezvous and accidentally bump into him. As an editor of children’s fiction, I have little professional excuse to contact him.

  It all sounds rather childish, but Felicity deserves Thoth to do well and over the last couple of months I’ve realised that, sadly, there’s more to success than hard work and integrity.

  I log out and type in Lenny’s password. It’s not something I’d ever done before. I’ve heard women in the office talk about how they secretly read their partners’ texts or track them on social media. However, I’d always trusted Lenny and been brought up not to snoop in people’s private business.

  Lenny once told me he uses the same password for everything: Aston Martin. I used to find it endearing that he saw himself as some kind of James Bond. But looking back, I realise his glitzy dreams were a symptom of his immaturity. As Bella’s pointed out, it was me who paid the bills. Did the washing. Got in the groceries.

  I scroll down his page and try not to stare at the photos of him and Beatrix; how his default position is to drape his arm around her protectively. I put Casey Wilde’s name into the search bar. His profile photo is of a quill. He has more than one thousand friends and posts about writing, books or the gym – and parties. There is no mention of Alien Hearts, just his work in progress. Clearly, he is being careful until he decides on his official author identity. Perhaps if I look at the messages sent between him and Lenny, I’ll find something.

  I hesitate, then remember Bella saying that sometimes you have to step out of your comfort zone. Flint was the same, encouraging me to be brave enough to take risks. I’ve thought about him a lot lately. It took me a long time to forgive Mum for what happened to him. It was her fault and so cruel. So brutal.

  I feel sick for a moment, and then shake the memories away, taking a deep breath.

  I click into messaging. Top of the screen are the latest conversations between Lenny and Beatrix. My finger hovers for a moment. It’s no good. I can’t resist. I scroll down mundane talk about work and shopping. My cheeks feel hot as the conversations become more intimate. They talk about the new underwear she’s bought from Victoria’s Secret. I can’t seem to turn away.

  Hey gorgeous. I’m in the Gents at work, feeling decidedly heated. I’m thinking about you between the sheets. Me showing Beatrix Bingham who’s boss ☺

  Lenny’s never spoken to me like that. I read her reply.

  We both know who calls the shots and you love every minute. So little Lenny needs to learn to do as he’s told. Perhaps tonight he’ll be more obedient.

  I feel empty inside. The memories of our gentle lovemaking evaporate. Looking back, we did have a kind of routine. Lenny would reach his height of pleasure and please me afterwards. Usually I was in the missionary position but I thought that suited us. For me it was just about getting close. The smell of his skin. His breath on my face. The full, satisfying feeling of him moving inside. The sweet sound of his moan. Whereas these messages make me think his and Beatrix’s love life is so much more varied. Once again, I ask myself if Lenny had become bored. If… if I’d never been good enough, not even at the start.

  My finger pauses as I decide whether to scroll down further to when Lenny and I broke up. It’s like squeezing a spot. You know you’ll regret it but can’t stop. The conversations move backwards in time and my eyes feel impossibly full. In February, she teases Lenny about having feelings for me after he bought the Valentine’s present. Beatrix says perhaps she should withhold sex. He replies by saying not that, as it’s the best he’s ever had.

  Maybe I’m bad in bed.

  I think back to the hours we spent under the duvet. I never felt shy but always thought it was the emotions that mattered, not the mechanics or positions. Should I have tried to spice things up? Has he had an affair before? Was he only with me because I had a nice flat?

  My insides crumble like a dry leaf screwed up in the middle of his hand. Flossie moves nearer as if she knows I’m upset. She pushes against my side and purrs. I take a moment before clicking into his conversations with Casey Wilde. There is just one message: Lenny welcoming him to Facebook and Wilde giving him a new email address he’d just created.

  An email address. What if I wrote and told him how much I’d enjoyed Alien Hearts? I wasn’t meant to have seen the manuscript, but why should I protect Lenny anymore? Heat flushes through my limbs and for just one second, I consider throwing the laptop across the floor as I think of the photos of Lenny’s arm draped protectively around her. My heart thuds and I take a deep breath. He would have to finally grow up and take responsibility for giving me an unofficial sneak peek. I copy the email address. Just in case.

  Now I can’t stop myself scrolling through all of Lenny’s messages. One from his mum was written just after I first met his family. She says I’m a lovely girl. I sit a little straighter and click into another from his brother, dated the same day. He says I’m not Lenny’s usual type.

  Lenny replies.

  Looks aren’t everything.

  Is this proof Lenny never found me attractive? An indignant spark burst into flames in my chest. How could he talk about his girlfriend like that? I log out of his account and go into Outlook. Without hesitation, I open a new email and paste in Casey Wilde’s address.

  I’m just about to type when there’s a tap at my front door. I put the laptop to one side, get up and open it.

  ‘Kath. How are you?’

  ‘Okay, love. There’s nothing much on the telly and I wondered if you fancied a game of Scrabble. Violet?’

  ‘Sorry. My mind was elsewhere. Come on in.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘To be honest, I could do with the company.’ My throat catches as I shut the door.

  ‘Everything all right?’

  I screw up my eyes. I don’t do crying. Not since we lost Uncle Kevin. Nothing seemed as bad in comparison. Not until now. I loved Uncle Kevin. I loved Lenny. In different ways, they’ve both left. But I’m a grown-up now. I should be able to cope. Mum going to bed all the time after the Twin Towers didn’t do her any good. Just because Lenny and I broke up doesn’t mean I can’t carry on as normal.

  We sit down on the sofa and I snap the laptop shut.

  ‘Just ignore me,’ I say to Kath. ‘I’ve had a tough week at work. How about I put the kettle on and—’

  She squeezes my hand. ‘It’s okay. You don’t have to explain. I just worry about you, that’s all. For the last month or so… I don’t know… something seems different.’

  ‘Things are. I am.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I don’t know, more confident, better t
han I was before. Bella’s been really good for me.’

  I head into the kitchen and put the kettle on. When I come back out, Kath has stood up and is peeking into Bella’s room. She will see the make-up laid out smartly on the dressing table and a stack of celebrity magazines. The Jack Vettriano print on the wall of a stylish couple walking along the beach. And a couple of pairs of really high heels in the corner of the room. Bella and I are the same shoe size. I tried them on once and was amazed at how much slimmer my legs looked.

  I head back into the kitchen and clear my throat to distract Kath. I wouldn’t want her to know I’d caught her looking. I don’t blame her. She must be curious.

  When I come back out with coffee, Kath is back on the sofa.

  ‘So, this Bella... She’s making things better?’

  ‘I’m so glad I’ve got to know her. She’s tidy. Disciplined. A real inspiration. And tough – she doesn’t let anyone mess with her. And what she doesn’t know about style…’

  ‘That’s important?’ Kath cocks her head to one side.

  ‘Yes. I realise that now. In the past I’ve always gone for comfort first.’

  ‘Like me.’

  ‘And there’s nothing wrong with that – but I work in the publishing world. Bella has helped me see that I need to be savvier. You know how passionate I am about my job. I work as hard as possible and can’t do anything else on that score. A new image could really push my career forwards that extra mile.’ I doubt Beatrix lost many authors. Would Gary have left if I had her slick business reputation? No.

  Kath nods.

  ‘You’re always telling me you wished many of your patients had thought to look after their health when they were young. Just think of it as a reboot – the old Violet needed an update, that’s all. And I’m sure she can still beat you at Scrabble.’

  We play the game accompanied by a plate of biscuits, although I can’t face eating after reading those messages. A ball of heat still glowers in my chest. How dare Lenny.

  Even Kath’s appetite is off and she looks more tired than normal. On Monday, she has an appointment to see the doctor. Her painkillers aren’t doing much for her arthritic pain and she has trouble picking up the Scrabble letters. She needs an extra lift. So I do what I’d never done before: let her win on purpose.

  After walking Kath up to her room, I return to my flat. I put on a new top which is low cut, I brush my highlighted hair and apply make-up like the assistant in Boots showed me. I stand under the standard lamp to take a photo. It’s a trick I found online. I switch my phone’s camera to selfie mode and take about twenty different photos.

  Finally I find one I like. It includes cleavage but has an air of professionalism and emphasises my cheekbones. I like to think I look serious but approachable. My stomach flutters as I notice the shadow of my collar bone that has never been visible before. The lamp’s light gives my highlights a Fifties movie starlet feel and the lipstick accentuates my mouth. Yesterday I had my contact lenses appointment. I’m allowed to wear them for a few hours every day, to start. They’ll be ideal for a night out with Casey Wilde.

  I go into Instagram and put the photo through different filters. I hardly recognise myself by the time I’ve finished. I share it with my followers and immediately start getting likes. I’m surprised what a boost that gives me, as if I’ve had a sip of the headiest champagne. I block Lenny and Beatrix’s accounts before coming off. I want my new appearance to be a total surprise.

  I return to the sofa, flip open my laptop and go into Outlook. The ball of heat in my chest ignites again. Looks aren’t everything? I load the new photo as my email signature, and write Violet Vaughan, Editor, Thoth Publishing. Punching at the keys, I start to type.

  Chapter 12

  Dear Violet Vaughan,

  Thanks so much for your email. I’m delighted that you enjoyed Alien Hearts. More than that, I’m extremely grateful that you sent me my very first piece of fan mail. Let me assure you it will be duly printed out and framed. ☺ Really, I’m thrilled that my work made you cry and realise I have possibly the only job in the world where saying that is acceptable. After years of rejections, I still can’t get used to people in the industry saying I’ve done a good job.

  However, I am surprised your friend Lenny gave you a copy to read and revealed my gender identity which is currently Top Secret – I’m aware that makes me sound like the biggest idiot. I’m just worried readers may not take the book seriously if they know I’m a man – although my agent tries to reassure me that I don’t need to worry about that.

  As you wish, I won’t mention that you’ve emailed to Lenny – or to the agency. I agree, from what I know of him, that he was probably just being overenthusiastic and I wouldn’t want him to get into trouble either.

  Oh, by the way – your photo looks kind of familiar. Have we met before?

  Thanks again.

  Yours truly,

  Casey Wilde

  Heart pounding, I lean back in the sofa. He responded quickly. On first reading it, I feel an inexplicable anxiety and can’t face my morning plateful of fruit. But then I take a step back and tell myself I can deal with flirting. I stop overthinking and light-heartedly email back. It doesn’t come naturally and I try to give my words a tone that matches the filtered photo in my email signature. As for him thinking he recognised me, this is good. It means I must look more like other young women and don’t stand out anymore.

  Dear Casey,

  I’m moved to tears at the prospect of my words framed and hanging in your house. Thank you. It’s truly an honour. ☺ But seriously, Alien Hearts is unique. Bold. Romantic. Gripping. Emotional.

  I wonder if I may tempt you with an invitation to meet up. I’m so excited about your writing and would love to discuss your methodology and how you researched. And I know a lovely coffee house next door to a vintage bookshop. Perhaps I could meet you there one day after work.

  Yours equally truly,

  Violet Vaughan

  I hug the laptop to my chest, as if it’s a best friend. This is fun. I get up to take a shower. Will he bother to reply? I’m almost in my bedroom when an email landing in my inbox pings. I hurry back to the sofa.

  Dear Violet,

  That would be great. Meeting a fan will be good practise for when I undoubtedly become a household name. (I hope you realise I jest!) Jokes aside, I appreciate your kind words. But I drink more than enough coffee during the day – how about cocktails?

  Yours,

  Casey

  Of course. The suggestion of a cafe next to a bookshop is too like the old me. I don’t want to appear ignorant and think hard of a cocktail bar I can suggest. They aren’t the kind of place I visit often, but one comes to mind. Months ago I went with Farah. We’d been chatting about the fact that she didn’t drink and I didn’t much either, so we found a place called The Olive Bar where the mocktail menu was wide-ranging, including a lavender spritzer and virgin ginger mimosa.

  Dear Casey,

  Do you know The Olive Bar in Covent Garden? I’ll remember to bring my autograph book!

  Violet

  I smile.

  Dear Vi,

  May I call you that? I feel we are friends now, since I made you cry and you’re aware of my gender dilemma!

  That sounds perfect. I know it’s the weekend, but dare I hope that you are free tonight? Eight o’clock? I’ll even wear my new leopard print shirt.

  Yours as ever.

  Casey

  My hands feel clammy. Can I really do this? Faceless exchanges online are one thing, but what about meeting him in the flesh?

  But then I think of Bella. She’d tell me to go for it. And she’s right. I’m an editor. Casey’s a writer. We’ll have lots of talk about. It’ll be all right. And besides, more than anything, I’m doing this for Felicity and Thoth.

  I press send on my reply to confirm. What should I wear? I wish I was as small as Bella. She has such exquisite clothes that literally hang on her. Luckily she gets home
early and we go shopping. Eventually I find a bright green dress. Normally that colour would complement my purple glasses, but after a week of getting used to contacts, I hardly wear them now. It’s cinched in at the waist – not a body part that’s been in my vocabulary much before. I stare at the full-length mirror. The dress is low cut at the front but not too revealing. I buy a bright red lipstick. Bella has a pair of high nude shoes I can borrow.

  I’m so grateful for her help. She does my nails, make-up and hair. I promise her a trip to the cinema next week, my treat.

  At seven thirty, I look down at myself. I take a few selfies for Instagram and carefully choose the best filter. As soon as it’s shared, the likes start to come in. It’s helped that I’ve researched the best hashtags and add on #weekendvibes.

  I scroll back through the few photos already uploaded on my account. Before heading out to the underground, I delete all the shots of the old me.

  2001

  I was glad to leave school yesterday. Fridays are my favourite because they mean the weekend is here and this week Alice has been more horrible than usual. She keeps talking about America. About burning bodies. About people jumping to their death. Her older brother keeps showing her videos on his phone. I don’t think he should. They sound like horror movies. Mum tries to keep her newspaper away from me, but I’ve seen some of the photos.

  It’s scary. My knees feel funny when I think about Uncle Kevin helpless. Adults in uniforms are supposed to keep everyone safe, but in America they didn’t. What if it happens near us? What if the bad people fly aeroplanes into school or where Mum works or our street? I don’t want us to die in a fire. I don’t want to have to jump out a window. And with all the noise, Tinker would run away.

  I thought I couldn’t hate Alice any more than I did until yesterday because she started to be nice and for a while stopped calling me Shrinking Violet. I couldn’t work out why, at first, but then it hit me. It’s because she’s sick of me getting attention from Mrs Warham, the dinner ladies and even the boys who asked me to play football yesterday. I got a goal and some of them clapped just as Alice was walking past.