Not That Kind of Ever After, page 27
My phone’s on low battery so I find a charger on Marty’s side of the bed and plug it in. There’s a message from Ellie and my heart flutters in my chest.
It feels so good to be back on speaking terms.
The Elsa to my Anna-01 Nov 10:06
Did you get home safe?
A tricky question. Technically speaking I’m still not home. Best to deflect
01 Nov 10:36-Me
How’s the hangover?
The Elsa to my Anna-01 Nov 10:36
Worth it
01 Nov 10:36-Me
Going out raving again tonight??
The Elsa to my Anna-01 Nov 10:36
I would, only I have very important plans I just can’t cancel
01 Nov 10:36-Me
Oh yeah?
The Elsa to my Anna-01 Nov 10:36
Yep. Lord of the Rings marathon
01 Nov 10:37-Me
I see. Yes. Vital that
01 Nov 10:37-Me
Send my love to Gandalf
01 Nov 10:37-Me
And Mark
The Elsa to my Anna-01 Nov 10:37
Will do xxx
I can’t help but smile from ear to ear as I flick over to my emails. My heart drops again. Oh God, it’s Becky Hamill.
I haven’t spoken to her since my last tragic chapter. She’s probably telling me I’ve fucked it. She’s probably telling me that I stopped being funny and outrageous and I’ve turned a corner she can’t follow me down. Oh shit. I close one eye as I click on the email, as if that might hide the terror a little longer but then I remember, it’s alright. It’s alright to have a bit of bad news. I’ve had a great twenty-four hours. I can handle a bit more rejection now.
Bella!
What an absolute triumph. Have you seen this yet?
It’s everything I was hoping for and more. What a twist to your character—making her more and more tragic until she’s at breaking point.
I wonder, what’s next on her agenda? Will she actually get to meet Prince Charming after all?
I’m very excited to see how this goes!
Best wishes,
Becky Hamill x
Hummingbird Literary Agency
I read it through twice. What the hell? What’s happened? What have I done?
There’s a link. I look up at the door. I still have time; I can hear Marty pacing around his clean kitchen. I click on the link.
Top 10 B-Readers in the UK Right Now
I scan down the list, a little confused. The top two I recognize, their names were always somewhere on the site when I clicked on the app. The third I think I’ve maybe seen before but the fourth …
No. It can’t be?
@B.Enchanted
Ever wanted to live the fantasy? This new B-Reader is living them all! Enter the world of fairy tales in a way you’ve never read them before with this debut author.
It’s BuzzFeed.
And that’s my handle.
My handle is being shared on BuzzFeed.
What is going on?
It doesn’t go into any details at all, but there it is on the list. Number 4. I literally can’t believe it. I scan down the article—there are already hundreds of comments on this article alone with a link straight to my page on B-Reader.
I check it out. I deleted the app so it’s not like I’ve been checking up on it at all.
Oh my.
One million followers. I have one million followers on B-Reader right now and even as I’m refreshing the page, that number is growing.
My life’s about to change. I can feel it. And right on cue, my phone starts to ring.
10
Marty comes back, his chest bare to the elements and his hands filled with steaming mugs of joy. He carefully balances them as he shuffles back in beside me.
I barely look at who is calling before pushing it to voice mail and returning to the BuzzFeed article.
“Look!” I say, shoving the phone under his nose. He laughs, somehow not spilling the tea he’s trying to hand me as we exchange like for like. I watch his eyes as they read the article.
“That’s amazing, Bells!”
“That’s more than amazing!” I say, accidentally burning my tongue on boiling tea. “The agent loves where I’ve taken the story. She just sent the nicest email ever! I was so worried she’d hate it. I was so worried I’d blown my chance and—”
My phone blasts out. Another call.
Caller ID unknown, so I flick it straight to voice mail again. It’s probably someone trying to get ahold of me “for some accident that I was involved in that wasn’t my fault.” I take another sip and burn myself accidentally. That’s the second time that’s happened.
“It probably needs time to cool,” Marty says, fitting himself in. “Your name’s not on the article. Did you do that on purpose?”
“None of it was on purpose—I didn’t even know it existed until just now.”
“Did you not give some sort of permission?”
“No,” I say warily, “but when I signed up they asked for a bunch of permissions like this. I thought it might up my chances of being read in the first place.”
My phone blasts out again. Marty hands the phone back to me.
Who calls these days? I look again. Caller ID still unknown. Wait—could this be Hummingbird Literary Agency maybe? They’ve tried three times now.
“It might be the agent. Can I?” I ask.
“By my guest,” Marty says, reaching out for his phone to pass the time.
I take a deep breath. This could be it, I tell myself. This could be representation or, alternatively, a cold call about my nonexistent car’s extended warranty. Only one way to find out.
Nervously, I answer.
11
“Hello?”
“Hi, Bella?”
“Yes? Who is this?”
“I don’t … this is strange but … but I just found a shoe with your name and number on it.”
I pause.
“Sorry, what?”
“I’m just near this place in Brixton and I found this shoe and it weirdly had your number on it.”
I pause again, not quite understanding before—oh my God.
The shoe.
The “Cinderella” shoe.
The shoe I left in the bar all those weeks ago in Brixton.
My heart was already fluttering before my phone even rang but right now, I feel I’m soaring over rooftops.
It’s worked. It’s months after, of course, but I put out a shoe in the world looking for a Prince Charming and, on the very same day that the agent writes to me asking what’s next, here is a man calling me about it.
“Sorry—I shouldn’t have … called like this … I know it’s weird but like … I don’t know, this feels a bit … like ‘Cinderella’ or something.”
“Cinderella”?
He’s … what? Speaking my language? Is this a sign?
I can’t believe this. An agent likes me, I have a BuzzFeed article about me, and here is a man on the other side of the phone returning my red stiletto. The stars have frickin’ aligned.
“Hello? Are you there?”
“Yes, yes, I’m here,” I answer.
“Did you … lose a shoe?”
“Yes actually, yes, I did.”
“Oh good, it is you.” His voice is soft, filled with a beautiful stillness while my mind is exploding with fireworks. Oh my word. This is it—my next chapter—Prince Charming’s revolutionary entrance.
“Look, I know this is … well, who knows, but I’m just recently single and I sort of believe in fate, so—you don’t want to … grab a coffee maybe?” he asks.
I remember Becky’s email.
Will she actually get to meet Prince Charming after all?
I mean, I thought this book was over. I thought that last chapter was something of a curtain closer, but … now I’m wondering if it was just the perfect plot twist to something else completely. Maybe an actual romance of some sort?
I wouldn’t have sought this out or anything, but given it’s fallen on my lap like this I just have to meet him. I have to meet the man who found my shoe. The stars have aligned, for God’s sake. You can’t turn your back on the stars.
“Well, I should return this shoe at least?” he says to my silence.
I’m not thinking anymore. All I can think of is Becky’s next email to me.
I find words are coming out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“I’m not in Brixton right now but I can be ready in like … I don’t know, two hours?”
12
“So? What did she say?” Marty asks, blowing into his tea.
I’d forgotten where I was for a second. I blink around the room—it’s Marty’s room. Of course it is, only I’m so excited my brain’s not taking anything in. Marty beside me seems very calm right now. I don’t know how he can be. I’m bubbling to boiling point.
“Who?”
“That agent?”
“No—it wasn’t her—you know that shoe that I dropped in that bar a few weeks back? The one with my number?”
“The night I came and picked you up?”
“Exactly. Well, turns out it’s not such a failure after all. That was someone who’s just found it. They want to meet.”
Marty laughs.
“Someone actually found it?”
“Yeah—he said he saw it in Brixton somewhere. I don’t know where.”
“He?”
“Yeah—I’ll need to ask him where it was. I just assumed it would have ended up in some garbage truck somewhere.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s been so long since I left it.”
“No—why does he want to meet?”
I laugh at him this time. I take a large sip of my tea and my whole tongue scolds me for it. I need to put this cup down before I do myself more damage but for whatever reason, I don’t. My mind is way too preoccupied.
“To give me back my shoe.”
“Why would he want to do that?”
“Because he still has it. I said I could head over in a couple of hours.”
“Well, that’s dumb.”
Dumb?
I blink a few times, wondering if I’ve misheard him. I’d assume I had, only his face seems to agree with the sentiment. I feel something pause inside me, like the roller coaster I’m on has come to an abrupt halt mid-ride. I swallow.
“Sorry?”
“If I found a shoe on the streets of Brixton with a number on it, you think I’d go out of my way to return it?”
I blink some more, unable to control my eyelids.
“Well, no, but you’re you, aren’t you?”
“I’m most people in this situation. You spot a stray shoe on the street, you leave it where it is. You don’t pick it up, let alone call the number. Why would someone do that?”
I pause, trying to remember the exact words on the phone call. If he’s heard it he’d understand.
“Well, he said he believed in fate and—”
“Fate?”
“Yes, he said that he was recently single and he believes in fate and then he finds this shoe with my number on it and—”
“Sorry,” Marty says, shaking his head a little in disbelief. He’s smiling but it does feel a little forced. “Are you going on a date with this guy?”
“Just a coffee.”
“A coffee date?”
I bring the tea to my lips without thinking, before I pause again. Slowly I put the mug down on the side table. I suddenly hear what he’s hearing.
“It’s not … a ‘date’ date.”
“Jesus Christ, Bells.” He puts his tea down and runs his hands through his hair.
“You’re making it sound so … it’s not like that, Marty,” I tell him. I feel like he’s reading this all wrong—this is Prince Charming we’re talking about. The Prince Charming I set up in one chapter returning for another. This is exactly what my book has been leading up to.
“Are you kidding me right now?” he asks. His face is all flushed and his hands ruffle his hair even more out of place.
“Look, I just want to hear his side of the story,” I say, trying to sound reasonable. “It’s not a big deal.”
“It’s a pretty big deal, actually. You’re still lying in my bed for fuck’s sake, and you’ve just gone and organized a date with another guy!”
He’s not listening to me here, and I can see his mind already coming to its own conclusions.
“No, I’m telling you it’s not like that!” I say quickly, putting my lava brew back down on the table. “It’s not like a romantic date. It’s not about sex anymore. He’s just the perfect next chapter! Marty—this is Prince Charming in real life!”
I smile in a bad attempt to keep the conversation light and happy. He’s looking back at me, deadly serious.
“He’s Prince Charming?”
“In the book! Exactly!”
“Then who am I?”
“Y-you?” I ask, stuttering a little. “Well, you’re not anyone.”
“Even fucking better.” He goes to get up but I move quickly, trying to root him to the spot as I spin around and grab his arm.
“No, obviously you’re not no one,” I try to correct, “you’re just Marty, you know? This isn’t exactly a thing, is it?”
“This isn’t a thing to you?” He looks hurt, betrayed.
“I meant it isn’t a fairy-tale thing. This isn’t book-worthy,” I say, smiling cheekily in an attempt to change the tone. Hopefully he’ll start laughing with me like he usually does and clear this thick smog that’s settled between us. Except he doesn’t. Not even a little bit.
“This is just getting better and better,” he says, lightly tugging his arm away from my grip, head buried deep into his hands.
“‘Worthy’ isn’t the right … I didn’t mean that either. Marty—I didn’t think you’d even want to be part of my book!”
“I don’t!” he cries.
“Then this shouldn’t upset you!”
I can hear his breaths deepen and slow down, clearly processing. How I wish I could start this all over. He’s just got the wrong end of the stick. I sit back a bit, hoping the extra room might give him space, except his processing time is taking way too long for my anxiety levels to cope with. I was on such a high after the call and now I just feel slammed to the ground. As the silence continues I can feel my patience slipping away into something else completely. I’m starting to panic. I can’t trust what’s about to come out of my mouth. Finally I break.
“Fine!” I say. “Fine—I’ll add you to the book! Are you happy now?”
“Am I happy?” He lifts his head up and he’s laughing now, but it’s not good laughter. It’s not good laughter at all. “Believe it or not, not everything here is about your book!”
He turns, looking me square in the eye, and suddenly I wish that he’d put his head back into his palms so I don’t have to face those disappointed eyes staring back at me.
Marty breathes deeply, his laughter fading away and his voice calm and collected.
“I feel pretty shitty if I’m being honest here.”
“Marty, this isn’t about us. This is strictly professional here—you’ve got to know how much that means to me. This could be my heroine’s happily-ever-after,” I try.
“You think you’re going to get a happily-ever-after with this shoe stranger? Maybe you should stop looking for some magic ending and realize what’s actually right here in front of you.”
“You literally just told me you don’t want to be in the book, and now you want to be the fairy-tale ending?” I can hear my voice picking up speed.
“No, that’s not what I meant!”
“Then there shouldn’t be an issue here!” I can feel my pent-up anxiety pushing me past reason.
“Of course there’s an issue! You just slept with me and you’ve lined up your next date already!”
“It’s for a book, Marty!”
“This isn’t your book right now. It’s your life. It’s my life. And you, being like this, this isn’t the Bella I know.”
“The Bella you know?” I don’t know why I’m mad, but I am. I don’t know why I’m crying, but I am.
“The Bella I know wouldn’t make me feel this…”
“This what?” I shout. When did I start shouting?
“This cheap.”
There’s a stunned silence. My madness drops away and floats into the void.
“I get it. You have an agent interested in you and that’s exciting, yes, but it doesn’t give you leave to treat me like some one-night stand you’ve just hooked up with.”
My emotions are still bubbling near the surface. Too close to the surface. I have no control anymore.
“But you are!” I cry.
I didn’t mean that.
I mean, I didn’t not mean that, I have no idea what this is, but I didn’t mean it to sound like that. His face has dropped.
Perhaps one of us might have broken the silence eventually, but his pager beeps and he looks over at it, cursing.
He gets out of bed immediately, throwing on clothes.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“I’m on call.”
“Are you actually?”
He looks at me like he can’t believe I’ve even questioned it and he throws over his pager for me to see. I nod, not daring to admit that I have no idea how pagers actually work, and I place it delicately back on the side table.
“I’m so sorry,” I begin. “I didn’t mean…”
“No, it’s good. I’m glad I know where I stand.”
He’s already fully dressed, jeans and a smart gingham shirt, his usual smart-casual. I don’t know how that even happened so quickly. I haven’t had time to correct myself.
“Marty, please—”
He looks up, his hand running through his hair to whip it back in place.
He looks at me for a long second. I think he might just leave but instead he turns quickly and walks back over to the bed. I see it as if in slow motion.
