Authors: Anne-Marie Hart
'Ok', I said, 'I can try. For how many days do you want me to be sick?'
'Five, at least', Devizes said.
'Five?!'
I heard a female voice in the background, asking Devizes something, but I couldn't make out what.
'Alice I've got to go. See what you can do. If not, we'll do it another time. No rush.'
'Who's that with you?' I asked, letting jealousy invade my thoughts.
'This, Stephanie my P.A. Look, Alice, I've got to go. We'll see each other soon.'
'He's with Stephanie, his PA', I complained to Sophia, grumpy not only because Devizes was away, but because he was away with another woman. I imagined them sharing the same hotel room together, drinking in the bar an flirting over long business lunches. That, and the fact that my dad's book launch was coming up, at which I knew I'd see familiar faces I'd not seen for a long time, to whom I'd have absolutely nothing to say, was making me cranky, and depressed. I suppose I had Devizes to tell them about, but without him actually being there, and only Sophia, and her tattooed lover to back me up, they was no chance they'd ever believe me.
The sentence: 'Yes I'm still a waitress, but I met a billionaire this week, and he's going to publish my book', would never hold up.
'Well how about that?' I imagined them saying back to me, before rolling their eyes and looking for an escape route.
I hated family gatherings for exactly that reason, avoiding as many of them as I could at all costs. Dad was excited, and he phoned me every day just to make sure I'd be there. I was proud of him, of course, but wasn't looking forward to having him, and every close friend and family member, rub my face in it for not doing something that everyone else seemingly made look so easy. I would have told Devizes my woes, if I'd had the chance to talk to him for more than five seconds.
'Do you think he sleeps with Stephanie?' I asked Sophia.
'Why would you think that?'
'I don't know', I said. 'Jealousy?'
'Why don't you go for a run?' Sophia suggested. 'That might make you feel a bit happier.'
'I did already', I said. 'I went twice this morning when you were out getting your nipple pierced. Sorry Soph, I think I'm just anxious about Friday.'
'It'll be fine', Sophia said.
She came over to give me a cuddle and I had to stop her hands from shooting too far down my back to where she wanted to rest them.
'It's just, I've wanted this for so long. Now I have to watch while another family member gets it instead of me. I know that sounds so selfish, but they don't even care about writing. I mean they're not even writers.'
'Who don't even care?'
'James and dad', I said. 'They just think it's a hobby.'
'You'll get your moment in the spotlight', Sophia said. 'But I wouldn't even worry about it. I love your writing, who cares what anyone else thinks, right?'
'I guess', I said, entirely unconvinced.
'Think about all the other shit that's going on in your life right now. Think about your billionaire. What you should really be doing is writing another book, not thinking about how the last one is doing.'
'I'm blocked', I said.
'Have you tried?' Sophia said, encouragingly.
'Yes, but it's just going nowhere. Everything I write takes ages, and then when I read back what I've written, it just looks like shit.'
'Then take a break from it, and wait until the story comes. You can't force it. Just don't worry yourself about it.'
'When did you get so wise?' I said.
'I don't know', Sophia said, 'I've been drinking a lot of bourbon recently, it could be that.'
'I thought I could smell something strong', I said.
'It's either the bourbon, or the expensive home tutoring my parents paid for, but probably the bourbon.'
Sophia sipped from a beaker, filled to the brim with a dirty liquid I had assumed was squash. I pulled it towards me and took a sip.
'Jesus Sophia', I said, as the liquor hit the back of my throat. 'That's like petrol.'
'I know, right?' Sophia said, her eyes lighting up. 'I can't get enough of it.'
***
They were all already there when Sophia and I arrived. We were late, of course, but not too late to miss the beginning. I did the rounds, said hello to people I'd long since left in the past, had the conversations I was dreading, drank a huge amount of free wine, and took a seat as far away from the podium as I could.
We were on Oxford Street in the centre of London, at Waterstones's flagship store. A stage had been set up, with a podium and a desk behind it, and my father's book stacked high, ready for him to sign. There were pictures of him on the advertising banners holding the book, and several people I didn't recognise who'd obviously been rustled up somehow by the publishing house and bribed in some way to come along.
Apparently there were two billboards in strategic places in London, one on the A4 corridor, and another on the A10 near Holborn, and advertisements put up in several tube stations, none of which I saw.
About thirty minutes after Sophia and I arrived, Tad joined us, and then a representative from Random House called for quiet, and introduced my father to the stage.
There must have been a hundred people in the audience, tucked into the corner of a closed off part of the store, and a huge rapturous applause went up welcoming my father to the stage.
'Have you read it?' Sophia said, leaning over a little to ask me.
'No', I said, feeling a little bit guilty, and wondering whether I should have done.
Mum and James were in the front row, and I wondered too whether I should have been there along side them, instead of hidden here at the back.
'Thank you', dad said, quieting the room again, with an internationally understood gesture of his hands.
'This book would not have been possible, firstly without the support and encouragement of my wonderful wife Pam, and secondly, without the belief of the wonderful team at Random house, of whom Patricia is the sole representative tonight. A round of applause for Patricia, please.'
Everyone clapped, before dad went on.
'These are stories of my time working in Cambodia, Bosnia and Iraq, my training here in England, and my life as a qualified doctor. Everything in this book is true, even though it might seem, at times, a little unbelievable. I guess you'll just have to believe me, and I suppose you can test me afterwards, when apparently I've promised to answer some of your most teasing questions.'
Laughter, while dad looked up over his glasses to his gathered audience, before licking his lips like a hungry wolf, to continue.
'A hundred and one stitches started life as a journal, a diary, a collection of memories and moments, scribbled anecdotes on scrap paper, and, well, it would have stayed like that, had I not been encouraged by my wife to sort through them all, re-write anything that needed it, and stitch them all together like I had done many a past patient.'
A pause for a another low ripple of laughter.
'The result of that is largely what you see here, obviously with the expertise of Patricia and her team to edit it thoroughly, and bring it all together into something the general public might want to read.'
Dad looked at Patricia.
'Will want to read', dad said, to another murmur of laughter.
'I'm going to read one of those stories for you now, after which I'll be signing copies and parrying questions, but before I do that, I'd just like to mention that I'm in the lucky position in my family of not being the only writer. As a bit of a competitive bunch, we like to outdo each other as often as possible, and it pleases me to be able to finally say to my son James, that I've now gone and done it as well.'
More laughter rippled around the room, while I held my head and my hands and felt like I wanted to vomit. Sophia squeezed my hand and rested her head on my shoulder supportively.
'No, seriously', dad went on. 'Having another writer in the family I can ask for help when I get stuck, has been a huge help. Seeing James do it, and do it so successfully as well, gave me the push I needed to get going, even if initially it was only to show him that I could do it too.'
More laughter rippled through the gathered crowd, offset by murmurs of appreciation.
'James has a new book out, and like all of his other ones it's doing sickeningly well. If you have children, or know someone who does, you should check out his work. James Cartright everyone.'
A round of applause. James lifted up his glass to thank my dad, and all eyes went to him. I felt hollow.
'Ok, without further ado, chapter 1. Are you all sitting comfortably?'
The audience nodded.
'Then I shall begin. I've always wanted to say that.'
More bloody laughter, drilling into my temples like a thousand metal tipped taunts.
'Iraq. 1986. Rain falls in tight silver lumps, like bullets. Tracer fire-'
Dad droned on, and the audience listened. I can't tell you if it was well written or not, or even what it was he was talking about, because I couldn't concentrate. I felt like a train had slammed into my side, and I was watching someone from behind a glass door pick up what was left of my body.
When dad was signing books, Sophia gave me a few healthy gulps from the hip flask full of bourbon she'd brought along, and when mum asked me where my billionaire was, I told her without thinking to fuck right off.
She froze, twisted her face up into a kind of semi scowl, and then laughed nervously as though it was some kind of joke that she just didn't get.
'Dad did well didn't he?' she said afterwards, changing the subject entirely. We stood there together in silence. 'Nice to see you again Sophia. I like your hair and your collar thing.' mum said eventually. She was one of these people that just couldn't cope with it being quiet for too long.
Sophia waved. She'd died her hair jet black and was wearing a studded dog collar I knew for a fact she'd used a number of times in the bedroom.
'I might go home mum', I said. 'I'm feeling a little worn out.'
'Oh ok',
'Drunk you mean', James said, coming over.
'No not drunk, James, tired', I said.
'It would be a shame to miss the questions', mum said. 'We were going to go for a drink afterwards too.'
'I don't think she needs any more', James said.
'I can ask dad questions on Sunday', I said. 'I have to work tomorrow, and I just don't feel right.'
'Your dad'll be upset', mum said.
'I'm sure he won't notice', I said.
'Does that come with a leash', James said to Sophia, pointing at her neck with his wine glass.
'What my collar or your ego?' Sophia said.
'Did you get your boyfriend to write that line for you?' James said, and Tad growled at him.
'Mum, I'm going to go', I said again. 'Say congratulations to dad for me, and that I'm not feeling well.'
'Ok, if you have to', mum said.
I hugged mum, said good bye to James with a wave from a safe distance, ignored dad completely and left without a word to any of the friends of the family that had travelled quite a long way to get here. It was pissing down with rain and we all got soaked on the way to the tube. Tad came back to ours, and in silence on the tube back towards home, we passed around Sophia's hip flask, the petrol like liquid inside, burning all the way down my throat.
I coughed, coughed again, sniffled, stuck my tongue out and opened my mouth so I could look at my epiglottis. I was such a terrible liar, that Sophia was going to have to do it.
'You don't look very ill', Sophia said.
'I'm ill on the inside', I said, still feeling depressed from Friday's awful family experience. In fact, I felt so affected by what happened on Friday, I didn't even go to lunch today. Mum wanted to Skype so I wouldn't miss out, but I told her I couldn't do anything but stay in bed, while Sophia brought me soup and tended to me like a wartime nurse.
Miss out on what
, I wondered anyway,
another series of knock downs?
'Where are you going anyway?' Sophia said, as the phone began to ring on the other side.
'I don't know', I said. 'He hasn't told me.'
'It's a bit early isn't it to be going away?' Sophia said.
I was about to answer but the line connected. 'Fabio, it's Sophia. No, American Sophia. Yes, No. It's Alice, she's sick. Fever, could be meningitis. I know, right? Something going around I guess. I don't know, but she looks awful. Red eyes, swollen face, rash all over her body, puking up all over the place, all over herself this morning. No she can't even speak, lost her voice. Right, ok, I'll tell her, thanks Fabio.'
Sophia hung up. 'He said call him when you're better, and if you're sick for more than a week, to go to the hospital. He can't pay you either, but I guess you knew that already.'