Blowing It (25 page)

I buried my face in my hands. “And I told him I
love him, okay? And he hasn’t called back! Twelve hours ago, I called him. He
must have heard the message by now. So what does that tell you? If I meant
anything
to him, if he was prepared to give me a second chance, don’t you think he’d
have called or texted or
something
?”

Ryan’s face fell. “You told him you
love
him?”

“Much good it did me.” I glowered.

“Oh, love.” He pulled me into a tight hug despite
my protests.

Eventually, I stopped struggling and accepted the
comfort he offered.

“You know you’ve always got me,” he said, stroking
my hair. “Sameer, too.”

“And me,” Becky added, wrapping her arms around us
both.

“Good.” I sniffled. “Because as of now, you’re all
I’ve got.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Max phoned on Sunday to finalise arrangements for
the Carnegie ceremony the following day. I answered defiantly, prepared to do
battle if he brought up my behaviour the previous weekend, but he said nothing,
wisely deciding to keep the call short and to the point. The ceremony was to
begin at twelve at the Unicorn Theatre, a couple of miles from my apartment on
the south side of the river. To ensure we got through Central London in time, a
car would collect me at eleven. Becky would arrive at my flat by ten thirty.

“Dress code is casual,” he said. “These awards are
ostensibly for the kids, but you’re representing Cardwell, as well as Squire. I
expect you to do us proud.”

“Sure you don’t want to come over and tell me what
to wear?” I asked bitterly.

“I’m trusting you, Owen. I’m not getting into the
recent debacle, but the media will be watching.
The Guardian
is live streaming
the entire event. I don’t expect you to put a toe out of line. Do you hear me?”

“Loud and clear.” Grumbling, I disconnected the
call.

Before I went to bed, I picked out my drabbest, dullest
suit. Black jacket and pants, shiny black brogues so new they rubbed my feet if
I walked in them for too long, a white shirt and skinny black tie.
I look
like I’m going to a funeral
, I realised as I checked the outfit in the
wardrobe mirror. Then again, maybe that was fitting.

I tossed and turned all night, finally giving up on
sleep half an hour before my alarm was due to wake me. It was barely 8:00 a.m.,
not an hour I was overly familiar with, but after a shower and two cups of
coffee, I felt a little more alert, even if I couldn’t find it within myself to
be cheerful.

I was dressed and pressed by the time Becky arrived,
closer to ten than half-past. “What are you wearing?” I demanded, looking at
her jeans and plain T-shirt. Jesus, she’d dressed better for a picnic in the
park. “Are you getting changed here?”

“I’m not going.” Grinning, she turned towards the
door, which she’d left open when she entered my flat.

My heart stopped as Magnus stepped inside, looking
tall and broad and handsome in a single breasted navy suit and pale pink shirt.

“Who—what—how?” I made a strangled sound. “What are
you doing here?”

“Becky said you needed a date.” Magnus smiled
bashfully. “If you’ll still have me.”

I repeated the strangled noise, incapable of
coherent thought.

“I’ll wait downstairs,” Becky said, squeezing my
arm. “I think your doorman is working up the nerve to ask for my number, and
he’s
cute
!”

Magnus grinned as she passed him and closed the
door gently after she’d gone.

“You didn’t call!” I said immediately. “You didn’t
text,
nothing
! And now you’re here like nothing happened and you’re
wearing a suit which makes you look gorgeous and that isn’t fair! You shouldn’t
look that good.”

Magnus chuckled. “Are you done?”

“No!” I pouted. “Why didn’t you call?”

“I should have,” he admitted. “I wanted to, I
really did. I didn’t know if it would be welcome.”

“You listened to my message?”

He nodded.

“Then why the
fuck
didn’t you call?” I
demanded, my voice rising to a shout. “I told you I love you, you bastard! Of
course
I wanted you to call back!”

“I got scared, okay?” He glared at me. “You’re not
an easy person to be with, Owen. We had that stupid fight, and I felt horrible
the moment you left, but then I thought maybe it was for the best, so I stopped
myself from calling you, and I was stupid.
Stupid!
I should have run
after you and brought you back the second you walked out my door. I never
thought you’d actually leave.”

“You threw my clothes at me and told me to get out!”

“I was angry! You came barging into my house in the
middle of the night, and you were drunk and obnoxious and in the morning, I was
cranky because I hadn’t slept well. Then I saw those pictures and something
just…
snapped
. It was like Robbie all over, and I can’t do that again,
Owen, I just
can’t
.”

“I’m nothing like your ex,” I growled. “It was
one
night
, Magnus. And I know I behaved badly, and I’m sorry, but I didn’t
think you’d lose your shit because I went out
once
.”

“You didn’t invite me,” he said miserably. “I was
jealous.”

“Is that supposed to make everything all right?”

“No, of course not. My behaviour was inexcusable.”

“How do I know it won’t happen again? What happens
next time you get jealous?”

“I’ll talk to you. I promise, Owen. When I heard
your message, and you said I’d made you feel like you had to change, I’d made
you ashamed of who you were, I felt so,
so
guilty, you have no idea. And
I wanted to call and tell you that you were wrong, there’s nothing wrong with
you, because you’re perfect, Owen. You’re perfect. But then I thought if that’s
how I make you feel, maybe you’re better off without me.”

I gaped at him. “When did I say that?” I demanded.
“I said you were
right
, Magnus. I’d been selling out, I was scared, and
you made me realise how far I’d come from who I wanted to be. You didn’t make
me ashamed of myself, you made me feel
proud
.”

“I-I did?”

“Yes!” I raked my hand through my hair, forgetting
I’d just got it the way I wanted it for the awards. “I lost myself in the
publishing machine, I let Max and Katy intimidate me, and I forgot why it was I
wrote to begin with. I didn’t realise until it was too late, I’d surrounded
myself with people who wanted me to be someone else. Then there was you. You’ve
always accepted me. You’ve always let me be precisely who I am.” I laughed. “You
even see when I’m trying to be someone else and call me out on my bullshit. I
need that, Magnus. I need you to keep me grounded.”

“You don’t think I’m too domineering?”

I grinned. “I think I’m the last person who can
judge anyone for that.”

Magnus chuckled. “You can be a stubborn bastard.”

“So can you.” I took a step towards him. “You
honestly want to be my date for the awards?”

“If you’ll have me.”

“But what about Max? If I turn up with you—”

“What’s more important, Owen? What your agent
wants, or what you want?”

I thought of Max, of the likelihood of him bursting
a blood vessel if I turned up on Magnus’s arm. I thought of my publisher, my
publicist, my fans and reputation. “I need to do one thing first.”

His face fell. “What’s that?”

I stood kissing-close and stroked his face. His
beard was thick and silky under my hands. He mustn’t have shaved since we’d
argued. “I need to call my mum. If the first she hears of you is when she sees
us together on TV, my life won’t be worth living.”

He released a startled laugh. “Is that your only
condition?”

I pretended to consider, although the effect was
lost somewhat when his grin proved infectious. “For now.”

Magnus shook his head. “Piss off,” he said fondly.

I smiled. “Piss off yourself.”

His expression turned serious as he contemplated me.
“I love you, Owen Barnes. Now hurry up and call your mum so you can go win this
award.”

҉҉҉

Magnus rang down to the lobby to tell Becky it was
safe to come back up to my flat while I called my parents. With much apologetic
eye rolling, I handed the phone over to him so my mother could grill him on his
intentions and hovered in the doorway, waiting for Becky to appear.

“You’re not going like that,” she declared after
hugging me fiercely. “You look like somebody died.”

“Bad things happened the last time I let you dress
me up,” I pointed out.

“You look gorgeous, but you don’t look like
yourself,” Magnus said, cradling the phone between his shoulder and chin and
covering the mic with his hand. “I want the real Owen on my arm.”

“I’m
not
making an exhibition of myself!” I
protested as Becky took my hand and dragged me into the bedroom.

“What about this?” she asked, holding up a skinny
black T-shirt with a graffiti-style motif of the Union Jack on the front.
“It’ll go under that suit and you won’t look so... conservative.”

“I like it,” Magnus said, joining us. “It’s
patriotic.”

“My mum let you go?” I asked, holding out my hand
for my phone. “Huh.”

“I told her the driver was going to be here any
minute, and we needed to rush. She made me promise I’d bring you for dinner
next Sunday.”

“Oh, hell. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. She seems nice.”

“That’s how she traps you,” I muttered darkly.

At Becky’s urgent insistence, I took off my jacket,
tie, and shirt, and put the T-shirt on.

“Better?” I asked, spreading my arms and turning
for their perusal.

“Much,” Magnus declared.

“Get in the bathroom, and I’ll fix your hair and
face,” Becky said, prodding me.

“Do
not
go overboard!” I warned, letting her
push me into the hall.

She pouted. “Don’t you trust me?”

“No!”

“I’ll tell you if I think she’s going too far,”
Magnus said, standing in the doorway so we weren’t too crowded. He glanced at
his wristwatch. “The car’s going to be here in five minutes, anyway.”

I tried my best to be a good sport while Becky
tugged at my hair and pushed and pulled my face left and right, wielding
various pots and brushes over my head.

“Done,” she declared, and I shot up off the side of
the bath to examine my reflection in the mirror.

“It looks… wow.” I blinked carefully, wary of
smudging anything. The makeup, which had felt like plaster going on, was barely
visible. My eyes looked wider, my lashes longer, but I couldn’t have pointed at
any specific spot and said with certainty what she’d done. “You’re a genius.”

“I try,” she said modestly. “Now come on, the car
will be waiting.”

Magnus was already in the hallway, holding out my
jacket. I slipped it on and paused to kiss him before moving for the door. “You
sure about this?” I asked. “Last chance to back out.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

“If you two don’t stop being sappy,” Becky warned.
“I’m going to be
sick.
”

CHAPTER THIRTY

If the driver was surprised to see me emerge from
the building, Magnus’s hand firmly in mine, he said nothing. We climbed into
the back of the big, black Mercedes and waved to Becky as the car pulled away.

“When did you get friendly with Becky?” I asked,
leaning comfortably against Magnus and twining our fingers together in my lap.

“Since she got my number off Ryan and kept calling
to shout at me.” He grinned. “I’m glad I heard her out.”

“So am I.” I glanced out of the window as we passed
the Tower of London, where in a couple of months some artist was going to plant
thousands of ceramic poppies to commemorate the centenary of the First World
War. Then we were crossing the Thames, brownish-grey and grotty beyond the
white and blue railings of Tower Bridge. A little way farther down the opposite
bank lay Shakespeare’s Globe, and I marvelled at the history of the city in
which I lived. I loved London, always had.

The Unicorn Theatre was a glass box, which Magnus
laughingly informed me had won a number of architectural awards when I called
it ugly, located on a small street running parallel to the river. An unlikely
venue for such a prestigious event, perhaps, but as the leading theatre for
young audiences, maybe it was more appropriate than it first seemed.

The front of the theatre was bustling with
activity, adults glad-handing or posing for photographs while others herded
straggling crocodiles of kids inside. A familiar figure broke from a group near
the door and approached the car as I climbed out.

“Owen!” Katy waved, crossing the last few steps
with a little hop-skip. “You look great, and right on time.” Her smile faded as
Magnus exited the car and stood behind me. “Who’s this? Where’s Becky Knight?
Max said—”

“Max told me I could bring a date,” I said firmly.
“This is Magnus, my boyfriend. Magnus, Katy. My publicist.”

“Pleased to meet you.” He held out his hand,
keeping it extended until she gave in and shook. “We met, briefly, in March,”
he informed her. “I brought my niece to one of Owen’s readings.”

Katy looked like she wanted to throw up. “Max told
me you had an understanding,” she hissed at me.

“Yes, unfortunately Becky couldn’t make it.
Luckily, she thought to call Magnus and tell him he could go in her place.”

“His name isn’t down.”

“No, but there’ll be an empty seat next to me. I’m
sure you can sort it out.”

Katy gave an exasperated huff. “When Max asks, I’m
telling him I had nothing to do with this.”

Grinning, I linked Magnus’s arm. “I can deal with
Max.”

It took longer than I would have believed possible
to get into the building. First I was accosted by a hoard of schoolchildren demanding
photos, early teens by the looks of them, each with a smartphone. I held
Magnus’s hand and smiled as we posed, trying to make sense of the flurry of
questions they were bombarding us with. Within minutes, we’d be plastered all
over Twitter or Tumblr or whatever site it was kids used these days, and the
cat would be well and truly out of the bag.

Then there were the professional photographers and
journalists, who asked the same sort of questions as the kids, albeit with a
little more tact. Magnus handled the attention like a pro, giving polite,
succinct answers when addressed directly, but otherwise standing staunchly by
my side, a pillar of support and devotion.

Finally, the crowds thinned and people began moving
with purpose towards the auditorium, which reminded me—I whispered to
Magnus—uncannily of the lecture halls at my old university. Chuckling, he
warned me to behave as we took our seats.

The stage was empty, save a black rostrum placed
just off-centre, and half a dozen leather chairs arranged in a semicircle
behind it. A projector screen dominated the rear wall, currently switched off,
but I assumed once the ceremony began it would be turned on, giving those at
the back a clear view of what was happening on the stage.

The last of the stragglers sat as the lights
dimmed, and we applauded as the Carnegie representatives stepped onto the
stage. Slouching in my seat, I rubbed my knee against Magnus’s and smiled at
him when he took my hand. “You’re going to win,” he whispered, and my smile
broadened even as I denied his words.

I had to force myself to stop fidgeting as
introductory speeches were given and the audience politely applauded in all the
appropriate places. Ever since the shortlist had been announced in March, I’d
done everything I could to push the thought of the award out of my mind, told
myself it wasn’t real. I wasn’t
really
nominated for the Carnegie—that
couldn’t possibly be my book alongside those of authors who were household
names. Anne Fine, one of my fellow nominees, had already won twice: how could I
possibly expect to beat her? And J.K. Rowling had never won, despite two
nominations.
I’ll be in the J.K. club
, I told myself firmly. And that
was okay. Even being nominated was more than I’d ever dreamed possible.

My heart was thundering by the time they got around
to reading the shortlist. My hands sweated, my leg bounced uncontrollably, and
my stomach turned queasily. I glanced at the people to the right and left of
me, wondering how they could be so
calm
. Were some of them, too, a
bundle of nerves beneath their polished exteriors?

I heard my name but it didn’t register, the roar of
the crowd filling the auditorium like a sound heard underwater: distant, muffled,
waves crashing on the shore. Magnus had his arms around me, kissing my cheek,
many hands slapping my back and shoulders, everyone within touching distance
adding their personal congratulations to the cheers of the room in general.

“I knew it, I fucking
knew it
,” Magnus
hissed, his lips pressed against my ear. “You beautiful man, go get your
award.”

He urged me up, and I stumbled as I clambered
through the row, accepting more congratulations with shock and bewilderment. When
I glanced back, Magnus was on his feet, leading the applause, those around him
also standing, hands raised towards me.

The stage was hot, the lights too bright. I shook
hands with the announcer and half a dozen other worthies, the women kissing my
sweaty cheeks with wet lips. I was pushed towards the rostrum and looked into
the lights, squinting to make out more than shadows beyond the edge of the
stage.

“I-I haven’t written a speech,” I admitted to a
smattering of laughter. “I didn’t think… I didn’t expect this. I don’t know how
to thank you.” I clutched the small case containing my medal, which somebody
had pushed into my hand. It was a beautiful gold coin nestled in black velvet. I
almost wanted to bite it to check it wasn’t made of chocolate. “This is a dream
come true, truly.”

The audience settled down into expectant silence. I
placed the medal carefully on the rostrum and leant against it for support, my
knees feeling weak enough to buckle.

“There’s so many people to thank, I don’t know
where to begin. Everyone at Squire and Cardwell for taking a chance and
publishing my book. My publicist Katy, who’s worked really, really hard to get
it noticed. Even when I told her to leave me alone and let me write.” More
laughter. “My parents, who always believed I could do this. My best friend for
saying I couldn’t just so I’d prove him wrong.” I smiled. “My boyfriend,
Magnus, for putting up with… everything, really. I know I haven’t made things
easy for him, but he’s here, and he says he’s not leaving.”

The women in the audience tittered indulgently.

“Um, who else?” I frowned. “I know I’m forgetting
people, and I’ll get in trouble for it later but my mind’s gone blank.”

I rambled my way through a few more names, my cover
artist and editor and Becky, of course. Said something about the history of the
Carnegie, the great names who’d won, the importance of encouraging kids to
read. I don’t know what I said, honestly, because half of it was bullshit, just
words coming out of my mouth because I was standing on a stage in front of
hundreds of people who expected to hear me speak. I wanted to flee, grab my
medal, and run back to Magnus. Jump up and down and hyperventilate and kiss and
fuck and scream and just…
everything
.

Finally the room reached some unspoken decision
they’d heard enough, their final applause loud enough to signal they were going
to let me go. Picking up the medal and hoisting it triumphantly, I offered a
last thank you to the world in general and raced back to my seat, where Magnus was
waiting to hug and kiss me. When we sat again, he slipped his arm around my
shoulder, and I leant against him, overwhelmed and exhausted but very, very
happy.