‘You’re mad,’ he said. ‘You have to at least try one.’
‘They look like dragon snot,’ said Carmen.
Blair looked down at them.
‘Huh,’ he said. Then he knocked one back regardless.
‘Thanks,’ he said finally. He’d ordered lobster and Carmen had asked for fish and chips if that was okay and the lovely waiter had acted as if she’d just made the best decision of all time. ‘It just all … it gets a little much.’
‘What’s the worst thing?’ said Carmen, sipping the Champagne which was cold and sparkling and felt full of stars and had now ruined her for ￡6 Prosecco for ever, which was actually intensely annoying. ‘The money or the fame or the way everyone is so pleased to see you all the time or the way everyone is super-nice to you?’
Even now, someone at another table had spotted him and was looking happy and poking their dining companions to mention it.
Blair threw his hands in the air.
‘It’s all bullshit … darling,’ he said, looking like he was about to remember her name, then not doing that. ‘You know that.’
‘I do not know that,’ said Carmen, who had ￡39 in her current account and had only ever met one other famous person, a very old sexist comedian who had come to open the ill-fated new computer department （nobody knew how they worked and they kept getting nicked） and had been drunk out his mind at 11 a.m. and kept pinching people’s bums. Idra had reckoned she got more attention out of showing the bruise to people than she would have done from suing him.
‘It’s all fake,’ said Blair.
‘Is the money fake?’
‘No,’ he admitted.
‘Are the books fake? They do read like it’s just some … ’
Carmen stopped herself and figured there was a reason it wasn’t generally recommended to drink at lunchtime.
‘Some what?’ said Blair, looking dismayed.
‘Nothing. Some words?’ tried Carmen.
‘I mean, people really believe in these books,’ said Blair. ‘They really help people.’
‘Of course they do,’ said Carmen quickly.
‘Not you though? Don’t you need help?’
‘I do need help actually,’ said Carmen, about to tell him a bit about her life, but he was carrying on.
‘ … I mean, I just feel I do what I do and it really works for people, so I just should be happy for that, right?’
‘Uh, sure?’
‘But I hate it. All the travelling. All the people. All the fake glad-handing. It’s not real. None of it’s real. You’re real … ’
‘Carmen,’ said Carmen helpfully.
He was giving her the look again.
‘I mean, so many towns. So many fans. And then people like you who say my books are just some … what were you going to say?’
‘I wasn’t going to say anything,’ said Carmen stoically.
‘Well, I like your honesty,’ he said. ‘You’re refreshing.’
He leaned forwards awkwardly.
‘Do you … do you think I’m a fraud?’
Carmen took another sip of the delicious Champagne and decided she might as well be honest as she was hardly going to be invited out for lunch with an author again.
‘I think everyone’s a fraud,’ she said.