Elliot’s eyes are round as he follows her gaze. Her parents have just walked in. Her mother is in a heavy shearling coat, darkened at the shoulders by the rain, and her father is stiff and soldier-like in his Barbour and tweed cap. She can’t believe they’ve ventured here in this weather. They stand at the door, looking bewildered, and Elliot steps forwards to go over to them, then stops when he sees they’ve been intercepted by Jonas.
He turns to Emilia with an air of disappointment. She made the mistake once of telling him how much her mum had loved Jonas, and she knows he worries that he’s not as close to them. But it’s hard to be close to her parents. ‘I’ll check on Wilfie,’ says Elliot. ‘Go and mingle. This is your launch.’
She watches him weave his way through the crowd to where their son is sitting in the children’s area of the bookshop. Jasmine and Nancy are giggling together, huddled on the yolk-yellow sofa, both peering at Jasmine’s phone. Emilia smiles to herself, remembering Ottilie and herself at that age. She’s glad Elliot is keeping an eye on them all. She still can’t shake the feeling that the person behind everything that has happened to her lately could be in this room or, at the very least, watching her from outside.
She heads towards her parents and Jonas, wondering where Kristin has gone.
Her father steps forwards when he sees her, his eyes bright. ‘Hello, love.’
‘Darling,’ her mother says, air-kissing her. ‘This is a great turnout.’
‘Thank you so much for coming,’ Emilia says. She hasn’t seen them since Christmas.
‘I loved the book,’ says her father, in his quiet voice. ‘I read it in hardback.’
‘He bought it,’ says her mother, ‘despite the price. I told him he shouldn’t have to pay for it, considering his daughter had written it. I hope we get an early copy of the next one.’
Jonas turns to her for the first time and raises an eyebrow. She tries not to smile. ‘I’m sure that can be arranged,’ she says.
‘You do know what she’s doing in the next one, don’t you?’ says Jonas. ‘She’s killing off Miranda Moody!’
Her father gasps. ‘You’re not!’
‘Jonas,’ hisses Emilia, ‘don’t ruin it.’
Jonas’s hand flies to his mouth. ‘Sorry.’
Her mother shuffles out of her coat and folds it over her arm. ‘Well, I’ve never read them. I don’t like crime novels. Enough depressing stuff in the news as it is. I don’t know why you can’t write something a bit more uplifting, darling. Something funny.’
‘Maybe because Em doesn’t have a sense of humour,’ Jonas quips, and she digs him in the side with her elbow.
‘I must have had one to marry you,’ she retaliates.
‘Ouch.’ He laughs, a lock of blond hair falling over his eye.
Her mother purses her lips in disapproval at their easy manner, as though she’d rather they were fighting and sniping at each other. ‘Where’s your current wife, Jonas?’ she asks icily, like he’s been married a dozen times.
Jonas inclines his head to where Kristin is talking to Marcie. They are very close to where Ottilie is chatting up Rob, and she notices Kristin glancing at her every now and again. Emilia wonders if she will try to talk to Ottilie.
She turns her attention back to her parents and Jonas. ‘Your grandkids are at the back of the shop with Elliot if you want to say hi.’ It annoys her how hands-off they are as grandparents. They hardly ever ask after Wilfie and Jasmine.
‘Of course we do. Come on, Hugh,’ her mother says, grabbing her dad’s arm and leading him through the throng.
Emilia exhales in relief when they’ve gone.
‘Same as ever,’ laughs Jonas. ‘I’m surprised they spoke to me.’
‘They were fond of you. You could always make my mum laugh.’
‘Not any more,’ he says. He digs his hands into the pockets of his wool blazer. ‘Elliot is avoiding me too, I see.’
‘He finds it hard. It’s awkward.’
‘The only people who should feel awkward are us, and we don’t, do we? It’s all water under the bridge.’
That’s the problem with her ex. He just wants everything to be brushed under the carpet, for there to be no consequences to his behaviour. That everyone just forgets and moves on. But some people’s memories are long, and her mother loves to hold on to a grudge. She needs little reason to dislike someone. ‘You know what my mum’s like. She loves any excuse to feel aggrieved. She was gutted when we split up. You were the son she never had.’
His cheeks redden and he sips his prosecco. ‘Anyway, most importantly, are you having a good night?’
‘I am, actually.’ Even though my stalker might be in this very room, she thinks, but doesn’t voice it to Jonas. She hasn’t told him any of it yet and she certainly doesn’t want to get into it here.
‘You sound surprised.’
‘You know this isn’t my type of thing.’
He smiles sympathetically. ‘I do but, Em, this is such an achievement. I’m proud of you, I hope you know that. I remember how much you wanted this. How you talked about your dream of being a novelist. And you made it happen.’ His eyes lock with hers and the room seems to shrink a little as she’s taken back to when they first met, to how she’d felt about him. To when things were good.
She lowers her eyes. ‘Thanks, Jonas. That means a lot.’
They smile shyly at each other, as Ottilie wanders over to them ‘Long time no see,’ she says to Jonas.
‘Hi, Ottilie.’ He twists his glass between his fingers.
Emilia immediately tenses, remembering that she’d told Ottilie about Jonas’s flirtation with his co-worker. Please don’t say anything, she silently wills.
‘So, how’s things going, Boner?’ Ottilie asks.
Emilia winces at her old nickname for him. Jonas’s blue eyes widen a little but he ignores the jibe. ‘All good. You?’
‘Nice of you and your wife to come tonight.’ She opens her mouth to say more but Emilia throws her a warning look and she shuts it again. Her heart sinks when Kristin decides this is the moment to join them.
‘All the old gang together again,’ Ottilie says acidly.
‘Lovely to see you.’ Kristin’s smile is warm, needy almost, and Emilia can’t forget what Ottilie told her about the phone call.
Ottilie doesn’t respond, just sips her drink.
Kristin clears her throat and Emilia can see that she’s nervous. ‘I wanted to say sorry about the other night,’ she begins. She turns her attention to Emilia. ‘I rang Ottilie. It was a stupid, drunken thing to do. I just wanted some advice about interior design and … well … I – I’m sure she’s told you.’
‘She has,’ says Emilia, trying to inject coolness into her tone. It doesn’t work. She’s rubbish at confrontation. Another reason why she loves writing fiction: she can be bold and daring on the page in a way she never can in real life.
‘I’m sorry,’ Kristin says to Emilia. And Emilia wonders what she’s saying sorry for: the phone call to Ottilie, or what she did more than a decade ago. She doesn’t have much time to wonder as, before she can respond, Ava appears and whisks her away to introduce her to a journalist.