The Shelf

by Helly Acton

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  WEEK ONE

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  WEEK TWO

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  WEEK THREE

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  FINAL WEEK

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  What’s the worst thing that could happen to you on TV?

  Find out more …

  Author Letter

  More from Helly Acton

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Praise for

  ‘I absolutely LOVED The Shelf. One of those delicious books you just can’t put down. So many gorgeous witty one-liners. Utter PERFECTION!’

  MARIAN KEYES

  ‘I haven’t been so immediately sucked in by a novel IN YEARS. Not only is the idea brilliant and original, but Helly’s writing is also compelling and hilarious. The Shelf is a must-read and I cannot recommend it highly enough’

  LUCY VINE

  ‘I really loved it! Subversive, feminist and a real breath of fresh air. I inhaled this!’

  LAURA JANE WILLIAMS

  ‘I absolutely loved it – such a clever concept, so well executed and with a perfect ending! Such a clever, brilliant book!’

  KATIE FFORDE

  ‘You know when you put your whole life on hold, because you’re so absorbed in a book? That. So original and sparkly, the freshest, funniest book, I adored it!! It made me feel strong and empowered and wonderful’

  CLAUDIA CARROLL

  ‘Fascinating, funny, gut wrenching and not just a rollicking read but belongs on the school curriculum’

  ANNA MCPARTLIN

  ‘A fabulous romp of a novel’

  CLARE POOLEY

  ‘An astute and entertaining analysis of the ways in which women live under society’s microscope and a moving depiction of the sisterhood. It made me laugh and made my blood boil – definitely the signs of a successful book!’

  SARA-ELLA OZBEK

  To Mum and Dad,

  who’ve made everything possible.

  One

  Amy Wright is lying in bed, staring at herself in the mirror on the wall and counting her chins. Her long dark hair is curled up on top of her head like the chocolate doughnut she ate in secret yesterday and, if she squints, she could be a sumo wrestler. But Amy isn’t going to let a Fat Day spoil her mood. Not today. Instead, she blinks her blue eyes and takes a mental snapshot of the best day of her life.

  What Amy doesn’t realise is that the best day of her life will turn out to be the worst.

  She takes her phone from the bedside table and opens Instagram to see who’s got engaged, married or pregnant in the last eight hours. She breathes a small sigh of relief when there are no diamond rings or baby emojis in sight. She’s been followed by some random called @shrinkitquick, and Jane’s posted another close-up of the twins. This morning they’re smeared in a rank blend of banana and carrot, and she’s commented about missing lie-ins. It says ‘poor me’, but it means ‘praise me’.

  Amy resists the urge to post a vomit emoji with #pleasespareus. She wonders what would happen to her social life if she was honest online. She’d be cast aside as a kid-hater, which would be unfair given she quite likes them. Some of them. What she doesn’t love is being force-subscribed to a daily update of dribble, snot and tears. When she has kids, she’ll limit her posts to real milestones, not mindless observations like Henry did a poo! #growingupsofast, which is what Jane posted yesterday. For one grim second, Amy had thought she was seeing the evidence, but when the photo loaded it was just the prodigal son grinning with a bowl of chocolate ice cream. She flushes when she thinks about her Don’t eat it! comment. The other mothers were full of congratulations, and Jane had liked everyone’s comments but hers.

  ‘Do you lose your sense of humour when you have kids?’ Amy had mumbled rhetorically to Jamie, as he was chopping kale for his morning juice.

  ‘Along with your figure,’ he replied instantly, which made Amy hate him for a few minutes and then worry about him for a few hours. Jamie always jokes about not wanting kids. But why would he be with her if he didn’t? It’s just his sense of humour. And if she doesn’t laugh, he’ll accuse her of being ‘so serious these days’.

  Amy sighs at the banana smear post, double-taps and comments #suchcuties and #lovethem, as is the done thing. She doesn’t want Jane to think she doesn’t like the twins. She does like them. From a distance, where they can’t stare at her, scream so loudly that adult conversation is impossible or squirm when she tries to hug them.

  #SOprecious.

  Scrolling down her feed, she comes across a company trying to flog her a Neck Flab Fighter. She tuts at it, then saves it for later. One day she’ll buy it, along with that weight loss thermal suit and the appetite-killer tongue patch.

  Next up is Lottie Forrester, aka @lottietheexplorer, who’s posted a selfie at a gong bath in Seminyak. Perma-tanned and all-round-perfect human specimen, Lottie started a travel blog after quitting PR two years ago. Her account has reached 280,000 followers and she posts daily from paradise with her #lottieexplores hashtag. It’s more interesting than Jane’s banana update, but it’s just as nauseating.

  Amy tosses her phone to the bottom of the bed.

  Why should she feel jealous? Tonight she’ll be living the dream, sipping champagne in business class, jetting off to her own paradise with Jamie, and posting #jamy (he hates that) to all 260 of her adoring followers.

  It’s been two years since Amy and Jamie matched on Soulmeets, and she has a sneaky feeling he might pop the question on this trip. Sure, they don’t even live together yet, but he’s been acting strangely around her recently. Quiet and nervous. Which isn’t normal for someone who’s so confident that when he first met her parents at her dad’s retirement party, he gave an impromptu speech. He’d known them for an hour. His uneasy behaviour is a sign that something’s on his mind. That he’s preparing for something big, which could mean one of two things. He’s going to dump her – or ask her to marry him. But he gave her a key to his flat a few months ago, and dumping her on holiday would be way too awkward. It has to be the second thing.

  Rolling over, she buries her face in the pillow, hides a smile and stifles a long squeal. It pierces the silence and the sleeping beauty next to her stirs.

  ‘Turn your bloody alarm off.’

  Amy shuffles towards Jamie’s ridiculously broad back. It looks like a cardboard cut-out and it makes her feel tiny, which is exactly what you want on a Fat Day. Photoshop-smooth, Instagram-filter tanned and cage-fighter firm. She stares at her fingers as
she strokes her freshly gelled nude nails against his olive skin and imagines the diamond he’s chosen. Flash Harry here will want it to make a statement. And while massive diamonds are more Jamie’s style, she doesn’t care about the ring.

  What she cares about is that their relationship is making progress, at long last. She can finally prove to Jane and the other mothers that she isn’t getting left behind. By this time next year, she’ll be a married working supermum just like them. Goodbye espresso martinis in Soho, hello espresso mornings in suburbia.

  God, that sounds tedious.

  Amy loves this time of the day. When Jamie’s lying right next to her, but she still feels alone. When it’s quiet, and she can let her mind wander. It isn’t the only time she feels alone in her relationship. She also feels alone when he’s cooking, when he goes to bed earlier than her, when he looks at her in that way that suggests she should go back to her place for the night. But at least she doesn’t look alone. With Jamie in her life, she manages to squeeze into their married couples social club. And she’ll get full membership when there’s a ring. The pressure to get married will ease, and then the pressure will be on to have kids. The next stage of the race she didn’t sign up for.

  Of course, there is another way. The way she doesn’t like to think about for too long and the one she’s always daydreamed of. The path she was about to take when she met Jamie, who convinced her to stay. It takes her straight to Heathrow with a one-way ticket on the next flight to Bangkok. Jamie would be fine. He has his start-up, his gadgets, his routine. Last month, Amy had teased him for talking to his Alexa more than he talks to her. He’d laughed and asked Alexa what she was wearing.

  And last week, when Amy forgot to pack her toothbrush, she finally lost her patience and plucked up the courage to confront him about why they never stay at hers.

  ‘Piggie, I would stay at yours, but you know how important my morning run is. If I don’t run, my head gets foggy. I’m busting my balls with this start-up. You aren’t being very supportive.’

  ‘There’s a park at the end of my road. Why can’t you run there?’

  ‘What, the cemetery?’ he scoffed.

  ‘It has grass.’

  ‘Yeah, and like ten homeless people. No thanks. Don’t you like it here?’

  ‘I do like it here, Jamie.’ She sighed, wondering how she was suddenly the bad guy. ‘It’s just a pain having to pack a bag every time I come …’ She paused, hoping he’d take the hint and offer her a drawer. But he didn’t. What he did do was wrap her in his arms, nibble her ear and ask her to whisper that last word again.

  ‘Can I borrow your toothbrush?’ she whispered instead.

  ‘Don’t be gross, Piglet.’ He unravelled her and opened the fridge. ‘Just go to the newsagent’s, it’s still open. Can you grab some almond milk while you’re there?’

  Typical Jamie. Typical her. While it might have been a last straw ten years ago, Amy has decided to roll with the relationship punches. She’ll get her drawer eventually. Maybe more, if her predictions are right.

  She shifts in his bed and returns to the moment. Yup. Jamie would be fine. She could go right now. There’s nothing stopping her. Her suitcase is already packed, her freelance contract just ended and, as a copywriter, she can work anywhere in the world with Internet and her laptop. She could finally restart that blog she hasn’t posted on for years. All she needs is a topic she’s passionate about. Cheese. Doughnuts. A weight-loss journey. A journey. The Wright Way. A Wright of Passage. The Wright Turn. Amy could be like Lottie Forrester and all the other travel influencers she follows. If they can do it, why can’t she?

  Because you’re thirty-two, Amy. It’s too late to take chances.

  Besides, there are plenty of things she can look forward to with Jamie, and despite his flaws, she does love him. He’s familiar now. Comfortable. And she likes the idea of being married. A united team, ready to take on whatever the world throws at them. At least, that’s how she imagines it will feel once their relationship is validated by a stranger, a rock and a signed form. She’ll finally be an official member of the O’Connor team. Or the Wright team. No, Jamie would never take her name. Maybe she could pull off a Dawn Porter.

  ‘Hi, I’m Amy O’Wright,’ she whispers into the mirror. ‘I’m Amy O’Wright. I’m Amy, oh right. All right. I’m Amy, all right?’

  It sounds like she’s picking a fight.

  ‘Huh?’ slurs Jamie in a doze.

  ‘Nothing, go back to sleep, it’s early.’ She rubs his back. He moves further away. It always stings when he does that, but she knows he likes his own space in the bed. Lots of people do.

  Last year, Jamie launched his own executive search agency, Headplace, which he says is going to be huge. It’s one of the reasons they don’t live together yet. She did float the idea a few months ago when he gave her the key – but he shut that conversation down quickly. He told her he was too busy, and that having her there the whole time would be a distraction. Amy wanted to take this as a compliment, but there was something about the way he said it that hinted it wasn’t. Maybe it was the scowl. Then he sulked with her for the rest of the day, saying how ungrateful she was for his key gesture, how she always wanted more and how nothing he did was ever good enough.

  She felt guilty going back to her place that night. Jamie grew up in a big Irish family, fighting over space with five older brothers, so she understands he finds it hard to share. And like he says, why would they bother moving in together when they see so much of each other anyway? She’s often tempted to point out that if they already see so much of each other, it’s just the same as living together. But Amy doesn’t do confrontation. The key was a small step in the right direction. Jamie just needs time to get used to the idea.

  The truth is, Amy doesn’t mind living on her own. She likes her space, too. She loves having the freedom to scoff an entire pack of full-fat Babybels without judgement in her oldest, ugliest and comfiest knickers, washed down with a Diet Coke, watching Say Yes to the Dress. The freedom to narrate her make-up routine in the mirror every morning, pretending to be someone famous. Yesterday, she was Joanna Lumley, which ended abruptly in a hacking cough. When they move in together, she’ll have to quit all sorts of guilty pleasures. No more going to the loo with the door open. No more Super Noodles for breakfast after a big night out. Jamie will never let her lick the flavouring off a crisp before putting it back in the bowl because she likes the taste but hates the texture. Maybe there won’t be crisps at all. Maybe all there will be is a sad little bowl of celery sticks, waiting to give her a new complex about how loudly she chews.

  No, Amy doesn’t mind living alone. What she does mind is the ache in her stomach when she dwells on the fact that Jamie’s never even hinted that he’d like to live with her. Ever. And worse, the boohoo face that Jane pulls at their biannual coffee catch-up, which is all she has time for nowadays with her promotion, the kitchen extension and the twins. Amy hates singing the same tune every time Jane asks when they’re moving in together: Jamie’s too busy with the business at the moment; we see enough of each other anyway; we’ll probably do it next year; there’s no rush. She’s sung it so often, she’s beginning to believe it herself.

  ‘You’re thirty-two, Amy, not twenty-two. If you think there’s no rush, you’re in denial. You’re going to end up a sad old spinster, alone at Christmas. You’re an only child. One day your parents will die and you will have no one to keep you company.’

  Jane never actually says this.

  But Amy knows it was what she was thinking the last time they met. Avoiding eye contact as she stirred her weak Earl Grey, pinging the side of her teacup with her spoon. After a long and awkward silence, she changed the subject to how incredible her new nanny was.

  ‘Jane, Christ! We used to be so close! Why can’t you admit your twins are feral, accountancy is fucking dull, you miss getting tanked at The White Horse and Pete has bad breath! Stop pretending that your life is perfect and be honest!’
>
  Amy never actually says this.

  Because she’s not a social kamikaze pilot and Jane is one of the only school friends she sees anymore. Besides, Jane isn’t all bad. She seems to genuinely care about Amy’s future, even if it comes out as underhand compliments and semi-snide remarks, just like the jellyfisher in Bridget Jones. And she does invite them to the occasional dinner party. Nowadays Amy declines more often than she accepts, using Jamie’s work commitments as an excuse. She has nothing in common with Jane’s accountancy friends, who are gouge-your-eyes-out boring. All they talk about is money and all the expensive-but-useless appliances it buys.

  Jane’s pointed silence is fair. Amy is thirty-two years old. She is running out of time. But what is she supposed to do? She can’t start again. Jamie is her best bet, her last chance to have a life like Jane’s. The life that she’s supposed to want at this age.

  Amy knows that she has to take second place on Jamie’s priority list for now, but she’s playing the long game. Next month, the business will be up and running, and he’ll have more time to focus on his personal life, their relationship and their future together. They don’t need to live together to be close. They do see each other almost every night. She has a key. And she wouldn’t care if they skipped the moving-in and went straight for the end goal.

  ‘Headplace is going to be big, Piglet. I’ll have a mansion and a Rangie by this time next year, just you wait and see.’

  Amy had noticed the ‘I’ when he said this, but she let it go. Why would he buy a family-sized house and car if it was just him? She needs to stop overanalysing everything he says and does. He’s whisking her away on a surprise holiday, so he must love her, even if he sometimes makes her feel like an unwelcome guest.

  Two

  Jamie sits up and strokes his hair back. It’s the start of his daily pre-run ritual, in which Amy does not feature. Sometimes she wonders if he remembers she’s there at all. The closest she ever gets to a morning greeting is a cough. Jamie stands up, pings on his Lycra and is out the door in five minutes, leaving Amy alone in bed and giving her the perfect opportunity to snoop in his suitcase. But she has standards, so she just reaches over and opens his drawer to look for a phone charger. If there happens to be a Tiffany three-stone diamond ring lying next to it, well, that isn’t her fault. But there’s no phone charger. Or ring. There’s a wrist tripod for running selfies, a head torch for night jogging and a pair of ridiculous lime-green goggles that he hasn’t worn since Amy told him he looked like Gareth from The Office. She rolls back to her side.