All About Us: Escape with the bestselling, most gorgeously romantic debut love story of 2020!

by Tom Ellen

  I am nervous, to be honest. About everything: about being a good husband and a good dad and a good teacher. It’s daunting. It’s scary.

  But I also can’t wait.

  Daphne’s right: we’ll do it together. All of it. That’s the best way.

  Epilogue

  London, 16 June 2022

  ‘Time for one more?’

  Harv raises his empty vodka glass at me hopefully.

  I check my watch. ‘Nah, it’s after eight, I’d better be off,’ I tell him. ‘Sorry. Daff’s on her own and I told her I wouldn’t be too late.’

  He rolls his eyes. ‘Mate, she probably wants some time on her own! In, like, ten days, she’ll never be on her own again. Neither will you.’

  ‘I’m having a kid, Harv, I’m not grafting on a Siamese twin.’

  ‘Still. This is your last opportunity for some actual me time. Or you time. Or … You know what I mean.’

  I laugh. ‘Yeah, I do. But still, I’d better get back.’

  Harv sighs as we stand and take our glasses back to the bar. ‘I thought this was supposed to be a celebration,’ he moans. ‘You’re now officially qualified to shout at children in exchange for money. We should be out tearing it up.’

  I called him on the spur of the moment, as soon as I walked out of the final interview. I was still dazed at being officially offered the job I’ve been training to do for the last ten months. When the new term starts in September, I will be an English teacher – and a Year 7 form tutor – at Belmont Comprehensive School, Willesden.

  It feels absolutely amazing.

  We’ve just spent a very pleasant couple of hours toasting the news in a little pub next to Harv’s new office in Bloomsbury, but now I’m eager to get back to Daff. She’s always telling me not to worry, but I can’t help it. Plus, I just like coming home to her.

  When we step outside the pub, it’s still very much T-shirt weather, the sun blazing brightly in the clear blue sky.

  ‘You heading back to yours?’ I ask Harv.

  He shakes his head. ‘Nope – staying at Isha’s tonight.’

  ‘Ah, right.’ I grin at him. ‘I still can’t believe it’s been six months now. Honestly, I’m the greatest matchmaker of all time. This must be how Paddy McGuinness feels whenever there’s a Take Me Out wedding.’

  ‘Who said anything about weddings?’ I swear I see Harv blush as he fights back a sheepish smile. Have I tapped into something he’s genuinely thinking about?

  Before I can probe any further, he starts walking. ‘OK,’ he says, ‘by the time we get to the Tube, we have to name every Premier League top scorer since 1993. Without googling.’

  ‘Right.’ I nod, feeling a powerfully simplistic delight at the task in hand.

  As we turn the corner, though, we pass a street sign that reads Foster Road, and out of nowhere, a strange electric shiver passes through me. Like I’ve just remembered I was supposed to do something important, but I can’t recall what …

  Harv is striding along with his lips pursed. ‘OK …’93 … Well, it’s got to be Alan Shearer, hasn’t it? Or maybe whatshisface … the guy that tried to be a rapper for a bit … Andy Cole! Or hang on, maybe …’ He breaks off mid-sentence. ‘Wow. Pretty weird place.’

  I stand frozen to the spot beside him, my mouth hanging open as I stare up at the building in front of us: a squat red-brick house with an uneven roof and a precariously wonky chimney. It’s almost like it’s been dropped onto this street by mistake – one snaggled tooth in an otherwise perfect mouth.

  ‘Sort of a Harry Potter vibe,’ Harv says. ‘Who d’you think lives there?’

  I’m barely listening. Heart pounding, I take my watch off and examine the back of the face. The inscription reads: 15 Foster Road, Bloomsbury, WC1A.

  It never once crossed my mind to come back here. In fact, I realise now that this is the first time I’ve actually thought about 15 Foster Road, Bloomsbury, since being here in 2010.

  It’s like that whole afternoon had been wiped from my memory until now.

  That strange sense of unreality sweeps through me: the same feeling I used to get in the watch-seller’s presence. Like I’d slipped off the grid somehow, into a secret corner no one else could see.

  ‘Can I just check something?’ I murmur.

  I walk across the road to the bottom of the little flight of steps that lead up to the bright purple door. The gold number 15 glints sharply in the sunlight.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Harv asks, arriving next to me. ‘Do you know who lives here?’

  ‘Not exactly, but—’

  Before I can finish the sentence, the purple door opens, and a man and woman step out. They’re about my age, chatting breezily to one another, the man carrying a buggy with a very cute baby in it. They give us a friendly smile as they pass.

  For a second, I hear nothing except my heart beating.

  ‘Did you know them?’ Harv asks.

  ‘No, I just …’ I stare at the purple door. It’s just somebody’s home. But still, somehow, I know I was here. I know that the watch-seller was real. Because the changes he wrought in me are real.

  I glance down at my watch and feel a warm glow pass through me as I see the hands ticking steadily. I fix it back around my wrist.

  ‘Come on, man,’ I say to Harv. ‘Let’s go home.’

  And I turn and walk away, my best mate beside me, under the fading summer sun, back to Daphne, back to the next chapter of our life together.

  Acknowledgements

  First and foremost, a massive thank you to the mighty Emily Kitchin, who is not only a brilliant editor, but also a master plotter, indefatigable great-idea generator and highly skilled de-italiciser. Thank you so much for everything, Emily – I owe you many, many drinks…

  Big thanks also to: everyone at HQ, Kirsty McLachlan and all at DGA, Rachel Leyshon, Lucy Ivison, Anne-Sophie Jahn and Ersi Sotiropoulos. Thanks to my parents and my brother. Thanks to my friends, in particular the ones from whom I shamelessly borrowed names, traits, jokes or anecdotes to put in this book. Including but not limited to: Carolina Demopoulos, Harvey Horner, Jeremy Stubbings, Susan Simmonds, Daphne Koutsafti, Robin Pasricha, Rob Ellen, Chris Carroll and Neil Redford.

  I wrote big chunks of All About Us at two fantastic writers’ residences in Greece – the House of Literature in Paros and the International Writers’ & Translators’ Centre of Rhodes. Thank you very much to everyone at both, and in particular to Eleftheria Binikou at the IWTCR.

  And thank you to Charles Dickens for the loan of his story structure. Thanks, Charles.

  Author Q&A with Tom Ellen

  Can you tell us about your inspiration for writing All About Us?

  I think everyone can relate to those ‘What if…’ moments in life – times you look back and wonder, ‘If I did such-and-such differently, what would my life look like now?’. That was the initial inspiration for All About Us – the concept of being able to actually revisit a few of those moments. If you could go back five, ten, fifteen years, what would you change – and why? Aside from its magical, time-travel elements, though, the book is also a romantic comedy at heart, and I’ve always loved romcoms, so ultimately I just wanted to write a funny, romantic book that encompassed lots of other themes I’m also interested in: family dynamics, grief, toxic masculinity. I should also mention that Dickens’ A Christmas Carol was a pretty major inspiration for All About Us, since I – ahem – ‘borrowed’ the basic time-hopping structure from that excellent novel!

  Is there a character in the book you connected with most deeply?

  Ben is probably the closest to me – in terms of both his good and bad points. Like him, I’m definitely prone to being a bit over-anxious and mawkish, but hopefully I share some of his more positive characteristics too! Aside from him, though, the character of Daphne is based on my girlfriend, and Ben’s best mate Harv is a kind of amalgam of lots of my closest friends, so I definitely connected to those two very deeply as well.

 
; Do you have a favourite scene in the book – past, present or future?

  I really enjoyed writing the early chapters when Ben wakes up to find himself back in the past for the first time. It was fun to channel that feeling of what-on-earth-is-happening-here craziness as he realises he has somehow jumped back fifteen years. Plus, that section is all set at the University of York – where I studied – so it was very nostalgic to write about drinking Snakebite Black in the college bar, playing Sardines in the campus maze and acting in (usually extremely poor quality) student plays – all things I genuinely did during my time there!

  Some of the scenes between Ben and his mum are hugely emotional. How did it feel to write those?

  I loved writing them. I hope they come across as moving and tender, but I also wanted them to be humorous, as I think Ben’s mum is one of the funniest characters in the book, and I really enjoyed writing her dialogue for that reason. Those scenes were also some of the most difficult to write, though, because it’s so tough to imagine how you’d feel if you’d lost someone you were so close to, and then you were miraculously given the chance the see them again one last time! I wanted Ben to be completely overwhelmed by this bittersweet sensation of seeing his beloved mum again, but also of being reminded how much he misses her now she’s gone.

  The theme of toxic masculinity, and of how men don’t feel that it’s ‘manly’ to show their emotions, is a strong one in the book. Did you always set out to explore this?

  Yes, absolutely. I’ve always been interested in that idea that ‘banter’ is basically how men communicate. I’m quite lucky in that I can actually talk to most of my male friends about that kind of stuff, but I think it’s still very tough for a lot of men, so I was interested to explore that. There’s a scene early on in the book where Ben’s chatting to Harv and unwittingly puts on a ‘comedy’ accent when he confesses to feeling depressed. That’s something I’ve definitely noticed in myself and my own friends: the idea of not wanting to dampen the mood, or of feeling awkward and embarrassed to admit that something’s wrong.

  Can you tell us what your favourite Christmas films are? We certainly hope that Love Actually features!

  Love Actually is indeed up there, but I’d say The Muppet Christmas Carol probably pips it to the post for me. A great film and arguably Michael Caine’s finest hour (don’t @ me). Home Alone is definitely in the mix, too. There is also a long-standing debate about whether or not Die Hard counts as a ‘Christmas film’ – and I’m very much of the opinion that it does – so that’s probably up there for me, as well.

  Do you like to read books in a similar area to All About Us, or watch TV dramas to get ideas? Can you recommend any to us?

  Yes! I really like Mike Gayle’s and Marian Keyes’ books, plus lots of other authors writing in a funny, clever, interesting way about modern relationships: Holly Bourne, David Nicholls, Kiley Reid, Beth O’Leary, Lisa Owens, Josie Silver. I am a big fan of funny novels in general, so for comic inspiration I’ll most often go back to stuff by Flann O’Brien, Sue Townsend and Dan Rhodes.

  What does your typical writing day look like?

  I usually like to go out to a library to write, rather than staying at home, as I tend to get much more done that way. But if that’s not possible, the first half-hour of my writing day will traditionally be given over to intense procrastination – probably tinkering pointlessly with my fantasy football team – before actually getting down to doing some work. I find I’m most productive in the morning, and I tend to work best if I set myself a concrete goal for the day – i.e. to finish a particular chapter, or hit a certain word count. My typical writing day will also involve at least six cups of tea and probably some Haribo.

  Do you have any tips for aspiring writers?

  My main tip would be to enter writing competitions! When you’re starting out as a writer, the hardest thing can be just FINISHING something, so competitions are a brilliant way to impose a deadline on yourself and get to the end of a draft. I started out writing Young Adult books, and my co-author Lucy Ivison and I decided to enter our first book into The Times/Chicken House children’s fiction competition. We were both working full-time, and it was so hard to motivate ourselves to write on the weekends and in the evenings after work, but the contest’s looming deadline gave us a reason to keep going. We would tell each other, ‘We HAVE to get this finished in time for that competition’, and honestly I think that’s the only reason we got it done! We ended up making the shortlist, and although we didn’t win, the book was still published anyway. So, I’d really advise having a search for any contests that cater for the kind of book you want to write, and then putting that deadline in your calendar as a goal to finish it by. You’ve got nothing to lose and so much to gain!

  Can you tell us what you’re working on next?

  I’m working on another novel for HQ called The Start of You and Me, which is inspired by volunteer work that I do on a crisis telephone helpline. It’s another uplifting romantic comedy, and you can read an extract right after this very interview! Aside from that, I’m finishing up an illustrated children’s book – based on some cartoon characters I invented when I was about nine – which should be out some time in 2021!

  Did you fall in love with

  All About Us?

  Read on for an extract from Tom Ellen’s

  uplifting and emotional new novel,

  The Start of You and Me.

  Disclaimer: this extract may be subject to

  further editorial revisions before the final

  version is published.

  Will

  Green Shoots Crisis Line: Evening Shift, 6pm – 11pm Thursday, 3rd March

  It could be him.

  That’s the thought running through my brain in this dingy little ground floor office, as the phone bursts into life for the first time this evening. It’s a ridiculous thought, but it’s there all the same.

  It’s always there.

  I push aside my Tupperware containing tonight’s dinner – a gluey clump of leftover tuna pasta – and feel my chest tighten as I lift the receiver: ‘Hello, Green Shoots?’

  ‘Oh… Hi. Sorry. Hi.’

  The tightness slackens. It’s a woman’s voice. A voice I’m pretty sure I haven’t heard before. She sounds almost surprised that someone has answered.

  ‘Hi,’ I say. ‘How are you doing tonight?’

  ‘Sorry,’ she repeats. ‘This is weird. I don’t really know why I’m calling, actually.’

  ‘That’s OK.’

  You hear this pretty often: new callers apologising for having the audacity to phone up a crisis line. For having the nerve to feel desperate or lonely or sad. For having the sheer brass neck to admit that they’re in pain. Always makes me wonder how many people have chosen not to reach out for exactly that reason. How many lives have been derailed or ruined or even lost because people were too… British to seek help.

  ‘So, how are you feeling?’ I ask again. The line crackles as the woman sighs into her phone.

  ‘I’m just, erm… Not brilliant, to be honest.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘Well, thanks.’ The woman gives a forced laugh. She’s got a nice voice – husky and full of humour, the ghost of a Northern accent just audible. She sounds around about my age, though obviously I can’t tell for sure.

  ‘This is stupid, really,’ she says. ‘There are people with actual problems trying to get through to you and I’m calling up because of an Instagram comment about my boobs.’

  There’s a short pause – during which I try to work out if she just said what I think she just said – and then the line is flooded with a sound that could either be laughter or crying. Possibly a mixture of the two.

  ‘I, erm…’ I don’t really know what to say, to be honest. They don’t exactly prepare you for this kind of comment in training. I briefly consider typing ‘Instagram boobs’ into the computer’s advice search bar, but decide against it. It probably wouldn’t be
a great look if anyone here keeps track of the Internet history.

  The snuffling dies out suddenly, and the woman’s voice is so quiet I can barely hear it. ‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me.’

  ‘Just because you’re not feeling brilliant it doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you,’ I say. ‘We all feel not-brilliant every now and then.’

  ‘Yeah.’ The woman sighs. I hear her take a large gulp of something, and then the clink of glass as she puts it back down. ‘But lately it’s all the time,’ she says. ‘And I can’t even really put my finger on why. Nothing big has even happened.’

  ‘I’m guessing something must have happened, or you wouldn’t be calling?’

  ‘Yeah… Well, like I say, it’s stupid. A friend left a comment on my Instagram and it just made me realise how much I miss her.’

  ‘Does she live far away?’ I ask.

  The woman laughs – a genuine laugh this time; nothing forced about it. ‘No. She lives ten minutes from my flat. I see her all the time. It’s just that she’s married now, and she’s got a husband and a baby… And obviously I love her husband and her baby – to bits – but… it’s not the same any more. I miss the ‘old’ her, I suppose. Which is technically the ‘young’ her. Well, you know what I mean. And it’s like that with most of my friends. They’re all in couples now and they’ve got such different lives…’

  ‘Mm-hmm, I understand.’ Like a lot of first-time callers, I can sense this is someone that just needs to vent. To open a valve and let out the thoughts that have been pinballing madly around her head for God knows how long.

  She carries on. ‘It’s like… I realise that their families are the most important things in their lives right now. So I just feel that if I ever want to talk to them about my stuff, about what’s going on with me… I know they won’t fully be present, you know? Because whatever it is, it couldn’t possibly be as important as their child or their marriage. And I can tell they feel guilty too, because they think I’m being left behind and I’m going to end up on my own. Which, don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t really mind. I like being on my own. But I don’t want to be… lonely.’ The word catches in her throat and she breaks off. The phone feels hot against my ear. ‘I’m constantly surrounded by people,’ she says. ‘My friends and my family and my colleagues. But, still, that’s how I feel. I feel lonely.’