by Katy Cannon
“And in case I didn’t say it clearly enough in there,” Zach said, reaching out to take my hand. My skin tingled at the contact. “You really do look great tonight.”
“Thank you,” I said, smiling up at him. “Now, how about this date?”
The cinema was a little way out of town, but Zach – being seventeen and a half – had passed his driving test the month before, and had borrowed his dad’s car to get us there.
“So,” I said, resting my hands on my lap as we drove. “I guess this is the part where we get to know all about each other?”
Zach gave me an amused look. “You interested in my prospects? My family? Whether I have £5,000 a year like Mr Darcy?”
“Bingley had £5,000. Darcy had £10,000.” The words were out before I could think about it and I winced as soon as I’d said them. Great. Now he’d think I was only interested in money or something.
“Is this your way of asking how much The Real Star School paid?” Zach asked, eyebrows raised.
“No!” I laughed nervously. “I don’t care about … I mean, well. I just meant … you’ve met my family now, briefly. And you know my favourite coffee. So, how about I learn something about you?”
“OK,” Zach said with a shrug. “What do you want to know?”
Suddenly, the only questions I could think of had to do with him being on The Real Star School. Which, given the start of our conversation, was not a good move. I scrambled around for something else, desperately trying to remember the list of first date questions Anja had helped me compile. “Um, do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“One brother. Older.”
“He’s at university?” I guessed.
“RADA.”
I gave a low whistle. The Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts was not easy to get into.
“Yeah. In his second year. Thinks he knows everything about everything now, of course. And he’s a theatre purist.” Zach said the last part like he was accusing his brother of being an animal torturer.
“You don’t like the theatre?”
“Oh, it’s fine,” Zach said, flipping on his indicator. “But it’s kind of a dying art, you know? I mean, theatre can’t ever match the audience of TV or film. So why focus all your energies on something that won’t even be there in a few years?”
“People said that about print books when e-books came in,” I pointed out. “Still here. But I suppose it makes sense that you’d be more of a TV person.”
“Exactly.”
“As long as you’re not one of those people who prefer the film to the book,” I joked. At least, I thought I was joking. Surely everyone agreed that the book was always better?
Everyone except Zach, it seemed. “Shorter, faster, more fun for less work … who wouldn’t prefer films?” he asked with a shrug.
“You’re not much of a reader then?” I mean, it wasn’t like it was a deal breaker or anything. Only I’d always assumed I’d fall for someone who loved books the way I did.
Maybe he just hadn’t read the right ones yet.
“Not really. My mum loves your gran’s books, though,” he added. “She’s totally into all that loved-up, soppy stuff.”
Well. That didn’t sound much like Gran’s books to me.
“You should try reading one,” I suggested. “They might surprise you.”
Zach laughed. “Me? Yeah, no.”
I supposed most guys wouldn’t own up to wanting to read romance. But maybe when we got to know each other better I’d win him over. Especially if I told him how they weren’t just Gran’s books any more…
The lights of the retail park where the cinema was came into view. Zach pulled into the car park and found a space, cutting the engine.
“Enough book talk,” he said. “Time for the movie.”
I unbuckled my seatbelt and reached for my bag, as he jumped out and raced around to open my door for me, like a proper, old-fashioned gentleman. Gran would approve.
“Can’t wait.” I said, smiling.
The trailers were already running when we made it inside the cinema but Zach insisted on buying me popcorn and a drink before we went and handed in our tickets.
“Classic date, remember?” he said. “That involves snacks. Plus, I love popcorn.”
How could I argue with that?
We made our way through to the screen, peering into the darkness to see the row letters. When we finally found our seats, they were halfway down the row, past a dozen or so annoyed people who had to move out of our way.
“Sorry,” I whispered as I pushed past another irritated couple. “Really sorry.”
Worse still, as I approached the only two empty seats in the middle of the row, Zach following behind me juggling a giant carton of popcorn and a large drink (I’d offered to carry them, but apparently he was determined to be Mr Perfect Date, so had refused), I saw another couple coming the opposite way down the line, annoying the people on the other side of the seats.
I checked our tickets again. Row H, seats 14 and 15. This was definitely Row H, right? I tried to count the rows from the front as I carried on down the line but the couple on the other side were moving faster than us and – damn. They’d sat down in the seats. So, were we wrong or were they? I hated things like this.
On the big screen, the opening titles started to roll. We needed to sit down somewhere – fast. Should we confront the potential seat-stealers – at the risk of being told we had the wrong seats – and start a big argument over the beginning of the film, or should we back out again and find somewhere else to sit? My legs felt wobbly with uncertainty. This was supposed to be my perfect first date. Was it so much to ask to just have things go smoothly?
I stopped, mid-row, and spun round to check with Zach what he wanted to do. Which was the moment I discovered that Zach hadn’t seen any of what was going on up ahead, and had no reason to expect me to suddenly stop. So he kept walking.
Right into me.
Popcorn flew everywhere – all over the people sitting in the rows either side of us, all over the floor, down my top, in my hair … everywhere. But worse was the drink. The lid popped off as Zach crashed into me, and cold fizzy liquid waterfalled down my body, bubbles popping against my skin.
And I’d thought Freddie flinging a chicken nugget was bad.
Zach swore. “I’m so sorry. Are you OK?” He dropped the empty popcorn box and cup to the floor, ignoring the shouts and complaints from everyone nearby as he wrapped an arm around my shoulder. My cheeks felt as hot as the rest of me was cold and wet, and I knew I must be bright red, even if Zach couldn’t see it. This was not the first date I’d had in mind.
“I think I have ice cubes in my bra,” I blurted out. In my defence, I’m pretty sure I was suffering from shock.
All around us, people were brushing off popcorn or drying off damp spots. Over Zach’s shoulder I could see one of the cinema staff coming towards us, frowning.
“What do you say we get out of here?” Zach suggested.
I nodded. “Good plan.”
“How did it go?” Anja asked, the minute she answered my call. “Wait, why are you home so early?”
“Long story.” I flopped on to my bed in the nice, dry pyjamas I’d changed into as soon as Zach had dropped me home. Needless to say, we hadn’t bothered with dinner. “We’re going to try again next week, though. He had plans tomorrow.”
Next week seemed an awful long way away, though, and I couldn’t help the sinking feeling inside that told me that maybe this wasn’t meant to be. Or that Zach was probably just being nice when he said we’d make a new date. He probably had no intention of going anywhere near Tilly Frost, date disaster ever again.
“Don’t worry,” Anja said soothingly, after I’d recounted the evening to her. “I’m sure you’ll both be able to laugh about it soon. Think about it, it’ll be a great story to tell when you’ve been together a while.”
If we ever even got to that stage.
“Maybe try going for coffee nex
t time, though,” Anja said, obviously trying not to snigger. “Might be safer.”
“Maybe.” We’d managed OK at the Hot Cup, after all. And I wasn’t sure the cinema would let us back in for a while, anyway.
I still felt pretty miserable as I hung up the phone a few minutes later and reached for the romance I was re-reading. But as I started to read, I realized Anja was right about one thing. I grabbed my notebook and pen, thankfully protected from the night’s disasters in my bag.
Maybe the night wasn’t a total loss. If nothing else, it would definitely make a good story. And a writer like me could always use a good story.
“What do I need to write my books? Well, beside inspiration, of course, and my notebook and pen … tea and cakes, mostly. And the right hat, naturally.”
Beatrix Frost, Author, Interview in the Guardian, 2009
I’d planned to spend Sunday writing up the next scene of Will and Eva’s story, showing them going to some swanky movie premiere. Under the circumstances, though, and having already scribbled down all my thoughts on the date the night before, I decided to read instead, curled up in my pyjamas in bed with a stack of my favourite romances to enjoy over again. (Only partly because I knew my family would still be making jokes about my disastrous date. They, of course, had found the whole thing hysterical.)
Zach had messaged overnight to apologize again, and promise to make it up to me next weekend, which gave me hope that he hadn’t been totally put off by our disastrous attempt at a first date. In the meantime, we made plans to meet up during the week to finish off our English project and spend a little more time together. Preferably places where no food or drink were allowed, I’d decided.
Anyway, given everything, I reckoned a lazy day with plenty of fictional romance, rather than the real thing, was just what I needed. But when it came down to it, I couldn’t quite fall into my old favourites the way I normally did. So instead, I found myself browsing through the stories on The Writers’ Room.
I still hadn’t found another story I enjoyed as much as Looking Glass, so I was thrilled to discover a new chapter had been posted. I devoured it in record time, then went back and read the whole thing over from the beginning again.
And then, almost without thinking about it, I grabbed my notebook from my desk and flipped back to the page where I’d made my initial notes on the story, and started adding to them, now I knew more of the plot. Before I knew it, I’d filled five whole pages with ideas and notes – more than I’d written on my own book in days.
I looked back at the screen. There, at the end of the latest chapter, was the message box for sending feedback. Constructive criticism appreciated.
I really didn’t have time to take on critiquing for another writer – not when I had my own book to write. But then again, I was taking a day off from writing, and I had already made all the notes…
Moments later, I found myself typing in my thoughts and suggestions and sending them to the author’s Writers’ Room account message box. Maybe they’d find them useful, maybe they wouldn’t, but I felt strangely better for having written them down.
It was lunchtime on the following Friday before I got a notification of a reply message from the author, Morgan Black. Excited, I opened it up to find just one word waiting for me. Thanks.
I scowled at the screen. All that work, just for that?
I shut down the website message screen and decided not to bother again.
Zach and I had worked hard on the English project that week, and handed it in that Friday. It was strange but despite spending hours with him at the Hot Cup after school and in the common room or the library working on the project, I still didn’t feel like I knew him any better.
“We’ll celebrate tomorrow afternoon, yeah?” Zach said as we parted ways at the school gates at the end of the day. “Maybe go for coffee, or a walk by the river, and doughnuts at that place by the park or something?”
“Definitely,” I agreed. “A walk by the river sounds perfect.” Very romantic, and less likely to involve bumping into anyone else we knew than the Hot Cup.
If I was finally getting a proper date with Zach, I wanted him all to myself. No cinema disasters, no English project to worry about, no Drew glowering in the corner of the library to distract me. (Zach had actually asked if Drew had some sort of problem with him. I’d told him he was like that with everyone.) This would be our opportunity to really get to know one another.
But it turned out that Gran had other ideas.
“Rise and shine, sunshine!” Gran sang out as she ripped open my curtains. “Today is a very special day.”
I blinked in the sudden, unexpected sunlight. “Because it’s Saturday? A day of lie-ins and rest?” And hopefully a more successful date with Zach. I smiled at the thought. What should I wear for a romantic walk by the river, anyway?
“Because it is the Annual Queen Bea Afternoon Tea! How could you have forgotten? You promised weeks ago you’d come.”
My smile froze. No. Anything but the Queen Bea Tea.
“I did?” That really didn’t seem like something I would have done. In fact, I was pretty sure I’d made an effort not to promise to go this year. “Gran, I made other plans for today.” Much better ones.
“It’s been on the calendar for months, Tilly,” Gran said. “You have to come.”
I squeezed my eyes tight closed but all I could see was the large family calendar, hanging on the wall of the kitchen, with this Saturday’s square surrounded by a pink heart, inked in by Gran.
Dammit. I didn’t want to go to the Tea. I wanted to go on my date with Zach. But Gran had her ‘no arguments’ face on – not to mention her ‘take no prisoners’ purple hat.
I had a feeling I wasn’t going to be able to get out of this.
When I was little, the Annual Tea was one of my favourite days of the year. I got to eat as much cake as I wanted, and the Queen Beas weren’t always that discreet about which parts of the book they were discussing in front of a child, so I often got to learn some new and interesting phrases.
But as I’d grown older, it wasn’t quite so much fun – especially after I became more involved in Gran’s books. The Queen Beas all idolized my grandmother, of course, and all liked to claim that they were the experts on her books. The most annoying times were when one of them would get something utterly wrong about a book – a character’s motivation or the meaning behind a certain scene – then just pat me on the head when I tried to correct them. Like they knew Gran’s books better than she did. Or I did.
Gran always said that once a book was out in the world it didn’t belong to her any longer. That it was none of her business what people thought or said about it (that was why she always pretended not to read any reviews except Flora Thombury’s). But I could never quite let go of them the same way. The characters still felt like they were ours, mine and Gran’s. Something we shared that I didn’t want to let other people into. Except what was the point of a book if no one ever read it?
The last couple of years, I’d managed to make plans that meant I couldn’t be there – good plans, ones that even Gran couldn’t argue with.
This year, though, I’d been too busy with Zach and the book to even think of an excuse. And apparently that was enough for Gran to assume I’d agreed to come.
Then I realized – Zach was my perfect excuse! Surely Gran – the ultimate romantic – would understand that a date was more important than the Queen Bea tea?
“Um, actually, Gran, I sort of have plans with Zach today.”
Gran had already crossed to my wardrobe and was pulling out Annual Tea appropriate outfits. (Mostly dresses that she’d bought me. And I just knew she’d have matching hats for them, somewhere in her cavernous closet.) But she froze at my words, and I caught a glimpse of her face as it fell.
“Oh. Well, that’s … well. What a shame.” Gran looked down at the two dresses in her hands, her eyes sad. “I was so looking forward to having a day together, just the two of us.�
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And a hundred or so Queen Beas, I thought but didn’t say. Because the truth was, some time with Gran did sound nice, even if I only had her to myself for the drive there and back. And she looked so disappointed at the idea of me missing the tea…
“Well, maybe I could arrange to meet Zach afterwards instead,” I said, and Gran’s face lit up.
“Fantastic!” Gran dropped her chosen dress on the end of my bed. “You get showered and dressed and I’ll see you downstairs for breakfast. We’re leaving at eleven!”
“Surely afternoon tea should start in the actual, you know, afternoon?” I muttered, but Gran had already gone, the door blowing shut behind her as Hurricane Bea left the building.
So that’s how, less than an hour later, I found myself being ushered into the passenger seat of Gran’s car while still chewing my last mouthful of toast. Mum and Dad stood on the porch with the twins, waving goodbye and thinking (I knew, even if they hadn’t said) how lucky they were not to have to come with us.
“I’m glad you chose that dress.” Gran waved a hand in the direction of the tea dress she’d chosen for me. Navy blue with bright spots of colour in pink and turquoise and white, and little buttons all the way down the front. It was nothing I would have picked for myself. It wasn’t even anything Gran would have picked for me, on any day other than today.
I sighed. “It’s a nice dress.” For a seventy-year-old vicar’s wife.
“And it looks perfect with that hat.” A navy thing with a bit of net at the front. It made me feel like I was going to a funeral.
But it was nice to have some time alone with Gran again. I was so used to having her to myself while we worked on her books, it had been strange not having that time with her recently. So I wore the stupid hat and the pensioner dress and I smiled, even when I picked up my phone to text Zach and found he’d already sent me a picture of a cup of iced coffee and one of a doughnut, presumably to ask if we were still on for later.
