How to Write a Love Story

by Katy Cannon

  I’m really sorry. My gran is dragging me to a thing this afternoon and I can’t get out of it. Could we make it dinner tonight instead? I suggested hopefully. I’d really been looking forward to erasing the memory of the worst date in history and replacing it with a better one.

  Already got plans, Zach replied, and my heart sank.

  What about tomorrow? I tried.

  Rugby practice, he sent back. Then my cousins are coming over. Next Saturday? There’s some fair thing on in town some of the guys are going to? We could go together?

  The Westerbury Spring Fete. I went every year with a gang of people from school and it was usually kind of fun. Plus, this would be my first proper outing with friends, with Zach as my sort-of almost boyfriend. We hadn’t said anything about making it official but we were spending more time hanging out together at school, and I was still hoping for that first kiss whenever we managed an actual date that wasn’t a catastrophe from start to finish.

  It wasn’t my romantic walk by the river but it was better than nothing. So I texted back, Sounds like a plan. See you Monday, then deliberated over whether I should have added a kiss at the end for the next ten minutes until we reached the turning for The Wildflower Inn.

  The Annual Tea was always held at the Wildflower, a fancy hotel down by the lake, just a mile or so outside of Westerbury. The Queen Beas basically booked out the entire dining room and bar – and most of the bedrooms too, for those travelling from around the country, or even overseas. It had become a major event in the romantic fiction calendar, and this year’s was – according to Gran – the biggest yet.

  I traipsed after her into the dining room, wincing at the high-pitched shriek that went up as the Mistress of Ceremonies (an uber-Bea called Margie) announced her arrival.

  The room was packed with round tables loaded high with tiny sandwiches, scones and cakes on towering cake stands, with teapots, cups, saucers and other tea paraphernalia arranged below, all on pristine white tablecloths. Every chair at every table was taken by women and men dressed for the occasion. About a third of them were in dresses like mine, the rest wore everything from a wedding dress to a hot pink minidress and skyscraper heels, and anything in between. The only empty seat in the house was the throne-like chair at the top table.

  As Gran made her way through the room, weaving past every table to shake hands and greet people, I sidled off towards the nearest waiter and asked if someone could squeeze me in a chair somewhere. He nodded and disappeared off into the hallway.

  Standing on the sidelines, I watched as Gran worked the room. In some ways, I knew, this was what she loved most – her fans. The stories she created for them were a way of showing her love for them.

  Except this time, she’d delegated that part to me.

  An uneasy feeling rose up in me at the idea. Gran had asked me to write this book for her but was that fair to her fans? Even if we did put my name on the cover beside hers, it wasn’t really Gran’s story.

  I shook my head to try and shake off my worries. Gran would start working with me on the book soon, I was sure, and then it would just be like normal.

  Except it didn’t feel normal. Maybe it was the fact that she hadn’t even asked about the book in days but something about the whole set-up felt wrong suddenly, and I couldn’t quite figure out why.

  “You requested an extra chair?” a voice suddenly said beside me.

  “Yes, thank you.” I turned, expecting to see the waiter I’d spoken with before. I did a double take as I realized that wasn’t who had brought my chair. “What are you doing here?”

  Drew indicated his black tie uniform with the hand not holding my chair. “I’m a Queen Bea,” he deadpanned. “My ballgown was in the wash, so this was the next best thing I could find.”

  “You work here?” I asked, ignoring his attempt at a joke. And the fact that he looked surprisingly good in black tie. Sharper, somehow. Hotter, even.

  “I do.”

  “Huh. I didn’t know that.” Drew gave me an odd look, as if to say, ‘why would you?’ and I realized he had a point. We might both spend a lot of time in the library but it wasn’t like we used any of it to have deep and meaningful conversations about our lives. Even working together on the Juanita Cabrera event during that week’s Free Choice afternoon, we’d mostly talked about where to get the best flyers printed and which of Cabrera’s novels were our favourites (The Deep Green for me and Shadows of Moonlight for Drew. Obviously).

  “So, where do you want the chair?” Drew asked.

  I surveyed the room. Every table was packed already and I really didn’t want to stick an extra chair on the end of Gran’s top table, like a toddler at a wedding.

  “Actually, just leave it here,” I said. “I’ll watch from the side today, I think.” All the better for daydreaming that I was actually on a romantic date with Zach right now instead.

  Drew shrugged and dropped the chair. “OK.” He started walking away and made it as far as the door before he turned back, sighing. “Want me to sneak you in some extra cake and sandwiches?”

  “Really?” I beamed up at him. “That would be great. Thanks.”

  He disappeared with a nod and I settled back to watch the Queen Bea show, my notebook open in my lap. I figured, if I had to be there, I might as well make the most of it. Gran had told me to write down things I saw that might make it into a book one day, and the Queen Bea Tea was as good a place as anywhere to find new ideas and characters. Like that argument between two Queen Beas in the same neon dress by the window. Or the guy wearing the wedding dress, showing off his silver heels. Or…

  I started scribbling immediately.

  “That can’t be little Matilda, surely!” I stopped writing and looked up at the sound of my full name. A large woman in a dark pink skirt suit and jacket was bustling over towards me, her golden necklace (adorned with enamelled pink flowers) clanking as she came. Across the room, I saw Drew glance over and smirk, halfway through pouring tea for another Queen Bea. The room was noisy with chatter but somehow Brenda’s voice could always be heard.

  “Hello, Brenda,” I said, putting my notebook and pen safely back in my bag and standing up to greet her. (Brenda, as one of the very first Queen Beas, had known me since I was a baby. Which was something she liked to remind people of at every possible opportunity.)

  “Well.” She plonked herself down in my vacant chair. “Didn’t you grow up well? And that hat is just darling. So like your grandmother.”

  “She’s a style icon,” I replied.

  “And an inspiration,” Brenda said, with feeling. “So, when are we going to read your debut bestseller?”

  “Mine?” I tried to sound surprised but the thing was, I’d been verbose as a child. All these women had asked me questions – most notably, if I was going to be a famous writer like my gran, one day. And of course, I’d said yes.

  The Queen Beas never forgot a thing.

  “You were always so determined to write your own books.” Brenda looked misty-eyed, remembering a time when I’d been shorter than her and more impressed by Gran’s fans.

  “Well, actually…” I hunted around for something to say – anything that wasn’t ‘I’m writing the next Bea Frost right now.’ “Actually, I’m working on some ideas, doing some research.”

  Brenda nodded sagely. “That’s so important. Reading matters so much. Who’s your favourite author then? Apart from your gran, of course!” She laughed at her own, unfunny, joke.

  “I like a lot of authors. But one of my favourites is Juanita Cabrera – I’m helping our school librarian set up an event with her at the moment, actually.”

  “Juanita Cabrera?” Brenda’s pencil line eyebrows shot up towards her hairline. “Well, that’s a big coup for a school event, isn’t it? I’ve only read one of her books myself – not really my style – but my local book club had it on our list last year and actually it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

  “Which book?” I asked.

/>   “The Deep Green.”

  “That’s my favourite Cabrera!” There might have been a tiny bit of a squeal in my voice but I put it down to the unexpectedness of finding something in common with Brenda the Bea.

  Whatever the reason, I must have been louder than intended, because one of the Queen Beas at the next table spun round at the sound of it.

  “Juanita Cabrera? My husband loves her books. And so does my daughter,” she said.

  “She’s coming to Tilly’s school – when was it again, Tilly?” Brenda asked.

  “A week on Thursday,” I supplied.

  “Are there still tickets?” the Bea at the table asked.

  Looking up, I saw Drew approaching with his coffee pot.

  “I believe there are.” I fished in my bag. “In fact, here, take a flyer. You can book online.”

  “Ooh, what’s this for?” one of the other women at her table asked. “Juanita Cabrera? I read one of hers, recently. The one about identity…”

  “They’re all about identity,” Drew murmured as he topped up her cup. I caught his eye and smiled.

  “Gardens at Dawn,” I guessed.

  “That’s the one!” the woman said, clicking her fingers. “Now, how do I get tickets for this thing?”

  “Did your gran mind?” Drew asked, a couple of hours later, as the Afternoon Tea was winding up. He was on his break and the room was slowly emptying of people, so we were happily demolishing the leftover cake between us.

  “Mind what?” I brushed scone crumbs off my lips.

  “You hijacking her fan event to promote some other author’s writing?”

  I winced. “I hadn’t thought of it like that. But she didn’t seem too bothered.” Which was unlike her, actually. Normally, she’d do anything to keep all the focus on her. But then, she’d been outside on the phone – presumably to Edward – when I’d been handing out flyers. Maybe she was so loved-up she hadn’t noticed.

  Actually, I thought with a frown, Gran had been strangely distracted all day. After her manic start to the morning, she’d spent a lot less time talking to fans individually than normal. And I’d heard a couple of long-time fans, who’d come every year since I was small, say that Gran didn’t even seem to remember their names.

  Obviously she was distracted. But by what? Edward? He seemed the most likely candidate. Romances always did take up a lot of her attention.

  “Well, it’s good news for us, anyway.” Drew reached past me to grab his fourth mini Victoria sponge. “Because if even half the people who said they were going to book tickets book them, we’re going to have a packed-out audience.”

  “Rachel will be pleased.”

  “Rachel will be relieved,” Drew said. “She promised the committee a sell-out event, and after this, on top of the tickets we’ve already sold, we’re almost there.”

  “We got lucky,” I said with a shrug.

  “I guess you get that kind of lucky pretty often with a famous family like yours.” Drew didn’t look at me, focusing his attention on a lemon drizzle cake instead.

  “I suppose,” I said slowly. “But Gran’s fame … it doesn’t automatically transfer to me, you know.” Even as I said it, I knew that wasn’t entirely true. I’d been given opportunities other people would dream of just because of whose granddaughter and daughter I was.

  “Maybe not,” Drew said. “But I reckon you could probably get whatever you wanted – a publishing deal, or a huge blog following, or whatever – just by saying you were Beatrix Frost’s granddaughter.”

  “But I don’t use my Gran’s name that way.” I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, even though I was technically telling the truth. The publishing deal was all Gran’s. I was just writing the book. And just for now. I was still sure Gran would take over soon. Probably.

  Drew selected another cake instead of answering, and suddenly I wanted to talk about something – anything – else.

  “What about you?” I asked. “I mean, what do you do for fun?”

  By which I meant, What are you doing in the library, staring at that screen for hours?

  But Drew just shrugged. “I help out at the animal shelter my parents run, when I’m not working here. I go rock climbing with my step-sister Eleanor when I can. That sort of thing.”

  “Oh.” I blinked, tilting my head to look at him as I took in this new information. I didn’t even know he had a step-sister and I hadn’t thought about his parents at all. He just seemed to have sprung, fully formed, into my school, ready to annoy me with his sarcastic comments about books I loved. “I didn’t … I didn’t know that. That you had a step-sister, I mean.”

  Drew gave me a lopsided smile and I realized that was the second time I’d said that today. “Yeah. Her dad married my mum when we were, like, three. So she’s basically like my real sister.”

  “She didn’t start at St Stephen’s with you last year, though?” I asked.

  Drew looked away. “Nah. She was settled at her school before we moved house, and Mum and Dad didn’t want to move her. Her school isn’t too far, anyway.”

  I wanted to ask more questions – like why he hadn’t gone to his sister’s school – but Drew’s break was over. I watched him head back to work and realized how little I knew about Drew Farrow.

  But somehow, for the first time, I found myself strangely wanting to find out more.

  Lydia’s breath came too fast, like she couldn’t keep up with her basic life-giving functions, let alone everything else that had happened to us today.

  “What do we do now?” she asked, between gasps.

  I glanced back down the darkened street to see if we were still being followed. She wasn’t going to like my answer.

  “Now, we run.”

  Looking Glass (2018), Morgan Black

  The Westerbury Spring Fete takes place every year in the fields on the outskirts of town – the same fields that, a couple of months later, are used for the more famous Literary Festival.

  Town isn’t big, so it’s not too difficult to get to. Zach and I arranged to meet our friends at the entrance gates and, as soon as we were all together, we headed in as a pack to explore.

  “So, what’s fun to do at this thing?” Zach asked as we entered the field. He held my hand in his – something he’d started doing more and more after our disastrous first date. Every time he took my hand, I felt a little shiver run up my spine.

  Anja said that boded well for our first kiss. If we ever got round to one.

  It wasn’t that we hadn’t tried, but somehow the moment never seemed quite right. We’d spent a decent amount of the last couple of weeks hanging out together but never alone. Either we were at school, and there were always people watching, or we were at the Hot Cup, which was always packed. I hadn’t dared ask him to the house again after last time and he’d never invited me to his home, either. I was hoping he would, soon. Just like I was hoping for that kiss.

  Maybe today was the day. It was kind of getting embarrassing that we hadn’t yet. But maybe, like Anja said, I wasn’t giving him the right signals…

  “Tilly?” Zach looked at me curiously, and I realized I hadn’t answered his question about the fete. This was what happened when you didn’t get kissed – you got obsessive about it and it distracted you from other things. Like normal conversation.

  “Um, well, there’s usually live music on the stage at the far end,” I said. “I think a couple of bands from school are playing.”

  “You should be up there,” Maisey said, standing close on Zach’s other side. “You’re better than any of them, anyway.”

  Zach smiled modestly but didn’t actually deny it.

  “And there’s food tents and a few rides and stuff,” I went on. “Plus the display section in the middle. They have dog shows and sheepdog trials and traction engines and stuff going on there over the weekend.” Now I said it out loud, it all sounded kind of dull. Even Zach was looking at me like he was waiting for the punchline.

  “Last year, Anja
and Rohan entered the tug of war competition,” I said, already giggling at the memory. “They tie one end to this huge shire horse, and then people have to try and pull on the other end to drag the horse backwards across the field – of course they never can. But Anja and Rohan got everyone they could to join in, which meant the line of people stretched most of the way across the field, and Rohan slipped on a muddy patch – except it turned out it wasn’t mud…” I gave way to laughter.

  “Yes, yes, it was hilarious for everyone who wasn’t me,” Rohan said, rolling his eyes.

  “It was the way the horse looked at you afterwards!” Anja said, giggling. “With pity in his eyes.”

  Zach looked between us with a bemused expression. “I guess you had to be there.”

  Just then, Barney, Zach’s friend from the rugby team, came up behind us, slinging one arm around Maisey’s shoulders and the other around Zach’s. “Never mind all that. The main event is the beer tent over past the fairground bit. They have free samples and, since they bring staff in from out of town, no one knows how old you are and no one has time to check for ID. It’s perfect!”

  Zach’s expression brightened at that. “Lead me to it!”

  “Are we going, too?” Anja asked as she and Rohan watched Zach and Barney head across the field. I stared after him as well. So much for our date. This was why I’d wanted to go somewhere alone. It was impossible to get Zach’s undivided attention when there were so many other people around.

  I sighed. “The beer tent with the rugby team?” I shook my head. “Maybe later. Come on, let’s take a look around first.”

  As we wandered past the stalls, soaking up the sights, sounds and smells of the fete, I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to all the other friends Zach had seemed to make in the first few weeks he was at St Stephen’s. To start with, he’d gravitated to the drama and music cliques, which had made sense given his Real Star School credentials. He’d even hung out with Justin in science class, getting his help on catching up on the work we’d been doing that term. But now it seemed he only hung out with me and with the rugby team. I’d mentioned it in passing to Rohan the other day, and he’d just shrugged and said, “The rugby team are the stars of the school. Makes sense.” But it didn’t, not to me. Not when at his last school Zach had been all about music and drama, not sports, not really. Except I supposed our drama and music clubs weren’t exactly up to stage school standard. Could that be the problem? Because honestly? I wasn’t really sure why he’d want to be friends with Barney and the others instead.