parking. My heart was pounding. For the time being the drama with Dad had been relegated to second place. Lily's book was the cause of my dry mouth. I ran across the concourse, hoping that I wouldn't bump into anyone from work, and entered the bookshop on full alert, adrenalined to the max, feeling like an SAS man breaking into an enemy embassy. I flicked my eyes from left to right, expecting to be ambushed by big displays of Lily's book, then twirled around very fast to see if there was anything behind me. Nothing, so far. With my Super-Anxious Vision, I spotted the New Titles wall and in under a second I'd scanned every cover - the Six Million Dollar Man couldn't have done it faster - but there were none by Lily.
What if they didn't stock the book here? After all, this was just a small, local store. Already I knew I would have to go into town to a bigger bookshop and keep searching. I couldn't give up until I had a copy of Lily's book in my hand.
Next, the alphabetical listing. The Ws were on the lower shelves, near the floor. Down I sprang Waters, Werther, Wogan… oh Christ, there it was. There was her name. Lily Wright. Done kind of curly and wacky. Like this: Lily Wright . And the title was the same: Mimi's Remedies .
My heart was banging and my hands were so sweaty they left a smear on the cover. I turned pages but my fingers would only fumble. I was looking for the little bit that tells about the author. And then I found it.
Lily Wright lives in London with her partner Anton and their baby girl Ema.
Sweet Jesus. Seeing it in this book made it more true than it had ever been before. It was in print .
Everyone - her publishers, her readers, the bookshop staff and the people who worked in the printworks - they all thought it was true. Anton was Lily's partner and they had a little girl. I felt out in the cold and excluded from the loop because I was the only person in the whole world who still thought Anton was rightfully mine. Everyone else everywhere thought Lily's claim to him was legitimate. The bitter injustice. She'd stolen him, but instead of treating her like the common criminal she was, everyone was slapping her on the back congratulating her, 'Well done, that's a lovely partner you've got there. Good girl yourself.' No mention of the fact that she was thinning on top, of course. Not even a hint that she'd look a damn sight better if she got herself a Burt Reynolds-style hair-follicle transplant - and that's not just me being bitchy, she often said it herself. But no, projecting only a positive spin, everything was lovely and hirsute. On the back cover there was a small black and white photo. I gazed at it, my mouth in a bitter-sweet twist. Look at her, all delicate and wide-eyed and blondey and ten-drilly, like a long-limbed, slender angel. And they say the camera never lies…
I almost felt that I shouldn't have to pay for the book — not only had the author stolen the man I'd loved the most, but she'd written a book about me. I got one of those well-nigh irresistible urges to croak at the assistant, 'This is all about me, you know,' but I managed not to.
Somehow I'd paid and I was outside the shop where I stood in the cold, skimming the pages for my name. At first glance I couldn't see it. I kept looking, then understood that she'd have had to change my name, in case I sued or something. I was probably 'Mimi'. I got as far as page seven before I came out of the trance I was in and saw that I could just as well be in Mam's in the warm, as standing here reading it.
As soon as I let myself back into the house, Mam stood framed in the kitchen doorway and choked, 'He has a girlfriend.'
While I'd been out, she'd finally managed to track Dad down and she was experiencing the news afresh.
'This has never happened to anyone I know. What did I do wrong?'
She walked into my arms, sagged against me and something hard banged off my hipbone — the porridge bowl, she had it in her dressing-gown pocket. She
What if they didn't stock the book here? After all, this was just a small, local store. Already I knew I would have to go into town to a bigger bookshop and keep searching. I couldn't give up until I had a copy of Lily's book in my hand.
Next, the alphabetical listing. The Ws were on the lower shelves, near the floor. Down I sprang Waters, Werther, Wogan… oh Christ, there it was. There was her name. Lily Wright. Done kind of curly and wacky. Like this: Lily Wright . And the title was the same: Mimi's Remedies .
My heart was banging and my hands were so sweaty they left a smear on the cover. I turned pages but my fingers would only fumble. I was looking for the little bit that tells about the author. And then I found it.
Lily Wright lives in London with her partner Anton and their baby girl Ema.
Sweet Jesus. Seeing it in this book made it more true than it had ever been before. It was in print .
Everyone - her publishers, her readers, the bookshop staff and the people who worked in the printworks - they all thought it was true. Anton was Lily's partner and they had a little girl. I felt out in the cold and excluded from the loop because I was the only person in the whole world who still thought Anton was rightfully mine. Everyone else everywhere thought Lily's claim to him was legitimate. The bitter injustice. She'd stolen him, but instead of treating her like the common criminal she was, everyone was slapping her on the back congratulating her, 'Well done, that's a lovely partner you've got there. Good girl yourself.' No mention of the fact that she was thinning on top, of course. Not even a hint that she'd look a damn sight better if she got herself a Burt Reynolds-style hair-follicle transplant - and that's not just me being bitchy, she often said it herself. But no, projecting only a positive spin, everything was lovely and hirsute. On the back cover there was a small black and white photo. I gazed at it, my mouth in a bitter-sweet twist. Look at her, all delicate and wide-eyed and blondey and ten-drilly, like a long-limbed, slender angel. And they say the camera never lies…
I almost felt that I shouldn't have to pay for the book — not only had the author stolen the man I'd loved the most, but she'd written a book about me. I got one of those well-nigh irresistible urges to croak at the assistant, 'This is all about me, you know,' but I managed not to.
Somehow I'd paid and I was outside the shop where I stood in the cold, skimming the pages for my name. At first glance I couldn't see it. I kept looking, then understood that she'd have had to change my name, in case I sued or something. I was probably 'Mimi'. I got as far as page seven before I came out of the trance I was in and saw that I could just as well be in Mam's in the warm, as standing here reading it.
As soon as I let myself back into the house, Mam stood framed in the kitchen doorway and choked, 'He has a girlfriend.'
While I'd been out, she'd finally managed to track Dad down and she was experiencing the news afresh.
'This has never happened to anyone I know. What did I do wrong?'
She walked into my arms, sagged against me and something hard banged off my hipbone — the porridge bowl, she had it in her dressing-gown pocket. She
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