‘Why don’t you ask for more hours at Paddington’s while you ride out this wave?’
‘Great idea.’ Ever practical Lily. My bookshop colleagues are almost like family. We’ve worked together for a year now. ‘I’ll ask today.’
‘OK, call me later.’ Lily gives me a life-affirming hug and leaves for her co-work office. After she’s gone, I throw myself in the shower and get ready for my shift at Paddington’s. I do my best to disguise my blotchy skin and puffy eyes but there’s only so much make-up can do for a girl.
I pull myself together. This is just a blip. I’ve made an awful mess of things but there’s no point looking back. All I can do now is salvage the situation as best I can.
An hour later I arrive at Paddington’s Books and paste on a wide nothing-to-see-here smile. I duck my head and dash to the staffroom to stash my bag. I find manager Beth hovering, surveying her nails as if they’re fascinating. Her pinched expression sends a wave of worry through me.
‘Harper! How are you?’ Her upbeat voice is at odds with the pity in her gaze.
‘I’m – I’m good. I’m great!’ It’s probably best to downplay it, so I don’t look like a liability; well, more than I already do.
‘That’s a relief. We’ve all been worried about you.’ Hope sparks; maybe I’m reading this totally wrong?
When she averts her gaze, that hope sinks. ‘Right, well – it’s just that – uh…’
Poor Beth; she’s a whimsical bibliophile who doesn’t have a mean bone in her body, so I put her out of her misery. ‘Let me guess, I’m fired?’
Beth’s eyes fill. ‘Yes. Effective immediately. I’m so sorry, Harper. There’s been a lot of public pressure. We’ve had an influx of bad reviews on Paddington’s Books social media pages and been inundated with comments from customers who’ve threatened to stop shopping here while we employ someone unfairly targeting an author. Tia’s publisher also got involved in the melee and sent some terse messages to Edward. You can imagine how that went.’
Edward is the owner of Paddington’s Books. I’ve never met him in the flesh; he’s just the curmudgeonly voice at the end of the phoneline when sales fall off or there’s an accounting query.
‘Not good, I’m guessing?’ Edward rules with an iron fist, from afar. But we’re all afraid of him in a way, mostly because when he calls it’s to complain.
‘It’s about the optics and Edward is insisting that…’
I give Beth’s shoulder a squeeze as her words trail off. The book community is mighty but it’s a small world and gossip travels fast. The last thing I want to do is bring Paddington’s Books into disrepute. We need to protect indie bookshops just as much as we need to fight against the use of AI in publishing.
When I speak, I make my voice as chirpy as I can muster. ‘It’s OK. From a business perspective it makes total sense and if Edward’s involved there’s no coming back from that. I’ll be fine, I promise.’ I die a little inside as the lie slips from my tongue and my brain screams,How the hell will you be OK?!Before panic sets in any further, I swipe the thought away. I can fall apart later. In private.
Beth wrings her hands. ‘You know if it were up to me, I would never do this to you, right, Harper?’
This is nicest firing in all of history. ‘I know you wouldn’t and honestly, it’s for the best. I’ve got plenty to keep me busy, so please don’t worry. I’ll miss this place – miss you and the gang – but it’s not like I’ll never see you again. I’ll still buy my books here.’With what money, Harper!?It occurs to me I won’t be getting advance copies from authors and publishers, and I won’t have spare funds to buy books from Paddington’s either. Temporarily, at least.
‘I’m worried about you because I know you relied on your Bookstagram income and now this. Have you got any other options?’ Beth’s voice is tinged with hope. ‘Anything in the pipeline?’
I put her out of her misery; at least, I try to. ‘Yes, yes. I’ve got a couple of interviews lined up already.’ The lie slips out easily.
Is it time for me to explore other avenues? Jobs in different countries. Different galaxies, even. Mars would be good. Venus at a stretch. I’m mortified that I’m being cast as the antagonist in my own story. How will I ever live this down?
Or… what if I stumbled on that job ad for the Barefoot Bookshop on the beach for this very reason? Was it a sign that I need to broaden my horizons, and escape? Surely the position in a sun-drenched paradise has been snapped up already though? And how will I ever find it because the link wasn’t complete…
Back on the floor, my bookshop family gather round. There are plenty of tears as we reminisce about the time we’ve spent together and the funny interactions we’ve had along the way. A few customers point and whisper behind their hands. Do they recognise me from the many memes circulating online? It’s such an invasion of privacy, some stranger stealing personal photos and editing them into some awful shareable joke that gets flicked from one part of the internet to the other.
After my goodbyes, I take the Tube home, stopping at my local Sainsbury’s to stock up on comfort food. Arms piled with junk that has zero nutritional value, I pause. Really, I shouldn’t be spending money frivolously now that I have precisely zero coming in. I’m in desperate need of a sugar high, something, anything, to boost morale, so I give myself permission for one last splurge. As I queue to pay, a tabloid magazine catches my attention:
Bestselling Debut Author accused of using AI. Truth or Slander? We do a deep dive.
Oh no. How has it blown up like this after three short days? When it’s my turn with the cashier, I drop the gossip mag, not wanting to be associated with it, quickly tap my debit card and scramble from the shop. Back home, I crack open the tub of triple choc swirl ice cream and sob-eat while scrolling news sites on my phone to see if there are any reports about Tia that back up my claims. This might be a good thing. If the tabloids are doing so-called deep dives, then surely they’ve found something?
I speed-read various posts but find no mention of Tia being exposed as a fraud. It seems that my inadvertent faux pas has opened a can of worms. There are think pieces on the future of literature and AI and the question is asked how readers can be assured they’re not buying AI written novels. And the consensus is, at the moment, it’s hard to tell.
Most articles focus on the question of when an author deserves privacy, and how social media ‘influencers’ often create online drama for ‘likes’. My name is mentioned as a cautionary tale, why it’s best not to let social media stardom go to your head (gee, thanks) and the repercussions once it does. Not even one sentence is devoted to investigating my claims about Tia the writer; instead, they discuss the speed of her book hitting the bestseller charts despite the rise of cancel culture and online influencers sticking their nose in, i.e. me suffering a bout of tall poppy syndrome like I’m some kind of rage-baiting, revenge seeking, ego maniac, ruining lives for the sake of getting a few more followers. How are they all missing the point here? Is it possible they’re right? And I’m some kind of mistaken lone avenger, who can’t stand to see someone like Tia succeed? Lily always tells me to keep my trap shut or trouble will find me, and here I am again, now known as a clickbait agitator when that couldn’t be further from the truth.
It’s like I’m living in a parallel universe. But what does this mean for me, going forward? My savings won’t last the month, not after I’ve paid rent.
6
