She looks down at her loafer-encased feet. ‘I’ve been here for five years now. Mrs Beam ain’t much of a sharer, but I suppose you can’t help but pick these things up.’
‘I hope you don’t mind me asking, but how does she afford you if she’s so skint?’
Peach glances at her hands, red-faced. ‘I’m afraid she barely does at the moment. I have room and board. Room, mostly. But she lets me have days off whenever I need them, and, well, I can hardly leave her now. She needs me. I’ve been in l-love with London since I was a girl and by working for Matilda I get tolivehere. And it’s not every girl from Alabama gets to live at one of the finest addresses in the world.’ She juts her soft chin. ‘Anyhow, she’s fixin’ to get her books republished and then, hopefully, everything will be all right. Someone’s coming tomo—’
‘Books republished? What books?’
‘HerGood Womanguides?’
I give Peach a blank look.
‘Oh, you must know?’ she says quietly, fingering the hem of her apron. ‘Mrs Beam wrote them way back in the 1950s, before you and I were a twinkle in anyone’s eye. Surely you know about those?’ Her mouth drops open in disbelief when I say no. ‘You really don’t know, do you? Those books were practically an institution. My own dear memaw back in Alabama had all five of them. I couldn’t believe it when I realized who I was working for. Thought I might get some tips straight from the source, thought it might help my c-confidence − I’m a little shy, you see − but, well, Mrs Beam doesn’t talk right much about the old days. I can’t believe you didn’t know about her books … ’
‘I had absolutely no clue,’ I say in astonishment.
Wow. Grandma is a writer too. A published writer. This is such a massive piece of information to not know. It strikes me that Mum really told me absolutely nothing about my grandparents. For the first time in my life I wonder what on earth happened for them to become so estranged?
‘It’s been exciting,’ Peachy goes on, taking coat hangers out of the wardrobe. ‘The publishers are sending some big gun round here tomorrow to talk about the possibility of reprinting. And then, hopefully, everything will be all right.’
I nod, mind blown. Wow.
Peachy sighs and gathers the heap of clothes up in her arms. ‘I best get these clothes laundered. I’ll run you that tub too, shall I? You wash the day away and I’ll get some newspaper and milk for the kitty. What’s his name?’
‘Mr Belding,’ I answer. Which reminds me, I should probably let Summer know he’s with me. She’ll be worried by now, I muse guiltily.
‘I loved that show. I always wanted a bedroom like Kelly Kapowski.’ Peachy smiles dreamily, her slightly protruding teeth making her look like a timid little rabbit. ‘Would you like anything to eat before I go, not that we’ve got a great selection, mind. A pot of tea? A glass of warm milk? I’ll be making one of those for Mrs Beam anyway, so it’s no trouble.’
I yawn again, overcome with a feeling of bone-tiredness. Today has been pretty damn overwhelming.
‘I don’t need anything to eat, but that bath sounds perfect right now, Peach. Thank you.’
‘No problem.’ She opens the door and then turns back round. She doesn’t meet my eye but smiles, almost to herself. ‘I – I liked talking with you.’ And before I can reply she hurries out of the room, clicking the door shut behind her.
* * *
I must be very knackered because I end up falling asleep in the bath, and when I wake up, all the fluffy lavender-scented bubbles have disappeared and the water is cold.
I climb out of the large, roll-top tub, wrap myself in a huge soft blue towel and trot, shivering, back into the bedroom. Wrapping another towel turban-style around my head, I take my blue-checked pyjamas – some of the few clean items of clothing I brought with me – out of the bin bag and pull them on before climbing into the huge mega bed. I pick up my iPhone from the side table to text Summer and let her know that Mr Belding is with me, but before I can press the text message icon, my last visited site – Facebook − pops up with a fresh notification. Summer Spencer has written a new status. I click on the red circle.
Summer Spencer
Guys, I’m utterly THRILLED to announce that I have an American TV development deal with Seth Astrow’s production company for Summer in the City! Success has been a looooong time coming and it feels like an utter dream come true. Woop! #noregrets #summerinthecity
What the hell is this?
I don’t understand.
I stare at the phone, my heart thudding. An American TV development deal? Huh? Has thisjusthappened? But this morning … I click open the comments − there are loads of them − and frantically scroll down. Everyone we have ever known is leavingcongratulationsandbest wishesandalways knew you’d be famouscomments. Someone has written ‘Amazing, Summer! But I thought you were going for a book deal?!’
Yeah, me bloody too, mate. I click further down for Summer’s reply.
I know Seth Astrow from when I was with Anderson, I saw him again at a book party I was at last week! He loves SITC and wants to put it on TV in America. He said Rachel Bilson might be interested in playing me. I can’t believe it!
Last week? My back stiffens. I get a flashback to the blonde guy in sunglasses Summer was talking to all night at the Davis Arthur Montblanc party. She said he was someone she knew through Anderson. Oh my God. Was that Seth Astrow? My heart drops as it all slots into place. The champagne popping from this morning probably had nothing to do with me and everything to do with this fancy telly deal that Summer made behind my back. Why on earth would she do this without me? And why so sneakily?
Another comment pops up from a mutual university friend.
Bet Jess is thrilled! You guys are so clever!
