Some Girls Do (13 page)

Claire raised her eyebrows. ‘I think my avatar is hot.’

‘She’s okay,’ Mark said, ‘if you like that whole overblown, cartoonish thing. Me, I’m a sucker for a woman in three-D.’

Claire laughed. ‘Anyway, you’ve read the blog,’ she said. ‘Surely you could tell from that that I wasn’t an old man. Or a sumo wrestler.’

‘It could have been made up. Lots of people pretend to be something they’re not online. It’s easy.’

‘I suppose so.’ She frowned, feeling guilty. He was talking about her, only he didn’t know it. Now was her chance to tell him that she wasn’t really the person in her blog. He probably wouldn’t mind – it would still be better than finding out she was a ninety-year-old sumo wrestler or whatever.

But then she felt needled by the implication of his words. ‘Would it make any difference if I was a ninety-year-old man? Or if I looked like a sumo wrestler? Would you have changed your mind about wanting the book? I mean, I’d still be the same writer.’

‘Of course the writing would be the same, but I don’t know that I’d be interested if it turned out to be the sordid fantasies of some decrepit old pervert.’

She laughed. She had to admit he had a point. She could imagine the shocked reaction of her followers if it turned out she was a dirty old man.

‘As for how you look,’ he said, giving her an admiring glance, ‘it’s not just about the writing. It’s the whole package, and it’s a lot easier to sell an attractive young woman than an old man.’

Claire blushed, and was glad when the waiter appeared to run through the specials. When he had gone, she buried her face in the menu to regain her composure. The food sounded wonderful.

‘Are you ready to order?’ Mark asked her, as the waiter returned.

‘I’ll have the crab cakes, and then the duck, please,’ she told the waiter.

Mark ordered smoked salmon followed by beef in Guinness. ‘When in Ireland …’ he said to Claire, after the waiter had gone. ‘So,’ he began in a more businesslike tone, ‘how do you feel about going public?’

‘Nervous,’ Claire admitted. ‘Kind of terrified, actually.’

‘Are you sure you want to do it?’

‘Yes,’ she said cautiously. ‘I think so. I mean, I really want to do the book. I’ve always wanted to be published. But the rest … I’m not so sure.’

‘Well, you don’t necessarily have to “come out” as the author. We could publish the book anonymously. It would have its own advantages. We could use the mystery around your identity as a publicity angle – build up the intrigue about who you really are.’

‘I never thought of that. Is this a plan you came up with when you thought I might be some old codger?’

He grinned sheepishly. ‘Well, you have to be prepared for all eventualities.’

‘Do you think it would work equally well if I published anonymously?’

‘Your blog is very popular, so you’ve got a good platform to start from. And sex always sells. I think we can make the book a big success either way.’

‘But?’ She heard the reservation in his tone.

‘But the fact that you’re an attractive woman is a bonus. It really helps with the media.’

‘I don’t know how good I’d be at the publicity stuff,’ Claire said. ‘I’m a bit shy.’

‘Is that what motivated you to write your blog anonymously?’

‘Well, that and the subject matter. I mean, it wouldn’t be great for work, for instance, if everyone knew I was writing that stuff. It’s not the sort of thing you’d want your boss to know about. I
also thought it would be best if people couldn’t trace me. You come across some very strange people online, especially with the sort of stuff I write about.’

‘Yeah, I can imagine.’ He nodded. ‘You probably get some real weirdos.’

She laughed. ‘Half of them think I should be consigned to Hell, and the other half want a bunk-up.’

Mark frowned. ‘Well, I suppose that would be a consideration, too, in deciding if you want to be identified as the author.’

They were interrupted by the arrival of their starters.

‘You must’ve told some people about the blog,’ Mark said, as they began eating.

‘Only one – a friend. None of my family know about it.’

‘They don’t know about your blog or about your, er … personal life?’

‘They don’t know any of it. I’m not sure how I’d feel about them finding out.’

‘Do you think they’d be shocked?’

‘Well … yes, probably.’ She was actually less worried that they’d be horrified than that they’d die laughing and call her on it. They could even expose her as a fraud if they wanted to. Her mother would probably love the whole thing, and be enormously proud. But Michelle would be livid – and jealous. Like Claire, she dreamed of being a published author, and she always had something snide to say when someone else got a book deal. She would hate Claire getting there before her, and Claire wouldn’t put it past her to blow the whistle out of spite. She could be pretty poisonous. Of course, none of the family could know for sure that she wasn’t living a double life as a sex bomb with a string of secret lovers. It wasn’t as if she would share it with them if it were true. But somehow she thought they’d have a damn good idea that she’d made it all up. And how pathetic would she look then?

‘Do you think it would be possible to keep it a secret?’ she asked.

‘Well, obviously some people would have to know. But we could keep the circle as small as possible, and get everyone to sign non-disclosure agreements. What about the men?’ he asked.

‘The men?’

‘The men you write about – Mr Bump and Grind, Mr Curious, Mr Fussy, all that lot.’

‘Oh, them.’

‘Even with fake names, is there a chance that any of them would recognise themselves?’

‘I really don’t think they’d cause problems.’ Mainly because they don’t exist, she thought.

‘Still, if you go public and you’re on television or in the newspapers, it wouldn’t be hard for someone you’d been with to put two and two together.’

‘True,’ she said, deciding it would be as good an excuse as any if she decided she wanted to remain anonymous.

‘It’s something to think about anyway. You don’t have to decide anything right now. And if we do publish anonymously, you can always decide to go public further down the line, if you want. It could even give the book a second bite of the cherry when the initial publicity has died down.’

By the time their starters were cleared, the champagne bottle was empty, and they ordered some red wine.

‘So, tell me a bit about yourself, Claire,’ Mark said, when their main courses had been served.

‘Like what?’

‘Anything. I know absolutely nothing about you – except for the explicit details of your sex life, of course.’ He grinned.

She smiled ruefully, the champagne buzz overriding her shyness. ‘Well, let’s see. I’m twenty-eight, the youngest in my family. I have two older brothers, both married with kids. I have a degree in English literature. I work in a bookshop – an independent.’

‘But you’d like to write full-time?’

‘I’d love to.’

‘Well, hopefully we can make that happen.’ He smiled. ‘Do you write other stuff?’

‘Yes, I write fiction. I’m working on a young-adult novel at the moment.’

‘I’d be happy to take a look at if you’d like.’

‘You would?’

‘Sure.’

‘That would be great. I mean, it’s not ready to show to anyone yet, but when it is, I’d love you to read it.’

‘I’d be glad to.’

‘Anything else you’d like to know?’

‘Well … I know you don’t have a boyfriend as such – you’re still auditioning for the role, yes?’

‘Sort of.’

‘How many candidates are there, now that Mr Handy’s out of the picture?’

‘Actually … I may exaggerate a bit on the blog,’ she admitted.

‘Really? How much?’

She took a deep breath. ‘At the moment there are …’ she looked up at the ceiling as if counting ‘… none.’

‘None?’ His eyebrows shot up, but she couldn’t help thinking he seemed rather pleased.

‘Do you think I’m an awful fraud?’

‘I’m just surprised. I did allow for a certain amount of artistic licence – several of my female friends who read your blog tell me that no single young woman could be getting that much action.’

‘Well, they’re right.’

‘You’re not going to tell me you make it all up, are you?’

‘Oh, no!’ she gasped, in mock horror. ‘It’s sort of a blend – part reality, part fiction. Like
Made in Chelsea
.’

‘Some scenes have been created for our entertainment?’

‘Exactly. Some of the men I describe are actually a mash-up of a couple of guys I’ve dated. Or I write about stuff that’s happened in the past. Some of the guys I made up completely, for my own amusement,’ she admitted with a guilty smile.

‘Mr Bossy?’ he guessed.

‘Mr Bossy’s real, but he was a long time ago,’ she heard herself saying. She had no idea where that had come from. Surely it would have been simpler to make him fictional, and the more straightforward guys real. Well, it was said now – too late to take it back.

‘So there’s no one in your life at the moment?’

‘It’s my guilty secret.’

‘Would it be very cheesy to say I find that hard to believe?’

‘Very cheesy. But I happen to love cheese,’ she smiled, ‘so I’ll let you away with it.’

‘So, seriously – how did that happen?’

‘Well, your friend is right. Good men aren’t that thick on the ground. And I’m quite fussy. There’s also the fact that I live with my mother now.’

‘You live with your mother?’

‘She’s been ill. She has a dodgy heart and she’s quite incapacitated with arthritis, so I moved back home to look after her,’ she said.

‘Well, I can see how that would curtail your social life.’

‘It’s fine. I think it came at a good time, actually – gave me a chance to take stock. I was getting tired of playing the field anyway. I think I’m ready for something more serious.’ Wow, she had no idea where all this material was coming from, but she liked it. Turned out improvisation was her thing! Who knew?

‘Well, at the risk of sounding even cheesier, may I say I’m glad to hear that?’ he said with a slow smile.

Claire smiled back. ‘So, what about you?’

‘Well, I’m a publisher, as you know. Thirty-two. I run. I live in Highgate with Millie and we have a pretty volatile relationship—’

‘Millie?’ Claire was surprised by how disappointed she felt.

‘My cat. I told you about her.’

‘Oh, yes! The feline one.’ She smiled in relief. ‘How is she?’

‘I’d like to say she was jealous about me coming to meet you,
but she’s not arsed, as usual. Sometimes I think she’s just using me for my money. She has very expensive tastes.’

‘You should ditch her. She doesn’t deserve you.’

‘I know, but I’m a besotted fool,’ Mark said, putting his hand on his heart and pulling a pathetic face.

‘What about your family?’

‘I’m an only child. But don’t believe the propaganda,’ he said, with a grin. ‘We’re a much-maligned group.’

‘So you
weren’t
a spoiled brat who thought the world revolved around you and didn’t know how to share?’

‘Well, I have to admit I’m not good at sharing. I was a nightmare at playschool.’

‘What about your parents? Do they live in London?’

‘They moved to Cornwall when my father retired. I visit as often as I can, which isn’t often enough.’

‘So … girlfriend?’

‘No. I’ve been dating a bit, but nothing serious. I broke up with my last girlfriend about six months ago. Sophie,’ he added, with a faraway look in his eyes. ‘She was even more high maintenance than Millie.’

‘Had you been together long?’

‘About five years, off and on. Mostly on.’

‘That’s a long time. What happened?’

‘We were fighting all the time. We made each other miserable. So we decided to call it a day.’

‘Well, at the risk of sounding cheesy, may
I
say I’m very glad you did,’ she said. She couldn’t believe how easy she was finding it to flirt with him. She hardly recognised herself. She didn’t know what had got into her, but whatever it was, she liked it. It was fun, dressing up, flirting her socks off with Mark, seeing the admiration in his eyes when he looked at her. She was really enjoying being this person, and she was delighted that the spark between them was still there in real life. She liked Mark, and she felt they already had a connection that went way beyond a superficial Twitter flirtation.

When the mains had been cleared away, Mark became more businesslike again.

‘Do you have an agent?’ he asked her.

‘No. Do I need one?’

He shrugged. ‘It’s up to you, but it would probably be advisable. It shouldn’t be hard to get one when you already have a deal on the table.’

‘And do I?’

‘If you want one.’

‘Yes! I do.’

‘I’ll get a formal offer in the post and have a contract drawn up. But, in the meantime, can we shake on it?’ he asked, holding out his hand.

‘Definitely!’ Claire grasped and shook it heartily.

‘Great! I look forward to working with you.’ Mark beamed at her. ‘Now, do you want dessert?’ he asked, looking at the menus the waiter had just handed them.

‘I’m absolutely stuffed,’ Claire said, ‘but they do have sticky toffee pudding …’

‘Want to go halves?’ Mark asked.

‘I thought you didn’t like sharing?’

‘I need the practice.’

‘In that case, yes, please,’ Claire said eagerly, thinking he may well be the perfect man.

‘So what made you decide to work in a bookshop?’ Mark asked.

‘It wasn’t really a decision. It was more a case of what I could get. My original plan was to move to London and try to start a career in publishing.’ She wondered if their paths would have crossed. ‘I tried to find something in that field when I moved home, but … it didn’t happen.’

‘Well, I’m glad about that.’

‘You are?’ She frowned.

‘Yes. Instead of joining the hordes of writers
manqué
working
in publishing, you’ve skipped that bit and actually become a writer.’

‘Well, it wasn’t part of any grand plan.’

‘Still, that’s the way it’s worked out.’

‘I suppose it is.’ She smiled. Maybe he was right and everything had happened for a reason. ‘Are you a writer
manqué
?’