And he wasn’t even good-looking, according to Cheryl. Turning over one of the hardbacks, Lola scrutinised the arty, grainy black and white portrait that gave away hardly anything at all.The face was averted from the camera and further obscured by the brim of some weird trilby-style hat.
Oh well, he’d be here soon. Hopefully to sign two hundred copies of his book in double-quick time so they could all be home by nine thirty. OK, maybe not home by nine thirty on a Friday night if you were a super-successful uber-cool cutting-edge music producer, but definitely if you were a knackered bookshop manager with a drastically empty stomach and hot achy feet.
‘He’s here!’ squealed Cheryl twenty minutes later.
Lola scanned the crowded shop, absolutely none the wiser. ‘Where?’
‘That’s him, the one in the blue anorak.’
Oh good grief, how could anyone be cutting-edge in a turquoise anorak?
Then her gaze stuttered to a halt and her eyes locked with those of EJ Mack.
‘God, man, this is wicked,’ gushed Darren, appearing out of nowhere. ‘Look at him, he’s so brilliant.’
Tim, next to him, breathed enviously, ‘And he’s slept with some of the most beautiful women on the planet.’
Lola opened her mouth but no sound came out. Flanked by his publisher’s balding rep and blonde PR girl, EJ Mack approached them.
‘Well, this is a coincidence.’ Smiling, he stuck out his hand. ‘Who’d have thought we’d be bumping into each other again? How’s your partner?’
Lola tried her best to come up with an answer. Tim, keen to bridge a potentially awkward silence, leapt in with, ‘Hi, I’m Tim! She doesn’t have a partner.’
‘God, sorry.You mean you broke up? What’s going to happen with the baby?’
Funny how someone could look like a geeky speccy accountant-type one minute and not quite so geeky and accountanty the next, even if he was still wearing spectacles and that bizarre anorak.
Although now that she knew who he was, Lola could see that the silver-rimmed rectangular spectacles were probably trendy in an ironic postmodern kind of way.
‘It’s all going to be fine,’ she told EJ Mack.
‘Baby?’ Cheryl stared in disbelief at Lola’s stomach. ‘What baby?’
EJ Mack gave her a speculative look.
Right,’ Lola said hurriedly. ‘Let’s get this show on the road, shall we? Can I take your coat? And welcome to Kingsley’s! You’ve got lots of fans queuing up to meet you! And can I just say how much I enjoyed your book ...’
‘That’s very kind.’ EJ Mack slowly removed his anorak and passed it over to her. ‘Which chapter did you like best?’
‘Oh, um ... all of them.’
‘So that means you haven’t read it.’
‘Sorry, no, but I definitely will.’ Lola blinked as someone took a photograph. ‘Can I get you a drink? Coffee, water, anything else?’
Did my publisher not send you my list of needs? Bourbon biscuits,’ E J Mack said gravely.
‘Peeled grapes. And a bottle of Jack Daniels.’
Cheryl was still frowning. ‘What baby?’
The signing session had been a great success. In the music world EJ was a 31-year-old legend and devotees of his work were thrilled to have this chance to meet him. EJ in turn didn’t disappoint them, he was charming, witty and interested in talking about music. He had worked with everyone who was anyone and plenty of tonight’s book-buyers were keen for him to work with them too. By the time they’d finished, EJ had been saddled with a stack of CDs pressed upon him by starry-eyed wannabes.
‘Occupational hazard,’ he said good-naturedly
‘I’ll get you a carrier bag,’ Lola offered.
‘I’d rather have a private word, if that’s all right. In your office?’
Bum, so he hadn’t forgotten. Lola felt herself go pink, glanced awkwardly at her watch. ‘Um .. ‘
‘Just for a couple of minutes.’ Turning to the rep and the PR girl, EJ said, ‘That’s OK, isn’t it?’
‘Of course it’s OK,’ the PR girl exclaimed. ‘Take as long as you like! Take a couple of hours if you want to!’ Because being lovely to her company’s authors was her job.
The light glinted off EJ’s steel-rimmed spectacles as he smiled briefly at the enthusiastic blonde.
‘Don’t worry, a couple of minutes will be fine.’
Once inside the office Lola said, ‘OK, I’m sorry, I told a fib.’
‘More than one, at a guess.’ He leaned against the chaotic desk, counting off on his fingers. ‘The pregnant woman isn’t – never was – your partner. Was she even pregnant?’ Shamefaced, Lola said, ‘No’
‘And the smell?’
‘We boiled an awful lot of cabbage.’
‘You really didn’t want me moving into that flat, did you?’
‘Oh, please don’t take it personally. We didn’t know who you were. Whoever turned up, we were just going to do everything we could to put them off. Like playing that music ...’ Lola’s voice trailed away, because they’d been
