Unconventional Page 9

  “Come on, Sam. Got to get back to work!” I loop my arm through hers and tug her towards the door. “Good luck on the panel!”

  Aidan’s attention snaps back to me. “What do I do afterwards? For the reading?”

  “Come back here, half an hour beforehand. I’ll take you over.”

  He nods. “Will you let me back in, or…?” He’s only half-joking.

  The sound that leaves my throat is a very unhappy one because I am not in the mood for more clipboard jokes, but something makes me stop at the door. Maybe it’s knowing this is his first panel and he’s nervous – and part of my job is to make sure he relaxes. Maybe it’s because I want to say it. Or maybe it’s because I can still feel his eyes on me, all the way over here, and somehow it’s like stepping into the sunshine when you’ve been in a dark room. “By the way – the book’s amazing. I really did love it.”

  I run away before he has the chance to reply. Abandoning Sam, I run all the way down the busy corridor, all the way through the lobby and past reception, down the stairs to the creepy basement banquet hall and sharp right into the ladies’ toilets, where I slam the door shut behind me and lock it, leaning my forehead against it and listening to my heart pound in my ears.

  Right.

  Right.

  Aidan looks much happier when I see him in the green room before his reading. I feel a little guilty when I see him actually. I’d meant to stick my head into the panel room and see how he was doing, but the hour disappeared thanks to an air-conditioning crisis in one of the workshop rooms, where everyone was sitting huddled in their coats like they were about to go ice-fishing – not that the hotel’s maintenance guy seemed too bothered. To start with, he tried the usual I’ll-get-to-it-when-I-get-to-it line they all trot out when it’s a girl (me) talking to them. I’m used to it – although I can’t help but wonder whether they’d pull the same bollocks with my dad… Still. After a bit of “persuading” – mostly me threatening to withhold part of the convention facilities bill in my most righteous voice – the air-con problem is resolved, and I’m doing a round of the green room with my clipboard (of course) and not at all checking every time the door opens in case it’s Aidan.

  And if I were, it would only be to make sure he isn’t late for his reading.

  Naturally.

  When he does walk in, he’s talking to someone behind him – Will, another author and the moderator from Aidan’s panel, who also blurbed his book in that press release. They’re in the middle of a conversation by the look of it, and Aidan almost walks right past me. He does, at first, stopping dead three steps past me and swivelling on his heels.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi.” I drop the clipboard onto the table. “How’d it go?”

  “Good. I think. I mean, I don’t feel like I made a complete idiot of myself, so that’s probably good, right?”

  “Generally. Did you get any questions?”

  “A few. Not so much for me, because nobody knows who the hell I am, but the others were pretty nice and made sure I wasn’t just sitting there grinning like an idiot.”

  “They’re a good bunch.” I smile at Will, who’s helping himself to a beer from the green room fridge and sitting down to check his phone. He’s an old hand at conventions now; this is at least his third season, so he doesn’t need any babysitting. I catch his eye and he gives me a smile back, raising his beer in acknowledgement. “So,” I turn back to Aidan. “Reading.”

  “Reading.” He makes a gulping sound.

  “There’s nothing to worry about, I promise. No radio mic for this one – there’s a static mic on the lectern.”

  “Mmmm?”

  “So I’ll take you in, and I’ll give you a signal when it’s time – after that, you can start when you’re ready.” I pick up the clipboard again – reluctantly – but he doesn’t seem to notice. “There’s water in there for you if you need it.”

  “Mmmm.”

  “One thing – we really have to keep to time, or everything ends up running late and I get yelled at. I’ll be at the back, and I’ll give you a five-minute signal.”

  “Sorry – five-minute signal?”

  He hasn’t been listening to a word I’ve said, has he?

  “Five minutes before the end. If you’re coming up to the end of your reading, you can ask if there’s any questions – or you can always finish early. Up to you.”

  “So…I just…read?”

  “That’s generally how a reading goes. Jenna went through this with you, right?”

  He ignores my question. “Out loud. Read.”

  “Ye-es?”

  “To people.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “Any chance no one will turn up?” He sounds like he’s only half-joking, and I can’t decide whether an empty room is his greatest wish or his worst fear – or both at the same time.

  “No.” Not if I have anything to do with it, at least. Aidan or Haydn, I don’t care; there are going to be people in that room, listening to him read from that book – even if I have to drag them in by their toes.

  Aidan fidgets with the strap of his watch. “Has anyone ever…you know, forgotten how to read?”

  “Forgotten how to read?”

  “From nerves or whatever.”

  “No.”

  “Right.”

  “Still, there’s a first time for everything…”

  “Oh.” His eyes widen and I swear I can see pure, distilled terror spinning in them. Great. I was trying to be funny, but now I feel even more guilty than I already did.

  “I’m kidding. Everybody’s nervous before their first reading, but you’re going to be great. I promise.”

  “Mmmm.” He shakes his hands down by his sides; tips his head from side to side.

  “Almost time. Have you got your book?”

  “My book?”

  “Or script – whatever you’re reading from.”

  “Oh. Sure. Yes. Going to need that, aren’t I?” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a narrow sheaf of papers. They’re pages, torn from a book and folded to fit into his jeans.

  I stare in horror at the paper he’s holding. “Is that…did you tear up a proof?”

  He looks at me blankly. “Yes?”

  “You tore up the proof for your book? Your first book?”

  He turns them over in his hands. “I’ve got a couple of them. And it’s a big book. Heavy.”

  I have never seen anyone tear up the proof copy of their first book before. Never.

  But then, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like Aidan Green before.

  The author reading rooms are two small meeting rooms, opposite each other across the main corridor. Both doors are open, and Bede is changing the “Reading Here…” sign on room two, where one of our Big Names is about to read. Aidan spots the name on the door and shakes his head.

  “I might as well give up and go home now.”

  I steer him into room number one, where a handful of people are already settled into their seats and waiting – probably off the back of his panel appearance this morning. I pull the last reader’s sign off the door and stick up Haydn Swift’s. Aidan stares at it as though he’s forgotten who that is.

  “Go make yourself comfortable at the lectern if you like. You’ve got a couple of minutes.”

  But he’s not listening to me. He’s in that place they all go to in their heads: unfolding his pages (torn pages, from a proof – wait till I tell Bede!) and scanning them, his lips moving along with the words as he gauges his speed.

  “Wait – Lexi!”

  “Yep?” I stuff my ball of sign-sticking Blu-tac back in my pocket.

  “There’s swearing. In the bit I was going to read. I didn’t even think about it until…” He gives a pointed glance around the room. Well, there’s no kids there, but it’s a whole different thing dropping an F-bomb on your computer to doing it in a roomful of strangers.

  “See how you go. It depends on the actual swearing, r
eally…” I glance at my watch. I need him up at the lectern, ready to start. A couple of stragglers slip past us and take seats at the back of the room. “My dad always says it’s the words people get offended by – not the intensity or the emotion, you know? So maybe just censor it if you’re worried. Can you do that while you’re reading?”

  “Censor it?”

  I really, really need him to start – or we’re going to fall behind. Bede’s already shut the door to the other room, which means they’ve started. I practically shove Aidan at the lectern. “Think about it this way – they bleep out swearing on television sometimes, don’t they? But you don’t lose the feel of it. You still get everything behind it.”

  It’s like a light bulb goes on in his head. “Right. Thanks.”

  The second he steps behind the lectern, Aidan vanishes and Haydn takes his place. It’s the strangest thing, because I don’t know what happened, or how. I just know that the guy standing there taking a sip of water from the glass isn’t the guy who was panicking about forgetting how to make sounds in public. This guy is confident and smiling and – not to put too fine a point on it – ever so slightly arrogant. I find myself wondering whether there were seedlings of Haydn when I met him that first time; sure as hell feels like it.

  I decide against closing the door. The corridor outside is fairly quiet (at long last) and Aidan’s voice carries well: an open door might just entice a few more people in. He starts his reading and I recognize this section of the book – it’s the confrontation between Jamie, the main character, and one of the Piecekeepers. It’s a good choice and, sure enough, another couple of listeners appear in the doorway. They pause; then Aidan reads a joke and they edge into the room and sit down. And even though it’s not me reading and it’s not my book and it’s not like he’s my friend or anything…I feel a swell of pride because in a tiny way, this is down to me. I brought him here.

  I’m good at this. The picking guests, getting them in front of an audience who may never have heard of them, but who might just leave as devoted and lifelong fans. The planning the panels to put people on, who to put them with… I know I can do this. I’m better than I would be at anything else, and I know it. And I won’t let someone like Aidan Green throw me off balance.

  Aidan’s crowd grows – slowly but surely, a steady trickle of people come in and take a seat. We’re ten minutes into a twenty-five minute slot, and he’s found his stride. His words flow; sentences wind their way around the dull beige walls of the meeting room and paint them with colour. The hotel we’re sitting in becomes the Piecekeepers’ headquarters – all ancient stone walls hung with oil paintings and tapestries: art from across time and around the world. His pace picks up as he reaches Jamie’s argument with the Curator, and I take a second to check the rest of the afternoon on my clipboard.

  “‘Give me the bleeping key.’”

  The spell is broken with a jolt. I look up. Did I imagine that?

  He’s still reading. “‘What did you say?’

  “I said, ‘Give me the bleeping key!’”

  Then it hits me. He’s censoring himself. He’s bleeping himself.

  Just. Like. I. Said.

  I did this.

  Oh. My. God.

  Sam scuttles across from the door; I didn’t even know she was there, but she must have stopped to listen. She leans over the back of my seat in the last row.

  “What the hell’s he doing?” she hisses. “He sounds like a shit grime track!”

  “He was worried about swearing…” I mumble from behind my hands, which are now clamped over my mouth. It doesn’t stop her (a) hearing, and (b) figuring out what I’ve done.

  “This is you?!”

  “No. Yes. Oh god.” I hide behind my clipboard. “Is it really bad?”

  We both look up at him – Sam from behind my chair, me from behind my board. We look at the room, at everyone listening. None of them seem bothered. More importantly, none of them seem bored. Nobody’s got up and left and nobody’s checking their phones or whispering to their mates.

  They’re listening – and so are we. Without even meaning to, Sam has slipped into the seat beside mine and is leaning forward as though it will help her to hear better, get her closer to what happens next.

  I can’t blame her; Aidan’s a natural. It’s like he was made for this, and I could listen to him read for hours.

  I mean, it is my favourite bit of the book. Of course. That’s what it is.

  “Yeah, but they didn’t make you dress up, did they? It’s not like someone held you down and forcibly dressed you as an elf.”

  Bede doesn’t look impressed – although I can’t tell whether it’s Sam’s piss-taking or the fact he’s currently dressed like a stray from Middle Earth that’s causing it.

  “They were one short.”

  “I thought that was the dwarves,” Nadiya says casually, walking past with a boxful of power cables. She doesn’t even break her stride when Sam and I both applaud her – but she glances over her shoulder at us and grins. “Thank you, I’ll be here all weekend!”

  Bede looks even less impressed.

  “That’s what you get for offering to help out the LARPers.” I can barely breathe, never mind get the words out. Bede’s legs were not designed for tights. Let alone shiny ones. “Are you sure they weren’t just messing with you?”

  He shakes his head sadly. “This never happens to any of you lot.”

  “Because,” Sam chimes in from her spot on the empty registration table, swinging her legs back and forth, “none of us actually join in.”

  “I’m sorry – much as I’d love to stay and carry on this little team-bonding exercise, I have to go and give an elf his tights back.” Bede stalks off with his head high, and the sounds of our deeply unsupportive and desperately unsympathetic laughter in his ears. His dignity remains intact(ish) most of the way across the lobby – right up until the moment he steps into the lift just as Aidan steps out. They collide smack in the middle of the lift doors, and Bede swears in a most un-elfish way. Sam laughs so hard I worry she’ll pull a muscle somewhere – but as usual, she goes one better. She somehow manages to fall right off the table, backwards, in a shrieking cloud of laughter and swear words.

  Aidan raises an eyebrow at the carnage. “I’m missing something.”

  Sam rolls onto her stomach under the table. “Aidan!”

  He leans sideways and peers down at her. “Evening…”

  “Loved your reading. Seriously. It was aces.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.” She nods.

  “Thanks. That means a lot.”

  A fist clenches tightly shut somewhere in the pit of my stomach. It’s like someone has tied my insides into a knot and there’s a person pulling on each end of the rope.

  Well, that particular train of thought can…umm, get knotted.

  “Anybody going for dinner – oh.” Nadiya is back from dumping the stuff in the ops office. “Why’s Sam under the table? Isn’t that usually your spot, Lexi?”

  “You are on fire tonight, aren’t you? All this comedy.”

  I’m aware of the quizzical look Aidan is giving me, but I ignore it for just a couple of seconds longer than I need to – and then I panic in case he thinks I’m ignoring him. Which I kind of am.

  “It’s a long story,” I mutter in his general direction.

  “You like sitting under tables?”

  “Turns out it’s not so long after all.”

  With his usual timing, my father breaks the tension – choosing this exact moment to summon me via the walkie-talkie currently tucked under my arm. “Lexi? Where are you?”

  I fumble for it, drop it (twice) and finally manage to stop it howling with static at me. “Here!”

  “Which is…?”

  “Registration. We’ve just closed the desk for tonight. I figure if any day members aren’t here by now, they’re not coming.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  He’s using his
Just-One-More-Thing voice.

  I reply using my You-Can’t-See-Me-Rolling-My-Eyes-Over-The-Walkie voice. “Is everything okay?”

  There’s a long, long pause.

  “Dad?”

  “It’s fine. Nothing to worry about – I’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

  “That doesn’t sound good…”

  “No, no. It’ll be all right. You and Sam go have fun at your gig.”

  “But the…” I stop.

  “Lexi?”

  “Nothing. Thanks.”

  “Don’t be out too late. Come find me in the bar when you get in.”

  “Will do. See you later!” I click off the walkie and put it on the reg desk, pretending not to see Sam staring at me as she clambers out from under the table.

  “You didn’t tell him the Carveliers is off?”

  “I did, but he’s forgotten. You know my dad. Besides, if he thinks we’re not going, he’ll only give us something to do.”

  “About that.” Aidan is leaning back against the table, and he has something in his hand. Sam turns to say something to him – but her eyes skip his face entirely and lock onto the strips of plastic he’s holding.

  “Are those…wristbands?” Her voice climbs to somewhere vaguely operatic. I didn’t think it could actually get that high.

  Aidan’s got his smug chin face on.

  “They are.”

  “Not to…?”

  “Yep.”

  “Oh. Migod.”

  “Lexi?” And he actually holds the wristbands out to me.

  “You’re kidding? Are those for the Carveliers? Tonight?”

  He nods.

  “How did you get those? It’s completely sold out! They’re not even putting people on a waiting list!”

  “I’m with the same agency as them. After you said it was sold out, I gave my agent a call and asked if there were any hospitality passes going in the music department. Turns out there were three.”