“Thank you, Vanya,” Suki says in her “quiet, disappointed” voice. “Byron? Do you have anything substantial to share?”
“Well—I, er—I have a story that could work for Laura’s How Did You Meet? segment,” Byron says, pressing his gray mustache between thumb and forefinger as he stands up. “An elderly couple who met at a funeral home. They were both burying their other halves, and it’s a funny story because—”
“There is nothing sexy about funeral homes, Byron—let’s keep things young and lively, yes. No one likes reading about old people.” Suki claps her hands.
“Laura, tell me you have something original. What happened to that When Harry Met Sally . . . story you pitched the other week?”
“Ah yes, the couple in America who met on a road trip who are genuinely called Harry and Sally.”
“I liked the sound of that,” Suki presses her hands together.
My throat suddenly feels painfully dry.
“I’m afraid when I looked into it in a bit more detail, well— Sally was trafficking drugs in that car, and she’s now serving time. She and Harry are still together, though, so that’s nice.”
“No, no, no.” Suki throws her hands in the air. “No old people, no felonies. And, Paula, before you tell us again about the hot cousin you met at a family barbecue, no incest. We need heartwarming, original content. Personal stories that no one else is covering.”
I have nothing. My hand reaches for my pendant. Suki’s voice softens again, her face an expression of pained pity. “Come on, darlings, help me here.”
“There is one love story I could write.” I start speaking before I can overthink it. “My parents’ story.”
Suki stares at me unblinking, so I take her silence as an invitation to elaborate and swallow the discomfort in my throat. I’ve never thought to pitch their story before. All our How Did You Meet?s usually take the form of an interview—but now, I wonder if that needs to be the case.
“My mother found half an old ha’penny at an antiques fair. The face had been smoothed flat, engraved with a quote, and then cut in two to make a love token—”
“How old is your mother?” Suki interrupts.
“She, um, she died, if you remember, two years ago . . . I took that time off.” I clench my fingers into my palms, and Suki winds her finger in the air, as though fast-forwarding the tape of my explanation. I catch Vanya’s eye across the room; she gives me a reassuring thumbs-up. “Anyway, she found this piece of coin and saw it had Jersey written on the back, so she placed an advert in the Jersey paper hoping she might track down the other half. My dad replied. He explained that his grandfather had engraved the coin with this quote, then split it in two before leaving for the war. He took one half with him and left the other half with his wife. Sadly, he never came home, and history doesn’t relate how his half ended up in Bristol.” I unfasten the coin from around my neck and pass it around the room for people to see. “My mum took the half she found to Jersey, reunited the pieces, met my dad, and the rest, as they say, is history. One coin, two love stories.”
The room oohs and aahs in delight at my tale.
“It is so freakin’ romantic,” says Vanya loyally. “I can totally see it as a Hallmark movie.”
I can’t tell from Suki’s face whether she loves the idea or hates it.
“Even though my parents aren’t alive to interview, I know the story of how they fell in love as if it were my own. It’s the most romantic How Did You Meet? I know—”
“Fine. Write the story,” Suki says, waving a hand to stop me talking. “But you should go to Jersey. I want a personal angle, some scenic photos, interview this great-grandmother.” I’m shocked. Suki never signs off on travel.
“I’m afraid she’s no longer alive,” I say with a grimace.
“Why is everyone in your family dead, Laura?”
I shrug. Suki makes so many tactless remarks, somehow the sting becomes diluted.
“Well, she would have been over a hundred if she was alive”—Suki’s attention begins to drift, so I speak more quickly—“but the island itself is very much a character in their story. It’s where they fell in love: the beautiful beaches, the romantic cliff-top walks—”
Suki raises a finger to the ceiling, like an insect sensing something with its antennae.
“You can bang out a travel piece while you’re there, ‘Reasons to Visit the Channel Islands’ or something. We have a travel insurance firm looking to sponsor an article—and I’m sure you can find a hotel who’ll put you up for a mention.” Suki clicks her fingers with satisfaction, then pauses before waving her arm across the room. “All of you, bring me fresh content ideas, otherwise, next time we’re sitting here, there’ll be fewer chairs in the room—and by that, I do not mean some of you will be sitting on the floor.”
Despite the meeting ending on this threatening note, I leave the room feeling elated. I took a chance, pitched a story that means everything to me, and Suki actually went for it. If I’d had time to think it through, I’m not sure I would have had the courage to offer up something so personal. Now, I am going to Jersey, to the place my parents fell in love, where the idea of me was born, and I feel something bubble inside me I haven’t felt in a while: excitement.
Chapter 3
Two days later, and my friend Dee has volunteered to drive me to the airport. She recently bought a car because she and her fiancé, Neil, are moving to Farnham and apparently you need a car if you live outside London. She says she needs the driving practice, and before we even get to the end of her road, it becomes very clear that she does.
Vanya is tagging along for the ride, mainly because she doesn’t own a car and saw the opportunity to persuade Dee to drive back via the out-of-town IKEA. I’m worried what she’s planning to buy for our tiny, already-full-of-unbuilt-furniture-from-her-last-visit flat.
“I can’t believe Suki signed off on a three-day trip, you are so jammy,” says Vanya from the backseat, thrusting an open bag of Haribo Giant Strawbs between Dee and me. It’s less than an hour’s drive to Gatwick Airport, but Vanya’s come with enough car sweets to take us to Mexico.
“Only because she got a sponsor to pay for it,” I say, taking a handful of sweets. “I wish you were both coming with me, it would be much more fun.”
“You know, I have this weird intuition you’re going to meet someone while you’re away,” says Vanya.
“Is this the same intuition that told you I wouldn’t get a parking ticket if I pulled up on a double yellow line to drop you off outside Selfridges?” asks Dee, waving her left hand for someone to pass her a sweet.