The Anniversary by Stephanie Bishop

Author:Stephanie Bishop [Bishop, Stephanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781474626163
Publisher: Orion
Published: 2023-03-29T16:00:00+00:00

14

A car arrived early the next morning to take me to the television studio. Yasmin, my Australian publicist, was already in the back seat and she pushed the door open for me. Hi! she said, as I slipped in beside her. Oh god, I’m so glad to finally meet you! she cried, flicking her silky hair behind her shoulders. She was young and bubbly and had just joined the company after an internship. She couldn’t believe her luck, she said, to think that she was the one who got to spend the day with me. So just shout out, she said, as she tapped away at her phone, if there’s anything at all you need. I nodded, as I buckled my seat belt and let out a long, shaky sigh. Ok, all set? she asked, and we reversed down May’s drive.

The car smelt of menthol and aftershave. Soft classical music. The driver told me I was welcome to take the bottled water nestled in my door compartment. My hands were trembling too much to unscrew the lid.

Here, Yasmin said, taking the bottle. Let me, and she twisted it open.

Thanks, I replied, popping a beta blocker from its blister pack and gulping half the water in one go.

Don’t worry, she said. You’ll be great. You must have done this kind of thing, like, a million times before.

Sort of, but that’s not to say it’s fun. I get very nervous, I said, waving the box of pills before I slipped them back into my bag. For live recordings only, I told her. My cardinal rule.

Don’t worry, she said again. It really will be only about the book. They love it, we all do.

By the time I was in the make-up chair the beta blocker had started to do its work. The jeans and shirt I’d turned up in proved unsuitable and so they dressed me in a hot-pink suit which, they said, made for a striking image of feminine power. I protested, saying it really wasn’t my colour, but by then we were running out of time for a wardrobe change. I came on set after a song break: some new pop star belting out her chart topper. The studio lights were violet and sparkly, the hosts – a man and a woman, The Morning Show marriage format – swayed to the beat. Then they took their positions on the sofa and I walked in. The camera didn’t show my entrance, nor my face as the female host introduced me. One of the most celebrated writers, she said, known for her bracing take on modern life … her new book … alarmingly candid … please welcome …

I refolded my hands in my lap. Neatly, no white knuckles. The hint of a smile. I could feel the corners of my mouth spasming a little. I tried to look natural; honey-honey-honey, I thought to myself. Money-money-money. The first questions were routine, and I let myself slip into the zone: the automatic answers, easy and predictable.

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