Unlike a Virgin (39 page)

Freddie, who is sitting next to Rosemary, is paying close attention to the goings-on on stage. Unable to hold it in any longer, he turns to his new girlfriend.

‘Wendy,’ he whispers.

‘Yes,’ Wendy croaks back. She’s almost lost her voice from screaming, ‘GRACIE!’ all night.

‘Do my dad and Grace look like more than just good friends to you?’

Wendy scrutinises her best friend down there on the stage. She notes the way Grace’s hand is wrapped around Anton’s waist, how her head leans into his chest and how Anton is smiling proudly down at her. And being an expert on love and the creator of the hugely successful Love Test, she turns to Freddie in his new shirt – purchased this morning in Selfridges, along with the most magic of knickers – and says, with conviction, ‘Yes, Freddie. Yes, it does.’

‘Blimey.’ Freddie sighs.

‘Is that weird for you?’

‘Yes,’ he says, ‘but in a good weird way.’

‘Ooh. Shh … they’re going to announce the winners.’

Down on the stage, Gracie Flowers is getting a bit bored with this presenter leaving a sixty-second gap before he says anything. She wants him to hurry the hell up and announce the winner, so that she can do things like gaze into Anton’s eyes and play with his hair and kiss him oh so softly on the lips. She smiles up at him and wonders whether she could kiss him now. No one would notice as there are loads of contestants on the stage. I’ll just steal a quick one, she thinks, and she pulls herself up as high as her five-foot frame allows and puckers up. She feels the warmth of Anton’s face coming towards her own.

‘Er, Grace,’ he whispers. ‘I think the camera’s on us. They just said we won.’

‘You what?’ she yelps, quickly opening her eyes and turning towards the presenter she’d forgotten all about.

The audience, who are becoming very fond of this funny, nervy, short person called Grace, laugh and cheer. Grace stands there with her mouth open until Anton takes hold of her hand
and steers her towards centre stage. They now have to say a few words to the presenter and the nation.

‘How do you feel?’

‘Great,’ says Anton, and he turns to the crowd and the judges, smiles bashfully and says, ‘Thank you.’

‘And, Grace, how are you feeling?’

Grace still has her mouth open.

‘Um, a bit strange,’ she whispers.

And this time she’s not surprised when the audience laugh.

‘So are you ready to sing again?’

‘Do we have to sing again?’ she asks, shocked.

‘Yes.’

‘Oh,’ says Grace, seemingly baffled by the whole event. But then she smiles and whispers something to Anton, who nods and gives her a thumbs-up sign.

‘Excuse me, sir,’ Gracie asks. ‘Are we allowed to sing a different song?’

‘Er, well, I’m not sure, we’d need to have the music.’

‘We don’t need a backing track.’

‘Er, well then, I believe that’s fine.’

‘Excellent.’

‘So, what would you like to sing?’

‘“Feeling Good” by Nina Simone.’

Gracie looks up at Anton’s smiling face and thinks, Sod it. Then she stands on tiptoes and reaches up to kiss him softly on the lips.

Next they take their microphones and face the audience at the London Palladium. As they wait for the whoops to quieten down, Gracie has this one thought: Today is the best day of my life.

An especially huge and heartfelt thank you goes to my dad. One day, some time ago, I called him up and said, ‘Dad, I’ve got an idea for a story,’ and told him the bones of the Gracie Flowers tale. At the end he was silent. Oh bugger, I thought, I’ve bored him to sleep. But then he sniffed and confessed to me that his eyes had welled up. Since that moment he’s constantly been there listening to me rabbit on about it, offering me advice and encouragement and reading rambling drafts. I am so grateful and I love you lots. Huge thanks to my mum too. I was a very lucky girl when they were giving out parents.

I realised whilst writing this book that the act of writing could be done anywhere as long as I had my laptop. I therefore owe huge thanks to people who let me cadge in on their holidays (Mum and Dad, Mexico; Gail and Mick, Spain), invite myself to their homes (Jane and Martial Zohoungbogbo, Ghana), gave me homemade flapjacks and whisky in their B & Bs (Charles and
Barbara, Bamburgh), and most of all the man who continually whisked me away (Paul – Italy, Canada, California!).

I was also a very lucky girl when they were dishing out agents and publishers. A massive thank you to the amazing and gorgeous and lovely Rowan Lawton, and her estimable sidekick, Juliet. Also to Rachel Mills and Alexandra Cliff and all at PFD. And to my lovely, brilliant editor Rebecca Saunders. I have so loved working with you on this. And the dream team that is Sphere’s fiction department: Manpreet Grewal; Charlie ‘The’ King; Emma Williams; Shauna Bartlett.

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Replace with Chinese, kebab, pizza, Maccy D’s.