Persuading Austen. Brigid Coady
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feel the ghost of Austen’s chin resting on her shoulder, the warmth of his arms where they’d wrapped round her waist as they swayed to the music.
It was as if she was stuck in an Austen memory loop, never moving on, cursed to relive their past.
Without thinking she half got up from her chair; as she pushed it back, the feet scraped on the floor. Everyone stopped and looked at her.
‘I just … and …’ And what? She wasn’t sure what she was doing except she knew she needed to get out of there.
‘Annie, sit and finish your breakfast. You deserve it after last night,’ Charlie said whilst giving Marie a dirty look. A look that zipped right over Marie’s head as she had her mirror out and was checking her make-up.
‘And it’ll be nice if you got to see Austen again,’ he said. ‘Catch up.’
‘I’m surprised he remembered you,’ Marie said.
There was a stunned silence round the table. All the Musgroves looked first at Marie and then quickly at Annie, their mouths hanging open. A blob of Nutella fell unnoticed off Henrietta’s toast onto the white tablecloth.
‘Marie!’ Charlie almost shouted.
‘Of course he’d remember Annie,’ Louisa said and then turned to Annie and put a hand on her arm. ‘She’s only joking you know.’
The pressure of her hand made Annie feel both better and worse. Because she knew Marie hadn’t been joking and really, she wasn’t being malicious. She was only voicing the family narrative. Bless Louisa for defending her. What would it feel like to be defended by one of her sisters?
And what would it feel like to see pigs fly?
Annie sat back down. Her hand trembled as she picked up her toast.
This was it.
Of all the ways she’d planned this moment, and she’d thought about it a lot, this wasn’t how she would have it happen.
At the beginning she’d imagined that she’d have the guts to fly to Hollywood with an amazing job of her own, something like the producer job she now had. Surprise him once she got there and that would be it. They would be what they had been before, young, in love. Happy. If not better because they would be building AustenWorldTM.
But back then she couldn’t think of a job or career to take her there. That was when she realized that she had no goals. No plans of her own.
It was weird to think she’d mostly taken her first production accountant job to be closer to Austen’s life. Or at least to understand a little of his world.
But she was damn good at it. And as the time spread between them, her career grew, not as big and glitzy as his had but big.
And yet when it came to her personal life … still stuck and stagnant, looking after people who paid her no heed.
‘Who are you living for, Anne? You or them?’ She could still hear Austen saying it. And she knew that he meant it because he called her Anne.
And she still couldn’t answer that question eight years later.
She tugged at the hem of her T-shirt and hoped it covered her tummy.
The doorbell went.
This was it.
She couldn’t breathe. That bloody lump was back in her throat bigger than ever. Maybe if she collapsed from lack of oxygen she could escape?
But there was nowhere to run.
They all stood up, Louisa running past Angelique to get the door.
And then she heard his voice. Blood rushed from her head and pooled in her knees.
That voice – she’d listened to it whisper Donne in the darkest parts of the night. She had made it groan her name; she’d heard it laugh at her jokes.
‘Hi.’ And there he was.
Bloody hell, Austen Wentworth was in the same room as her. Again.
He’d always been ‘head-turning’ attractive. His presence as much as his looks had made you look at him twice, but now? Somehow he’d become honed to be ‘oxygen-depriving’ devastating.
He walked into the room and the air was sucked out as everyone took a breath.
That included Annie; she couldn’t help herself. Even if she knew that he used to pick his toenails.
She gripped the back of her chair for support.
No falling down. Not now.
She couldn’t feel her toes. Would anyone notice if she stamped her feet?
After the collective gasp that caused the vacuum, Austen stood in the doorway hunching his shoulders and then looking up through his eyebrows. Yes, there were the green eyes she’d been dreaming about for years.
Then the occupants of the room rushed towards him like a tsunami.
Annie clung to the chair, her little piece of flotsam.
Bugger, he was looking round as he shook Charlie’s hand and as he was covered in a flurry of cheek kisses by Louisa, Henrietta, and Marie.
And for the first time in eight years she was the centre of his attention.
It felt like she had stuck a knife in a toaster.
Her back straightened and goosebumps went up and down her arms.
Her heart stopped.
It was as if it had only been yesterday, seeing him looking at her. But it was also in a different lifetime.
His smile froze and slipped slightly. His brows tightened into a frown.
For Annie it was as if for that brief instant there were two Austens in the room. There was the younger less polished boyish man who’d loved her all that time ago and then this older, harder, hewn man. And then the two images clipped together, became congruent. As if the older had swallowed the younger.
Her heart started again.
It had been both a microsecond and an aeon.
Of course no one’s heart stops in reality – just like the way it was thundering in her chest didn’t mean she was having a heart attack. It was adrenaline: physiology driving psychology.
Even though there had hardly been a pause as they’d made eye contact, it had focused everyone back on her.
Great.
She wished Marie had bought less flimsy kitchen chairs. She felt as if she was about to reduce this one to kindling.
‘You remember my sister, Annie.’ Marie was actually simpering. As if she hadn’t grown up around famous people her whole life.
‘Yes, hi, Annie. Good to see you again.’ Annie. He’d never called her Annie; it was Anne or a silly name.
‘Hi, Austen.’ Her voice pushed past the obstruction in her throat. No RADA or LAMDA trained vocals from her – just a small, strangulated burst of noise.
There was a brief silence as if everyone was expecting something more.
Annie wanted to shout at them all to look away.
‘So,’ Austen said breaking the tension, ‘I didn’t want to interrupt a family breakfast. Maybe I should go?’
She wished he would, leave her be, but when he said family all she could think was that this could’ve been his family too.
She watched as Austen smiled down at Louisa and Henrietta with appreciation.
It was like her heart was a sponge in his fist and everything was being wrung out of it.
Of course, it could still be his family …
A fork clattered to the floor.