Page 63 of Love or Your Money Back

CHAPTER

The award ceremony lumbers on with lots of clapping and not enough wine. Somewhere during the proceedings, plated, flavourless, boiled meat and vegetables are served, followed by a dessert that looks like a piece of loft insulation.

I am delighted with our tenth diversity award win, but I am growing more physically uncomfortable with every moment that passes, and I want my hot water bottles. The heat of them on my various aches and pains would be heaven right now.

More awards are announced.

Bookshop of the Year

Children’s Publisher of the Year

Illustrator of the Year.

Finally, the Small Press of the Year

nominees are announced, including Little Voice and five other small publishers.

I would sit on the edge of my wheelchair seat if I weren’t at risk of falling off. Instead, I sit on my hands to stop them shaking.

After a long pause, literary murderess, Margot Fick, opens a golden award envelope.

‘So now I will announce the European Small Press of the Year winner …’

Little Voice, Little Voice, Little Voice …

Around the white-clothed table, the team mutter similar prayers. Duncan has his eyes tight shut, and Alan has four sets of bony fingers crossed, which looks painful. Gabriela is praying by downing a red wine and Coca-Cola at speed.

‘The winner is …’ Margot smiles at the audience. ‘Koch and Meyer!’

Oh. No.

My heart sinks.

We didn’t win.

The table sags with disappointment, but we manage dutiful claps.

‘Oh well.’ I pull on a painful smile. ‘Someone else’s measure of us, right guys?’

‘We’re already winners.’ Gabriela gives me sad eyes.

‘There’s always next year,’ Duncan reasons.

‘Hey.’ Freddy slaps the table with manly hands. ‘You did great. European Diverse Publisher of the Year ten times running? That deserves a toast, doesn’t it?’

‘Yes.’ I grab my water glass. ‘So what if the industry hasn’t noticed us yet? As Duncan says, there’s always next year. Let’s celebrate. We don’t need an award to tell us how great we’re doing.’

‘Exactly,’ says Gabriela. ‘We’ve found so many more readers this year. That’s the important thing.’

‘And we have clean offices,’ says Alan.

‘And Mac computers,’ Duncan adds.

‘And a huge profit increase,’ says Freddy.

‘ And the winner is …

’

We turn to the stage as Margot announces the last award of the night: Publisher of the Year. It’s never a particularly exciting award. Just a rotation of the big five publishers: Penguin Random House, Harper Collins, Hachette, Simon and Schuster …

‘ Big VOICE

.’

The words boom through the sound system, followed by a moment of silence. Then thunderous applause breaks out.

Jaws can’t hit the floor. That’s a metaphor. But looking around the table, I can see the teams’ collective jawlines working very, very hard to make that metaphor a reality. Gabriela looks shocked to the point of being possessed.

My mouth is also wide open.

‘Big Voice!’ Margot says again. ‘And you are a big voice now. With your 500% profit increase, plus distribution deal with Penguin Random House.’

I close my mouth and turn to Freddy. ‘We don’t have a distribution deal with Penguin Random House. There’s been a mistake.’

‘It’s not a mistake,’ says Freddy. ‘I called Heidi earlier and explained about your flare-up. She agreed to the distribution deal on the spot and talked about how courageous you were. She must have told the judges and put us on the nominee list.’

‘Good god.’ I stare at the new Big Voice logo, flashing on the screen behind Margot. ‘This can’t be happening.’

Around the table, the team give stunned nods.

‘I told you, Kat,’ says Freddy. ‘Think big and you achieve big.’

‘Big Voice?’ Margot calls from the stage. ‘Would you like to come up here and collect your award?’

I look around the table. ‘Off you go, team. Get your flashy teeth ready.’

‘Not without you, Kat,’ says Gabriela. ‘You need to collect that award with us.’

‘Gabriela, I can’t walk –’

‘We’ll carry you.’ Duncan stands.

I blink rapidly. ‘Um … I don’t think that’s a good idea –’

‘Yes!’ Gabriela stands abruptly. ‘That is what friends do. We carry each other in good times and bad. You have carried us, Kat. Many, many times. And we will carry you in your wheelchair like a sedan-chair empress in Ancient Rome.’ She motions to the table, and Freddy and Alan stand too.

‘Very funny, everyone.’ I turn in alarm, as Alan weaves towards me on bony legs and a bad hip. ‘Emperors in Rome were carried by slaves so it probably doesn’t set the right … to —tooooone!’

Too late, I am raised aloft.

‘Good god!’ I hold on tight to my armrests. ‘We’re doing this? Even with Alan’s hip replacement and Gabriela’s wine-induced unsteadiness? If she’s not safe to drive, is she safe to lift a wheeeeeeel-chair?’

‘Don’t worry,’ Freddy grunts, as I am carried across the room on the collective team shoulders. ‘I’m doing most of the lifting.’

As I’m carried up the stage steps, applause crashes like waves. By the time we reach the podium, the applause becomes a standing ovation.

Tears come.

Margot approaches, showing a lot of tanned leg. She holds the mic so I can speak into it.

‘Thank you.’ I struggle with my warbling voice. ‘Wow. A standing ovation for someone who can’t walk. What a great example of irony.’

Ripples of laughter move through the audience.

‘This is incredible.’ I blink back tears. ‘I’m stunned. And I have good news. Thanks to my wheelchair, you have reached your diversity quota for the evening.’

More laughter. I wait for it to die down, then clear my throat, ready for the serious stuff.

‘Little Voice was founded on friendship,’ I say. ‘The team and I walk down the Yellow Brick Road together. Some days we get attacked by flying monkeys. But on other days, like today … well, someone found the ruby slippers. We deserve to be Big Voice. We always did.’

I pause, partly for dramatic effect, partly because my left leg is trying to kick Margot Fick and I need to concentrate on reigning it in. With some effort, I lift the European Publisher of the Year award.

‘This year, I told myself to stop believing in fairy tales.’

There is gentle laughter.

‘But this is a fairy tale. And nothing feels better than winning this award with my friends …’ I turn to Freddy. ‘Especially you, Freddy Stark. You saw us for what we could be. And believed in us.’

The room bursts into applause again. I put the award in my lap and seek out Freddy’s eyes. He puts a hand on my shoulder.

‘Just think,’ Freddy whispers. ‘If you can win this award, what else can you do?’

Freddy holds eye contact, brown eyes so bright, and I see it. What he’s been avoiding these past few weeks and what I’ve also been hiding from in my own different ways.

Stomach-dropping, fairy-tale, rollercoaster, fireworks love. The kind that sweeps you off your feet and, very possibly, runs you over.

Freddy reaches a hand to my cheek. I cover it with mine, staring back.

‘Kat?’ Duncan taps my shoulder. ‘Do you need help carrying the award?’

I drop my hand, flustered. ‘Oh! No. I can carry it on my lap. It’s fine.’

I look around, wondering how many people noticed mine and Freddy’s moment. Then I see Ahmet standing at the back of the room, lips pulled down.