Page 132 of Mistaken Impression

I really don’t want to be here.

I’m standing by the sign announcing the Daytime TV Awards, in the foyer of one of the most prestigious hotels in Boston, surrounded by too many people. My collar feels too stiff and my bow tie feels too tight around my neck, like between them, they’re determined to choke me.

Or is that just nerves?

It must be, because I’ve been feeling like this ever since I landed at Logan International two days ago.

I’m staying with Calvin, and he’s done his best to take my mind off tonight, and how awful it has the potential to be. The problem is, he’s only been looking at it from the perspective of me having to meet the people who fired me. He has no idea that what’s really troubling me is the thought of facing Ella for the first time in months.

She’s going to be here… I know that.

When the invitation pinged into my inbox back in February, my initial instinct was to send back an immediate ‘Hell, no’.

I didn’t. Instead, I walked away from my computer and went upstairs to see Henry, in a state of shock.

“It’s an honour,” he said, once I’d explained my distress. “I know it wasn’t your fault things ended the way they did with the studio, but at least they had the manners to invite you.”

He had a point, although it wasn’t one I wanted to consider.

“You don’t think they might have an ulterior motive?” I asked.

He frowned. “Like what?”

“I don’t know… showing me up in public, or something.”

“No. Why would they want the negative publicity of doing something like that? It seems to me you’re fishing for excuses not to go.”

He was right about that, and no longer being the ‘Meal Master’ seemed like a reasonable one to me. Moira agreed.

“I don’t think you should go,” she said, when I mentioned it to her that evening. We’d met in the pub, which is something we’ve been doing since Christmas. It’s not a regular thing, but she’ll call every so often and if I’m not bogged down in a plot twist, I’ll usually go along for an hour or two.

“Why not?” I stared across the table at her, hoping she’d come up with a valid reason for me to decline the invitation.

“They fired you, Mac. You don’t owe them anything. Why should you go to their silly awards ceremony?”

I doubted they thought the awards were ‘silly’. I knew how seriously they took these things, and that just to be nominated was a privilege.

Obviously, Moira didn’t realise that Ella would be involved. I’ve never told her that Ella and I worked together. In fact, I’ve never discussed Ella with her at all, since that first night.

Even so, Moira’s reasons made sense to me, and I mulled them over for a few days, trying to work out what to do.

In the end, the deciding factor and the reason I’m standing here, trying not to choke on my bow tie and my nerves, was Delilah.

She called a few days after I received the invitation to let me know that there’s a production company interested in serialising my books, and I told her about the awards.

“You have to go.” She put so much emphasis on the word ‘have’, I was quite taken aback.

“Have you forgotten what they did to me?”

“Of course not, but you need to be there. I seem to remember there being a clause about it in your contract, but more important than that, it’ll look like sour grapes if you don’t go, and no-one’s gonna want to be associated with you if you behave like a diva.”

“Do I sound like I care? I’m happy writing.”

“Blake…” She sounded tetchy, and I braced myself for the hurricane I knew was about to hit me from three thousand miles away. “I’m working my ass off here, trying to get you a good deal with the production company. The last thing I need is for you to start pissing people off.”

“I’m not even sure I want to get back into television.”

“Don’t be pathetic. If I can get the deal we want, this contract is gonna be worth a small fortune, and your involvement would be minimal.”

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