Page 62 of After Felix
“Rupert was certainly popular. I used to get the Beano annual.”
“I loved them. My dad’s mum always bought me one every Christmas. My dad had a stack of them from the seventies too, and he gave them to me.” I smile, tracing my finger down the book. “I remember there was one that had this story in it about…” I pause, thinking, and Max’s expression is so interested it seems I’m giving him lifesaving instructions. His attention has always been a tangible thing. “It was Rupert and Jenny Frost,” I say, clicking my fingers as I remember. “She got the weather wrong, and when you walked along, you’d suddenly find a patch of snow and ice. It was a favourite, because I love the snow and always wanted it even in summer. The front cover had Rupert with all these little paper snowmen with hats. I wanted one of those little paper snowmen so badly too, but my mum was crap at making stuff like that. She did try, but it was so scary-looking I had to hide it in the cupboard at night in case it tried to eat me while my back was turned.” Max laughs, and I smile at the thought of her. “That woman didn’t have an inch of artistic ability. Even the stick figures she drew looked nightmarish.”
He smiles, and it’s far too tender. I shift awkwardly, and he looks at the stack of books on the table. “The annuals are probably worth some money now. Do you still have them?”
I shrug. “Nah. My dad left us for another woman, and when he came back after a few months to pick up the rest of his stuff, he took the annuals with him because his new girlfriend had a daughter who liked them.”
He looks outraged. “What a fucker,” he hisses.
I shrug. “I suppose. They were his though.”
“He really is a wanker. I’m sorry because I know he’s your dad.”
I get out of the beanbag and put the book back on the display. “Yes, I gathered that was your opinion when I saw my dad last year in apub. He said that after we split up, you found him in a pub and threatened him if he ever came near me when he was drunk again.”
“Yes.” He coughs and clears his throat. “Yes, well I think?—”
“Mr Travers?”
Max turns with relief to Paula, who is gesturing for him. He makes his escape, and I follow, a smile playing on my lips.
Twenty minutes later, I’m sighing and shifting around in an uncomfortable chair. Max and Paula carry on arranging the books, so I sigh louder. Eventually, Max and Paula look up at me.
“Something the matter, Felix?” Max says, an undercurrent of laughter threading his voice.
“Just a bit tired,” I say. “I haven’t been sleeping well,” I confide in Paula, who immediately looks like she wishes I hadn’t.
“Oh dear,” Max says dryly. “How difficult it must have been in your expensive suite with the sprung mattress and fifty-million-count Egyptian cotton sheets. My single at the back of the hotel with a view of the bins was the same.”
I nod graciously. “I’m glad you understand. I know. I’ll take one of these.” I reach out and pluck one of his books off the pile. “And I’ll have a read. That’ll do the trick. Better than a Sleepeaze tablet,” I say to Paula, who is looking utterly scandalised. Connor laughs loudly.
“I’ll make sure they put that on the blurb,” Max says wryly.
The staff starts to bustle about, opening the doors. People flood in, talking loudly, and there’s an excited air about them. I can see a huge queue spooling out past the shop and round the square. All here to see Max. I’m amazed that he isn’t an arrogant twat.
I glance at him—he’s smiling at something one of the staff has said to him. I don’t think he ever could be conceited. He’s not really interested in himself, only in the world and other people. Yes, he’s confident, but he isn’t big-headed at all.
Paula appears, interrupting my thoughts. “Can you summon his audience?” she whispers dramatically.
I do a double-take. “I’m sorry. Hisaudience?”
She nods. “He has agreatmany fans.”
“And you want me to summon them?” I clarify.
She nods seriously.
When I look over, Max is grinning at me. “Yes, summon the fans please, Felix,” he says happily.
“Well, okay then.” I stand and step up to the balcony that looks over the shop’s ground floor. I put two fingers in my mouth and give a shrill whistle. Everyone in the vicinity looks up, and I wave my hands in a come-hither gesture. “Roll up, roll up. Come see the miracle of the Western world. Star of stage and screen. A legend in his own lunchtime. Blah blah blah.”
When I turn back, Paula is staring at me in horror, while Max looks like he’s suppressing laughter.
After I settle into the chair next to the desk, Max crooks his elbow and makes a drinking gesture at me.
Paula says, “Oh,” in a tone of realisation, and I glare at Max.Game on.
His fans are enthusiastic, to put it mildly. They descend on him like a horde of locusts. I marvel at them from my chair as Max smiles and charms everyone. There’s a lot of laughter and a febrile air of excitement. I’m not being judgemental because I’ve been giggly myself when meeting a celebrity. But that was at Comic-Con, and I was meeting Chris Hemsworth. And I repeat, that was Chris Hemsworth.
