Hunting for Mantelpiece on February 27th

Today I have mostly been thrilled about seeing my book on the shelf of a shop. Mantelpiece is not out until Tuesday 1st March (that's TUESDAY THE FIRST OF MARCH plug plug subtle plug) but for some mysterious reason it started appearing in shops last Thursday. As I was trying to summon up the energy to finish a tricky chapter in Ketchup Clouds, my phone beeped: mum's beaming face…  in a shop…  holding MY BOOK!  She'd just so happened to stroll into a random Waterstones and had stumbled across it.  I squealed a bit and made myself a celebratory cup of tea.  A few minutes and thirty seven words of Ketchup Clouds later, my phone beeped again.  A friend had seen it in Manchester!  I squealed again.  The dog looked at me like I was mental. 

I resisted the urge to run to the nearest book shop shouting I WROTE THAT  in an unsuitably loud voice.  But then my phone beeped for a third time.  Excited to find out which friend had seen it, I grabbed my mobile with shaking hands.  Apparently there's a 50% discount on all dry cleaning of curtains at Johnsons if you're interested and not on their texting list.

Concentration well and truly shot to pieces, I yielded to the excitement/curiosity/vanity and jumped in the car.  I had been waiting for this very moment for MONTHS.  I had dreamt about it, imagining the champagne I'd smuggle into the corner of a book shop, toasting my novel surreptitiously before going out for a posh dinner, probably in Paris or New York or somewhere else glamorous.  The town I was heading to was a little different from those great cities, but whatever.  It was the nearest place to find my book and I was driving there feeling really rather happy with life…

…until I pulled up at a traffic light and the engine cut out.  I managed to get the car working again, but then the acceleration went bonkers, slowing down one moment, spurting forward the next.  Kangarooing my way up the road, I persevered.  It took all sorts of red flashing lights and exhaust fumes to convince me to pull in at a garage and admit defeat.   

Today, though, walking through central London with my husband in the pouring rain, we saw a Waterstones.  Not feeling very optimistic about finding the book before publication day, we decided to wander inside on the off chance.  Heart beating a little faster, I looked in the teen section.  Nothing.  I searched the kids' section and it wasn't there.  Disappointed, we turned to leave.  But then my husband exclaimed.  Pointed.  There, hidden away in the teen section, was a solitary copy of My Sister Lives on the Mantelpiece.  Water in my shoes, hair soaking wet, freezing cold and bloody hungry, I just stared at my book.  Smiled.  My husband squeezed my hand.  The world's best champagne and fanciest dinner couldn't have topped that moment.