Guest Post : Gabrielle Zevin - Extract

Please welcome Gabrielle Zevin to Books for Company! 

Her and Lauren from Macmillian have very kindly provided a extract from Gabrielle's book, 'All These Things I've Done' 

I am really excited to read 'All These Things I've Done' and this had made me want to read it even more!

I X. i discover an influential friend & then, a foe

My Conservative estimate for how long I’d been in the  Cellar would have been a week though I wouldn’t have been surprised to hear it had been a month or even longer.
In reality, it had only been seventy-two hours. Turned out that a lot had been happening in that time. The climb up from the basement was far more exhausting  than the climb down had been. It seemed strange that being confined to sitting and lying positions could be so physically  debilitating, and I felt a newfound empathy for Nana.
The guard, who told me her name was Quistina, led me to a private shower. ‘You need to clean yourself up now,’ she said. ‘There are people waiting to speak to you.’
I nodded. I still felt so unlike myself that I couldn’t even be bothered to ask who was waiting for me or how all this had come about.
‘Is there a time limit on the shower?’ I asked.
'No,’ said Quistina. ‘Take as long as you need.’ On the way into the shower, I caught sight of myself in the mirror. I looked feral. My hair was matted and filled with knots. My eyes were bloodshot and the dark circles under them were more like bruises. There were actual bruises and marks up and down my arms and legs. (Not to mention that tattoo on my ankle.) My nails were ragged and bloody – I hadn’t even been aware that I had been digging at the ground, but that was the only explanation. I was coated in dirt. Once I was actually in the shower, I became aware of how truly terrible I smelt, too. As it wasn’t on my dime, I took a very long shower. Possibly the longest shower of my life. When I got out, my school uniform was on the bathroom counter. Someone had laundered it and even shined my shoes. Upon putting on my clothing, I realized that I must have lost some weight. The skirt that had fit perfectly a few days earlier was now a couple of inches too big in the waist and rested on my hips. ‘Mrs Cobrawick would like to see you before you go,’ Quistina said. ‘Oh.’ I was not eager to encounter that woman again. ‘Quistina,’ I asked, ‘would you happen to know why I’m being released?’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t really know the specifics or if I’m even supposed to talk about it with you.’ ‘That’s OK,’ I said. ‘Although,’ she whispered, ‘on the news, they said people all over town were ending up in the hospital with chocolate poisoning, so . . .’

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‘Jesus,’ I said, and then I crossed myself. This news meant that the Fretoxin contamination had been in the supply. It hadn’t just been Gable. He’d likely been the first because my family got our chocolate before everyone  else. The question  wasn’t whether I had poisoned Gable but who had tainted the entire shipment of Balanchine Special. These kinds of cases could take years to solve. I’d been using Mrs Cobrawick’s private bathroom and,  according to Quistina, she was waiting for me in her sitting room, which was down the hall. Mrs Cobrawick was wearing a formal black dress as if she  were in mourning. She was perched on the edge of an appropriately severe black parsons chair. The only sound in the room was the tapping of her nails against the glass coffee table. ‘Mrs Cobrawick?’ ‘Come in, Anya,’ she said in a tone that was markedly different from the one she’d last used with me. ‘Have a seat.’ I told her that I’d rather stand. I was exhausted but relieved to be ambulant again. Besides, I didn’t exactly relish a lengthy visit with Mrs Cobrawick and standing would discourage such a possibility. ‘You look tired, dear. And it’s polite to sit,’ Mrs Cobrawick said. ‘I’ve spent the last three days sitting,  ma’am,’ I said. ‘Is that meant to be some sort of dig?’ Mrs Cobrawick asked. ‘No,’ I replied. ‘It’s a statement of fact.’ Mrs Cobrawick smiled at me. She had a very broad smile –  all her teeth showed and her lips disappeared. ‘I see how you’re going to play this now,’ she said.

'Play this?’ I asked. ‘You think you’ve been treated badly  here,’ Mrs Cobrawick said. Hadn’t I? I thought. ‘But I simply wanted to help you, Anya. It looked as if you might be  here a very long time –  there was so very much evidence against you –  and I find that it makes everyone’s time easier if I’m stern with the new arrivals up front. It’s my unofficial policy, really. That way, the girls will know what’s expected of them. Especially those who’ve had as privileged a background as you’ve had—’ I  couldn’t listen to this any longer. ‘You keep mentioning my privileged background,’ I said. ‘But you don’t know me, Mrs Cobrawick. Maybe you think you know things about me. What you’ve read in the newspapers about my family and such, but you really don’t know the first thing.’ ‘But—’ she said. ‘You know some of the girls  here are innocent. Or even if they’re not innocent, what ever they’ve done is in their past and they’re just trying to do their best to move on. So maybe you could treat people based on your own experiences with them. Maybe that might make a good unofficial policy.’ I turned to leave. ‘Anya,’ she called. ‘Anya Balanchine!’ I didn’t turn back around but I heard her coming after me. A couple of seconds later, I felt her claw-like hand on my arm. ‘What?’ Mrs Cobrawick clutched my hand. ‘Please don’t tell your friends at the DA’s office that you  were treated badly  here. I on’t need any trouble. I was . . .  I was foolish not to consider how well connected your family still is.’ ‘I don’t have any friends at the DA’s office,’ I said. ‘Even if I did, getting you in trouble is pretty much at the bottom of my list of things to take care of. What I’d most like is to never see you or this place again in my life.’ ‘What about Charles Delacroix?’ Win’s father? ‘I’ve never met him,’ I said. ‘Well, he’s waiting for you outside. He’s come to personally escort you back to Manhattan. You really are a very fortunate girl, Anya. To have such powerful friends and not even know it.’ Win’s father was to meet me in the Exit Room, an area that was reserved for those leaving Liberty. The Exit Room was more elaborately decorated than any other place in the facility, with the possible exception of Mrs Cobrawick’s quarters. There  were overstuffed couches, brass lamps and framed black- and- white photographs of immigrants arriving at Ellis Island. Mrs  Cobrawick waited with me. I would have very much preferred to wait alone. Though I might have expected such a powerful man to have an entourage, Charles Delacroix had arrived alone. He looked like a superhero without the cape. He was taller than Win, and his jaw was broader, as if he spent his days eating trees or rocks. His hands  were large and powerful but much softer than Win’s. No farming for Charles Delacroix. ‘You must be Anya Balanchine,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’m Charles Delacroix. Let’s  ride on the ferry together, shall we?

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