Book People

Chapter Twenty

Who are you protecting? Him? Why? When he doesn’t protect you?

H

SEBASTIAN

I shut the bookshop door behind me, then cross the road to Portable Magic. Kate has changed the front window and it’s full of fantasy books, with plenty of toy dragons posed appealingly and a couple of teddy bears that someone has fashioned armour and swords for. A big sign says: ‘If you enjoyed The Lord of the Rings , you’ll love these fabulous, fantastic fantasy reads!’

It’s a great window. It compliments my Lord of the Rings one. I don’t even mind the terrible alliteration or the exclamation mark.

I pause to admire it a moment, then pull open the door and step inside.

Kate is standing at the counter with the person we’re meeting today.

Lisa Underwood.

Lisa is in her mid-fifties, short and wide, with straight white hair that hangs to her shoulders. She has a blunt fringe and her startling green eyes stare through the chunky, bright-green-framed glasses she wears. She’s in a simple dress of kelly green, with a long, braided necklace of bright gold. Beside her stands a very tall, stern-looking man with sharp, hawkish features.

Lisa is talking to Kate and, as soon as I see Kate, the rest of the world vanishes, the way it always does when she is in the room.

Kate is smiling, shining like the ray of sunshine she is. She’s wearing that white lace dress again that she wore to the pub that night, and, yes, her underwear is visible, and, yes, I can’t look away. It’s pink and pretty and delicate.

I watched her putting it on this morning, and told her to forget the slip, and then we were almost late to open up because I had to show her how much I liked it.

I still like it, but I also want to take it off and see what she looks like wearing that dress with nothing on underneath it.

Fucking hot.

Not that I should be thinking of Kate naked or otherwise just now, because Lisa Underwood is here – she wanted to arrive the week before the festival is due to start so that she could look around the village first, before all the crowds descend.

‘Sebastian,’ Kate says as I approach, and smiles as if I’m the best thing she’s seen all day, and for a moment I can’t breathe. ‘This is Lisa Underwood. Lisa, please meet Sebastian Blackwood, owner of Blackwood Books, which you can see just across the road.’

Lisa gives me a startlingly charming smile and holds out her hand. ‘Sebastian,’ she says warmly. ‘So lovely to meet you. This is my husband, Clive.’ She indicates the hawkish man, who is standing close to her and regarding me suspiciously. He’s protective of her, I can see that, and even though I’m no threat, I can’t help but approve.

I take her hand and shake it. ‘A pleasure,’ I say. Then I take Clive’s hand and shake that too, giving him a sharp, masculine nod, which he returns.

‘So . . .’ Lisa claps her hands together. ‘Kate was just telling me that the two of you are the great-grandchildren of the writers of those letters. How spectacular. You can’t imagine how excited I was when Kate got in touch about the festival, and then mentioned the letters.’ Her expression becomes serious. ‘She says that privacy is important to you, so I just want you to know that I won’t use the real names of people or the village. Nor will I use the content of the letters, except as inspiration.’

I like her. She’s very personable, and I like that she’s straight up addressing any privacy concerns. I like that Kate mentioned that to her too.

‘Thank you for clarifying that,’ I say formally. ‘I appreciate you thinking of it.’

‘It’s my standard disclaimer whenever I want to use real-life stories as inspiration. Also, I hope you won’t mind, but I’d love it if you, and Kate here, could read a draft of the manuscript. I don’t want to tread on any toes.’

‘So, you’re definitely going to use those letters, then?’ I ask. ‘For a book, I mean?’

She nods vigorously, her eyes shining. ‘If that’s all right. It’s such a beautiful love story.’

‘It’s a tragic love story,’ Kate puts in. ‘I don’t want to tell you what to write, Lisa, but it would be great if you could give them both a happy ending.’

‘Such a romantic.’ Lisa smiles, and gives her an indulgent pat on the arm. ‘We’ll see. Depends on what track the story takes. That’s more important, as you know.’

‘I want to thank you, Lisa,’ I say. ‘For coming to Wychtree. We’re a small village and this festival was started by my great-grandfather in the early fifties. So, as you can imagine, it means a lot to the village and to me personally.’

Lisa’s gaze is bright with interest. ‘He started the festival, did he? How amazing. I’d love to hear all about him and your history. Perhaps at dinner tonight?’

‘Certainly,’ I say.

Lisa glances at Kate. ‘Well. I love this little bookshop. It’s absolutely perfect.’

Kate visibly glows at the praise. ‘I’m so glad you think so. You should see Blackwood Books, though. It’s amazing. Different vibe, but such a wonderful space.’

I can almost feel my chest inflate with pride at her words, which is annoying, because I know my bookshop is amazing. I don’t need her praise. Yet I find myself hungry for it all the same.

‘It’s a little tired,’ I say, self-deprecating. ‘But the readers find it suffices.’

There’s a twinkle in Lisa’s eye for some reason. ‘Well, I’d love to see it. Would you show us around, Sebastian?’

I’m very aware of her hulking husband standing close behind her. He’s less than an inch shorter than I am, and I am very tall. His gaze is definitely suspicious.

So maybe it’s his suspicion that makes me reach for Kate’s hand and thread my fingers through hers. ‘Of course,’ I say.

She blushes the most adorable shade of pink.

Lisa and Clive stare at our joined hands.

Clive relaxes into parade rest.

Lisa gives both Kate and me a delighted look. ‘Oh, how wonderful! You two are together?’

‘Yes,’ says Kate.

‘No,’ I say, at the same time.

We glance at each other, but Kate looks away first. Her smile is still beaming at a hundred watts, but I can see that there’s something else going on behind her grey eyes.

Did she not like me saying no? We’re not actually together, that’s the thing. We agreed last week, when we started seeing each other, that it was only going to be casual.

It’s been going fine, too. We spend most nights with each other, alternating between her place and mine, and we have some truly sensational sex.

Not only that, though. We have great conversations too, mostly about books. Arguments as well, since we are who we are and neither of us likes being wrong. Also, she’s been insisting on some ridiculous things for the festival – a cosplay cocktail party, for God’s sake – that I’ve tried to veto. Emphasis on the ‘tried’.

Because not only is she stubborn; she can also be very persuasive when she wants to be, usually in bed, and I’ve found myself swayed on more than a few occasions. Which means the cosplay cocktail party has unfortunately entered the programme, as has a ‘date with a book’ lucky dip. She even mentioned a couple of days ago something about a treasure hunt, but I pretended not to hear it.

So if sex, arguments and conversation can be termed ‘being together’, then, I suppose I was wrong and, yes, we are together.

I’m sure Lisa has picked up on our strange moment, because she’s glancing at Kate, then me, and then back again, her gaze curious. I feel vaguely like an insect under a microscope.

I smile at Lisa, hoping it comes across as pleasant. ‘What I meant to say is that we’re together casually,’ I say.

‘How wonderful,’ says Lisa. ‘It’s almost like fate, isn’t it?’

Kate pulls her hand from mine and heads to the door of Portable Magic. ‘Come on,’ she says, tugging it open. ‘It’s just across the road.’ Her smile is a tad fixed, but if Lisa notices it, she makes no comment.

Neither do I as we all troop across to Blackwood Books. Mainly because I have no idea what to say. I don’t know what’s bothering her, and I’m not sure I can offer anything even if I did. I thought she was happy with the way things were going, but the way she pulled her hand from mine, as if I’d burned her . . .

Clearly she’s not and I’d like to know why.

She chatters away to Lisa as we go into the bookshop and then I take over, giving Lisa the grand tour. She’s charmed and I can’t help but feel smug. Blackwood Books is a calm, quiet oasis, an escape from reality, and that’s the way I like it.

‘I’d love for your Q&A to be here,’ I tell her. ‘It’s small, but we can set up a video camera for streaming.’

She is nodding approvingly, looking around. ‘Oh, it’s perfect. Nothing worse than a large place with a small crowd. Much better to have a small place with a large crowd.’

‘I’ll have a desk set up for a signing.’ I indicate where I’d envisaged putting it. ‘Over there should be a good spot.’

‘Oh,’ Kate says, looking pointedly at me. ‘I thought we’d agreed that Lisa would do a signing at Portable Magic.’

I frown. I don’t remember us discussing that. ‘Did we? I’m not sure we did.’

Lisa once again looks at me, then at Kate, then glances at her husband. ‘Clive, why don’t we go upstairs? I’m sure I saw an atlas that you might like.’

Clive, clearly a man of few words, nods and follows his wife up the stairs, leaving us staring at each other uncomfortably.

‘We discussed it,’ she says stubbornly. ‘I remember.’

‘I don’t.’ I’m irritated now. ‘It makes more sense to have her Q&A here and then the signing here too. No one wants to go across the road.’

‘It’s not a hike up Everest, Sebastian. It’s a two-second walk.’

‘I know that, but think of the logistics of people going out and coming in.’

Temper flashes in her eyes. ‘I don’t care about the logistics. This is in aid of Portable Magic too, you promised. And after all, I was the one who brought her here.’

‘Yes. But for my great-grandfather’s letters.’

My voice has risen and, if it rises any more, Lisa is going to know we’re having an argument about her, which will be desperately uncomfortable for all concerned.

‘They’re not your great-grandfather’s letters,’ Kate shouts back. ‘Not all of them, at least. Some of them are my great-grandmother’s too.’

I feel bizarrely enraged and I don’t know why. I don’t even know why we’re arguing, because this is a ridiculous thing to argue about.

No. Actually, I do know why we’re arguing and it’s got nothing to do with where Lisa signs her books. It’s about the expression I saw in Kate’s eyes just before, when Lisa asked if we were together. She didn’t like me saying it was casual. She looked . . . unhappy. And the reason I’m angry now is that I care about her feelings. It matters to me if she’s unhappy. It matters if she’s sad. It matters if some pathetic waste of space, who has the gall to call himself a man, hurts her.

She told me about said pathetic waste of space, she trusted me with her feelings, and it matters. Her feelings matter. They’re important and I . . . I don’t like it. I don’t want to care about them. Because once you start to care, you’re fucked.

Caring is difficult and painful, and sometimes it feels pointless, because caring doesn’t change things. It doesn’t make cancer disappear or cure alcoholism, or make people stay when you want them. It only makes everything hurt more.

Not caring is so much easier, so much simpler.

I’m angry that I’ve lost that.

Kate stands in front of me, grey eyes flashing, her chin jutting out in that stubborn way I’ve come to recognise. She’s so beautiful, so free and honest with her emotions, while I’m the opposite.

I want to go cold. Freeze my anger. Lock it down. Find my way back to the man I was before she wrecked me, but that’s impossible now. She’s worked her way under my defences like a sapper under a castle wall, and I’m not sure how I can get her back out again.

All I can think is how strong she is. How brave. That bastard she was with tried to beat her down and yet here she is, standing in front of me, arguing with me. No fear, not a scrap. She’s amazing.

‘This is a stupid thing to argue about,’ I say flatly. ‘Lisa can sign wherever she wants, but what I want to know is why you went quiet when she asked if we were together.’

Her mouth opens. Shuts. Then she glances away and is silent so long I think she’s not going to answer. Then she says, ‘You said “no”. Then you said “casually”.’

I wasn’t wrong, then. I don’t know whether to be pleased I was right or annoyed about it.

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘That’s what we agreed on.’

She bites her lip, keeps her gaze turned away. ‘We did, that’s true.’

‘I can hear a “but”.’

She sighs and finally looks at me. ‘It’s fine, forget I said anything.’

‘I have read that when a woman says it’s fine, you’re on the point of being decapitated.’

The anger fades from her eyes as quickly as it appeared and she gives me that little quirk of her mouth that I know is a reluctant half-smile. The kind where she doesn’t actually want to smile, but she can’t help herself.

I’m addicted to that smile.

‘Close,’ she says. ‘But I don’t think we’re at decapitation yet. A light strangling maybe.’

‘Kathryn,’ I say, indulging myself with her full name. ‘Is it fine? Is it really?’

‘Do you care?’ she asks, half-joking.

‘Yes.’ I don’t smile. This is serious. ‘I’m not another Jasper. I don’t want to hurt you. That’s not what this is supposed to be about.’ I reach for her hand and pull her close and she doesn’t resist. ‘Was there something wrong with casual?’

She looks up at me and there is painful honesty in her expression. ‘No,’ she says. ‘Nothing. That’s what we agreed on, and that’s what I want. I’m not ready for anything more.’

This is exactly what I want to hear and yet the words scrape over my skin like steel wool, and I don’t know why. Casual is fine for me too. Seeing someone in the village is new for me. Seeing anyone more than once or twice is, frankly, new for me. And I don’t want to promise her anything I may not end up being able to give.

The last thing in the world I want to do is hurt her.

‘Good.’ I ignore the tight feeling in my chest that suggests that ‘good’ might not be the right response and that ‘casual’ is not the right word for what we have. Instead, I lift my hands and cup her face between them, bending to kiss her gently. ‘Now, tonight after dinner. Your place or mine?’

‘Yours,’ she says promptly. ‘I like your shower. The water pressure in mine is awful.’

‘Glad to know someone’s got their priorities straight.’

‘Also,’ she says, the look in her eyes soft. ‘Just so you know, you’re nothing like Jasper. Nothing like him at all.’

I’d like to think I wasn’t, but you can never tell. And, honestly, I’d decapitate myself if I was anything like that prick.

So I kiss her again, already impatient for this dinner to be over.

Already impatient to have her where she belongs.

In my bed.