Chapter 10
10
For someone I keep telling myself I’m angry with, Ren has moved into my head rent-free. It’s been two days, and I’m in the shop but my attention is elsewhere, because I keep expecting him to come to apologise, but there’s no sign of him. I refuse to text him after that argument, even though I should probably apologise for some of the things I said too, especially in front of Ava.
The empty recycling boxes he brought back are in the cornered-off area of the back room, so instead, I take his comments to heart and stalk around the shop, being brutal. He’s right that I haven’t fully accepted the idea of downsizing my stock, but I have been wholly committed to coming up with excuses about why I absolutely must keep something-or-other, rather than embracing the change and admitting that some of this stuff needs to go.
I pick up an ugly totem-like stack of tribal masks that, if I’m honest, probably isn’t a good luck charm passed down through family generations as I’ve told myself, and in reality, is cheaply made by someone who, presumably, did it with a blindfold on, which is the only explanation for its quirky shape and questionable colour scheme.
I keep thinking about the diary too, and how much I want to spend a couple of days in Arfordir-M?r-Forwyn, but the thought of doing it alone, without Ren and Ava, has made the idea lose its shine.
The thing I’m loving most about this diary is the sense of the three of us being in it together. It’s made me realise how lonely I’ve been, even though Lissa and the other Ever After Street shopkeepers make an effort to check in on me often, but it’s only a quick hello at the start or end of each day. Ren and Ava are the first people I’ve shared any part of myself with in a very long time, and I miss them both , even though it hasn’t been forty-eight hours since the argument yet.
I pick up a vase in the shape of a head with a crown of grapes, and immediately want to point out yet another fruit-based item, but there’s no one to point it out to , and it makes the loneliness press down even harder, because I know Ren would laugh, and Ava would probably want to take it home.
I glance at it again and then add it to the charity shop box. Ava’s taste isn’t that bad, but maybe someone will love it one day, just not in this shop. It’s one of the many things that have been gathering dust on my shelves for years. ‘Stock turnaround, Mickey love,’ my dad would have said. It makes me look around again with a more critical eye.
Some of this stuff really has been here for so long that it would take a miracle to shift it now, but instead of taking away things that haven’t sold and keeping the stock fresh for my small group of regular customers, I just keep piling new stuff out and squeezing it into the very limited available spaces. No wonder this place is a disaster.
I lose track of time as I work. It’s Sunday and the shop has been quiet, although yesterday was much busier than usual, maybe thanks to what Ava and I did to the pavement outside on Friday. The empty space out there seemed to encourage people to come in much more than the clutter ever had, so I decided to come back in today and apply the same theory to the inside of the shop. I’ve barely looked up since mid-afternoon, never mind noticed how dark it’s getting outside, until there’s a knock on the door, and I stop for the first time in hours and realise it’s gone 8p.m., my stomach is loudly announcing that I’ve skipped dinner, and my dry mouth is telling me how long it’s been since my last cup of tea.
The knock comes again and I go through to the main part of the shop and unlatch the door, cautious of who would be knocking at this time of night when Ever After Street itself is long since closed to the public.
‘Oh, thank God, I did not expect you to be here.’ Ren is carrying a basket and pacing back and forth outside, and I breathe a sigh of relief because, firstly, it’s not a robber, but mainly because it’s him .
‘I wouldn’t have been, normally, but someone gave me a reality check the other day, so here I am, embracing the decluttering. Besides, you know where I live, you gave me a lift home after the library a couple of weeks ago.’
‘That was my next plan, but it felt a bit stalkery and I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me. And you probably have business insurance that would cover any grievous bodily harm on the shop premises, whereas if you disembowelled me on your own property, the home insurance premiums would be a nightmare.’
I didn’t intend to laugh, but I can’t stop myself. Typical Ren, always practical, even when it comes to his own potentially gruesome maiming.
‘Before you slam the door in my face or dismember me in a horrible and totally deserved fashion, I am a despicable human being who shouldn’t be allowed to play with others, and I’m so sorry about the other day.’
It softens every inch of the annoyance that was still lingering towards him and I pull the door open fully and my breath catches in my throat at the sight of him. I’ve always thought he was gorgeous, but I didn’t know there were this many other levels of gorgeous. ‘Are you wearing pyjamas?’
‘No. Um…’ He stops pacing and looks down at himself. ‘I suppose, theoretically, I could sleep in these, but I think they call it loungewear.’
‘So you do wear sensible clothes sometimes then.’
‘I wear sensible clothes all the time!’
‘Sensible within context,’ I clarify. ‘There are times when you don’t need to look like you’re going for a board meeting with the headmaster.’
It’s not just his clothes that are different tonight. He’s wearing black jogging bottoms and a long-sleeve grey marl top, trainers on his feet, and there’s no product in his hair, so instead of being held down, it’s blowing around in the summer evening breeze, thick, straight, and choppy, and oh-so-touchable, and there’s a smattering of black stubble darkening his jawline, which is also worryingly touchable because my fingers are twitching with the urge to reach out towards him.
‘I don’t always…’
‘It’s a shield, I get it,’ I say – a throwback to what he said to me when we met at the library, and I suddenly understand how he knew that. He wears practical clothes and keeps his hair neatly battened down because it’s something he can control when he feels like he’s losing control of other aspects of his life. I understand that. I can dye my hair red and slip on Ursula’s shell necklace and tuck a billowing fake flower behind my ear, and I feel like I become Ariel while I’m in the shop, and it’s nice not to feel like me for a while. Ren clings onto being someone who looks like he’s in control of his life, even when he feels like everything is spiralling out of his grasp.
He continues pacing. ‘Sorry I’m so late. I wanted to come earlier, but it’s me who owes you an apology and I didn’t want to do it with Ava in tow. She’s staying over at her grandparents’ tonight and I was late dropping her off, then I was rushing to try to catch you before you left the shop to save turning up at your house uninvited, and between that and putting together the stuff for this , I forgot to change into anything else…’ He stops pacing again and holds up the basket he’s carrying, and I’m intrigued by how nervous he seems.
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s a “Sorry I was an arsehole” hamper.’
Despite my best efforts in trying not to, I burst out laughing again. He has no right to be this funny during what should be a serious apology. ‘Is that the official name?’
‘It should be.’ He holds it out to me and my fingers brush against his as I take it, and then nearly drop it at the unexpected weight. ‘Seriously, Mickey. I was cruel and way out of line. The feelings of inadequacy catapulted me back in time, but you didn’t deserve my reaction, and I’m sorry.’
He’s pacing again, and instead of pushing further, I lift one side of the basket lid and look through the contents. It’s a little picnic hamper. There are shop-bought sandwiches, mini sausage rolls, savoury muffins, cocktail sausages, cheese bites, a box of fancy chocolates, and a bottle of wine. ‘You didn’t have to do anything like this, Ren.’
‘I wanted to. I care about you, Mick, and I felt so guilty when I walked away on Friday. Ava will tell you it took me ages to drive off because I didn’t want to leave it like that, but she convinced me it was better to give you some space because I’d probably have made everything worse by trying to patch things up there and then, so I left it, and time got away from me, and now it’s late and… I don’t know where I’m going with this sentence full of excuses.’
It makes me giggle again because I adore his honesty. He’s good at apologising and he’s endearingly nervous, and the hamper is so thoughtful that I can’t help being touched.
‘I think you’re stunning.’
The words burst out of his mouth like an explosion and he stops pacing, flashes a look in my direction, and starts up pacing again. I concentrate on his feet traipsing across the pavement to avoid thinking about what that means as he hurries to clarify.
‘I didn’t finish that sentence the other day and I should have. I think you’re stunning . Not in a beautiful way… Wait, I mean, yes , in a beautiful way, because you are . Your blue eyes, your smile that lights up this entire shop, your bright hair that I want to wind my fingers in…’ He lets out a shuddery breath and shakes his head at himself.
He can talk with his thick, black touchable hair waving around like that. It may as well be screaming, ‘Stroke me!’
‘But also in the sense that I feel stunned when I’m in your presence. Every time I see you, I feel like I’m not myself, and when I said that sentence on Friday, I simultaneously realised all the most honest endings to it, so I picked a fight instead of confronting it like an adult, and I’m sorry.’
‘I’m sorry too. I got too personal and said too much in front of Ava. Things I know you wouldn’t want her to hear, and I shouldn’t have presumed to know you better than I do.’
‘You do. The stuff I’ve told you in the last couple of weeks, I’ve never admitted to anyone before, maybe not even myself. I…’ He makes a noise of frustration and pushes a hand through his beautiful hair. ‘My security is in planning and being prepared. My ex-wife was erratic and spontaneous and I can’t deal with that sort of thing any more. I need to know what’s going to happen – where, when, why, how – and Ava wants me not to be like that, and you suggesting we jump in the car and go to Arfordir-M?r-Forwyn is exactly what Ava wishes I was like and it made me feel inadequate and angry at myself that I can’t be like that, and I took that out on you. It took me right back to the final days of my marriage, and Ava said exactly what my ex used to say – about being dull, no fun, and ruining everything, and I curled myself into a metaphorical ball and shot my angry spikes out as a defence mechanism.’
I hold my hand out and wait for him to stop pacing and reach out to take it, and when he does, I give his fingers a squeeze, because even though I’d gathered as much, it makes a difference to hear him say it so openly. Relationship breakdowns are a type of grief, and sometimes the most unexpected thing can dredge up unwanted flashbacks.
He makes an indefinable noise while staring at our joined hands, his fingers tightening slowly around mine. Eventually he shakes his head again without dropping my hand. ‘I shouldn’t have insulted your shop like that. Your shop is beautiful, it’s very you and you’re very unique and I like feeling like “part of your world” when I’m here, and you shouldn’t change it because of my opinion.’ He’s short of breath because the words have spilled out so fast that it’s like a form of physical exercise.
‘Breathe, Ren.’ I give his hand a tug, and he lets out a long breath and looks up at the sky for a moment, trying to centre himself.
‘Do you want to go for a walk?’ Watching him, my eyes fall on the Full Moon Forest beyond, the woodland area surrounding the castle and I blurt the question out before I’ve thought it through.
‘A walk?’ It sounds like he’s never heard the word before.
‘You put one foot in front of the other and aim for a destination? Often favoured by dogs and people trying to get fit? Also, this picnic won’t eat itself, will it?’ I reach down and pat the handle of the basket where I’ve put it on the floor.
He laughs a disjointed little laugh. ‘I haven’t heard of self-consuming picnics, no. But I wasn’t trying to be presumptuous or imply you had to invite me or anything.’
‘Well, any picnic will taste better shared, sitting by the river on a warm summer’s night. Unless you need to get back for Ava?’
‘No, she’s at her grandparents’ until tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Good, because I’m starving. Come in while I get myself ready.’ I give his hand another tug, hard enough to pull him towards the door this time, and then tell him to wait while I run upstairs to the bathroom. My hair is tied up in a messy knot to keep it out of the way, but I check it for dust bunnies anyway, and then grab two mugs from the kitchen because I’m not drinking that bottle of wine alone, and I’m pretty sure Ren is too refined to glug from the bottle neck itself.
When I get back down the stairs, he’s in the other half of the shop, looking over the things I’ve put into the area for donating to charity. ‘And still, the dragon fruit table survives…’
I poke my tongue out at him. ‘Someone will love that damn thing one day and you’ll be the first person I text when it sells.’
‘It’s not going to sell. Have you ever even eaten a dragon fruit? They’re not easy to come by in the UK, I’ve never seen one down the local Tesco, have you?’
‘You’re hilarious.’ I pick up the basket and manhandle him towards the door. As much as I appreciate him apologising, I’ve heard enough of his opinions on my stock for one forty-eight-hour period, even though I haven’t ever eaten one. ‘I have a candle that’s dragon fruit scented and it’s lovely, so it stands to reason that the dragon fruit table is rightly heralded by the person who made it for his dragon fruit-loving wife.’
He’s laughing as he lets me shove him out the door, and as I stop to lock up behind us, he takes the basket from my hand to carry it, and when I turn back to him, he’s got his arm hooked towards me, inviting me to slip my hand over it. The rational part of my brain tells me I shouldn’t get any closer to him, but the other part of my brain is floored by how soft around the edges he seems tonight, and I can’t stop myself slipping my fingers into the crook of his elbow and giving his forearm a squeeze through the thin material of his long-sleeve top.
He glances down at me and squeezes his arm closer to his side, so my fingers are held between his arm and his ribcage, and it doesn’t feel like any words are needed.
* * *
Birds are singing their evening chorus, and the odd bat flits around the streetlamps as we meander around the edge of the forest behind the shop. The river runs fiercely below us, but as you get further out behind the castle in the hills at the end of Ever After Street, the land turns flatter and the river becomes a trickling stream with stony beaches perfect for picnicking on, even in the dark. It’s not far from home, and when I was little, my dad and I used to walk our childhood dog down here all the time.
‘This is so beautiful,’ Ren murmurs as we wander along well-worn paths towards the lapping sound of the river.
I look up at him. He is so beautiful. After my last relationship and losing my dad, I felt like every part of me that looked at men in that way sputtered and went offline, but I can feel parts of myself tingling back to life because he’s something incredibly special, and yet, also incredibly unavailable. He’s still struggling with the hurt of the past, and he has Ava to worry about. She is rightfully his top priority, and after the strained relationship with his ex that still has a huge impact on both their lives, he’s never going to entertain the idea of getting into another relationship. The thought is so bizarre that it’s unfathomable.
‘What?’
I realise I’ve been staring at him while lost in thought, about him, and about the shop and life in general. Sometimes someone comes along and gives you a new perspective on things when you didn’t realise you needed it. ‘You were right, you know. In what you said. I have been hiding in the shop, surrounding myself with things and convincing myself that they have magical stories behind them to avoid making connections in real life. I have my best friend, Lissa, but other than that, I keep people at arm’s length. I don’t want to open myself up again. You and Ava are the first people I’ve spent any significant time with or shared any real part of myself with, and it’s made me realise how lonely I’ve been. I have replaced people with things and treated the things… almost like they were real?’ I say it questioningly, hoping it makes sense to him. ‘I invent the stories and then treat the objects like a physical incarnation of the imaginary people behind them, and I’ve put too much importance on that and treated them like stray animals looking for a forever home, rather than as things that someone needs to buy for my business to carry on, and stock that needs to be turned around semi-regularly, and I haven’t wanted to admit that some of the things need to be thrown away.’
‘Like the?—’
‘Not the dragon fruit table,’ I interrupt before he can say it, and he dissolves into laughter that warms my heart. I squeeze his arm again. ‘And you’re the first person who’s been honest enough to make me realise that, and I really appreciate it, even if it isn’t easy to hear sometimes.’
‘The way you treat things is endearing. You give objects a real importance and you care about them and the people who buy them. Don’t change that because of what I’ve said. Your shop is full of love and that’s what makes it special. Not everything has to be sensible and practical and dull and boring, like me.’
‘I don’t think you’re like that at all.’
‘What do you think I’m like then?’ He glances down at me and slips into third person. ‘He asks in trepidation, not sure if he really wants to know the answer.’
‘Bloody beautiful.’
He lets out a half-snort half-laugh half-gurgle type of noise. ‘Oh, Mickey…’
‘No. Seriously. Ava is so lucky to have you.’ I look up at him again. ‘And your ex-wife is a twat. There are worse things someone can be than sensible and caring. And I think you’ve been hurt so badly that you struggle to see the good side now, and you’ve let other people’s words influence the way you see yourself.’
He takes a deep breath and I can see his cheek dent inwards as he bites the inside of it.
Instead of saying anything, I give his forearm another squeeze and lean my head to the side until it rests against his upper arm briefly, just a touch that’s not the hug I really want to give him, and he lets out another shivery breath and dips his chin until it brushes against the top of my head, and it feels nice, just the two of us on a dark summer evening, with no one expecting us to be anything other than exactly who we are.