Chapter Eleven
Two weeks later
Thankfully, Bri is as lovely on the phone as she is via email, and over the next two weeks she manages to make me feel less like I’ve committed myself to two weeks of Declan Archer glaring at me and more like this tour might actually be okay.
If nothing else, at least she will bring enough cheer for all of us.
All in all, there are going to be eight events on the tour – all in national parks along the coast, and varying in size depending on restrictions.
We’ll be driving rather than flying, partly because of the large amount of stock we’re transporting and partly because it’s better for the environment.
Bri has even arranged for a National Parks ranger to travel with us.
I manage to quell the nerves that periodically surge in my stomach at the possibility of sharing a car with Declan Archer for eight-hour stretches with the knowledge that at least he will want that as little as I do. There’s no way he’ll let it happen.
Yumi was right in saying that the book is gathering momentum, and I get the impression that it’s important for everyone that the tour goes well.
In one of our conversations Bri confided that Behind the Books are thinking of doing a profile on Declan, which would be huge for publicity.
They’re sending someone out to interview him during the tour.
Not having a bookseller wouldn’t have been a deal-breaker, but logistically it would’ve made things more difficult.
It gives me a small measure of satisfaction that Declan Archer does need me, at least a little.
It’s also a bit of a relief to learn that while we will be camping it’s only for one of the nights.
The other nights will be spread between cabins and motels, and, while Bri was very quick to tell me that it will all be fairly basic, it’s not quite the total wilderness that Declan led me to believe it would be.
I haven’t spoken to him since the disastrous phone call, but it feels like everywhere I go there are traces of him.
Some of them are obvious – like Yumi dramatically reading her favourite internet comments about him aloud, and the eye-watering amount of stock I order of his book – but the spectre of him is in unexpected places too.
I find myself walking a whole block further to buy a second-rate brownie so I can avoid the Garden, and it’s an effort not to imagine him sitting in Ruth’s antique shop when I check two days before I leave whether she’s still okay to send me updates on Gran.
‘I’ll go every second day,’ says Ruth, pressing a tea towel full of home-made muffins into my chest.
I feel sick whenever I think about leaving Gran. It will be the longest I’ve gone without seeing her in almost two years, and I’m still not convinced it’s the right thing to do.
‘But what about your shop?’ I ask Ruth. ‘If it’s too much, I don’t have to go.’
Ruth tuts. She wraps a scarf round my neck and pats my cheek. ‘It will give me a chance to knit a sweater for Mary’s new grandbaby while I natter away with your gran. You go and enjoy yourself, Clarrie. We’ll be fine.’
I text my parents to let them know I’ll be out of town for a few weeks with limited reception, pack and then repack, and run through everything in the shop with Yumi. She rolls her eyes at me more than once.
Then the day before I’m due to leave, Yumi comes in with a gift.
‘It’s not a napkin,’ she announces before I open it. ‘Because napkins are terrible gifts.’
I don’t point out that she’s managed to find a way to incorporate it into her outfit twice since I gave it to her. I slide my finger along the back of the wrapping paper as she pulls out her phone.
‘If I was in the wilderness with Declan Archer,’ she reads loudly, ‘I would push him up against a tree and—’
It’s happened enough times in the last two weeks that I manage to get my hand over her mouth before she finishes the sentence, but I hear the rest of it anyway and oh my goodness . It’s not the worst comment she’s read aloud, but I have to go away with this man tomorrow .
‘There’s no way someone wrote that,’ I tell her, removing my hand slowly in case she’s not finished, and then returning to unwrapping the gift when I’m sure my ears are safe.
‘It’s honestly like you’ve never even been on the internet,’ says Yumi, leaning back against the table as I unfold the paper.
It’s a head torch, and when I look up at Yumi she clears her throat.
‘For the record, I quite like you the way you are,’ she says. ‘But if you find yourself overcome with the sudden desire to do a Declan Archer and find yourself in the wilderness, I thought . . . it might be nice to have a light while you’re looking.’
Emotion clogs my chest and I swallow it down.
‘Thanks, Yumi,’ I say. She just rolls her eyes at me again.
‘You can thank me by pushing Declan Archer up against a tree,’ she says. Great.
At eight o’clock the next morning, a van arrives in front of the bookshop. There’s a bearded, fit, capable-looking man behind the wheel that I assume is Jed, the park ranger Bri lined up.
Even so, my heart sinks. I can see before I even walk out the front that the van – while lovely and sturdy-looking – is not going to fit all the stock I’ve got waiting in the shop to load into it.
My phone starts vibrating the second I step outside, and I slip it out of my pocket to see Bri’s name on screen.
‘Clarrie!’ says Bri, her voice sunny, the way I’ve come to discover it always is.
‘Hi, Bri,’ I say, my voice . . . marginally less bright and sunny. ‘Where are you? I think we might have a problem.’
Bri laughs, a musical, tinkling sound that’s somehow reminiscent of windchimes in the breeze. Nice quality windchimes, mind you, not the annoying ones.
‘Is this about the van?’ she asks.
‘This is about the van,’ I tell her, eyeing the tall, long-haired ranger climbing out.
He’s wearing cargo pants, a broad-brimmed hat and a National Parks polo and he pats the top of the van like you might a horse to tell it it’s done a good job.
Then he starts striding over. I’m trying to indicate that I’m on the phone – to little avail – when Yumi bounds from inside the bookshop to intercept him.
Despite having never arrived on time for work in her life, she actually beat me to the shop this morning.
She said it was because she wanted to make sure everything was in order before she was managing things alone, but I suspect in part it is also because she knows the last time that I spoke to Declan Archer I told him I’d taken my top off and she wants to see how awkward our interaction is.
Still, watching her coax a confused-looking Jed the park ranger inside, I’m glad she’s here.
Books? Yumi mouths over her shoulder, and I nod.
‘Not so much a problem,’ says Bri in my ear, her voice as cheerful as ever, ‘as an opportunity .’
‘You know the problem is that the books won’t fit in the van?’ I tell her as a 4 WD pulls up. ‘How is that an opportunity?’
‘Almost all of them will. At least, enough for the first two events,’ says Bri brightly.
‘Especially now that the passenger seat is free. And the rest you can keep in store to sell. We’re just about to do a reprint, so there aren’t many first editions in stock, you lucky ducks. You’ll run through that in no time.’
The most annoying thing is that she’s not wrong. We have a waitlist of people to call when the new books come in. So many, in fact, that Yumi managed to convince me that we already need to put in a new order.
‘Re-order whatever doesn’t fit, and I’ll drive it out when I meet you,’ Bri adds, just as the door to the 4 WD opens.
A brown boot, black jeans, white-T-shirt-clad Declan Archer steps out and my mouth goes dry.
He looks good, damn it, and suddenly my jeans shorts feel too short and my top feels too tight. This is definitely a mistake.
He’s wearing sunglasses, but I still feel it in my gut the moment his eyes find me. My whole body flushes, from my toes to my face, and all I can think is: Thank goodness Yumi isn’t watching this.
Declan doesn’t pat the car like a horse, just glances into the bookshop then slowly makes his way over to where I’m standing.
And that’s when what Bri said sinks in.
‘Which passenger seat is free?’ I ask. ‘And what do you mean “when you meet us”?’
Jed emerges from the shop again, carrying the first of the many, many boxes of books, while Yumi directs him. I watch them out of the corner of my eye, but most of my focus is on Declan, walking towards me.
He studies me for about five seconds. I can’t see the direction of his gaze because of his stupid sunglasses, but my chest heats again under the scrutiny. I am painfully aware of our last conversation, suspended in the space between us, and very thankful that Yumi is at least ten metres away.
‘Is that Bri?’ Declan asks, totally skipping past pleasantries as his focus sharpens on the phone to my ear. ‘Where is she?’
‘Oh, is that Declan?’ asks Bri when she hears his voice. ‘Put me on loudspeaker.’
I do as she asks, my eyes on Declan.
‘You’re on loudspeaker now,’ I tell Bri.
‘Declan?’ says Bri, and her voice sounds a long way away.
‘Hi, Bri,’ says Declan, leaning closer to the phone. His arm brushes against mine and I swear every hair stands to attention. I move my arm away as subtly as I can, resisting the urge to rub it.
‘I’m so pleased that the gang is all together,’ says Bri. ‘Is Jed there yet?’
‘He’s here,’ I tell her. At least, I assume it’s Jed. ‘But . . . where are you?’
My eyes meet Declan’s sunglasses, and he’s standing so close that I can almost feel his breath.
‘Funny story,’ says Bri. ‘Did I tell you that my sister is pregnant? She just had the baby!’
She pauses, like she’s waiting for something, and I realise a beat too late it’s for some sort of congratulations.
I manage to mumble something vaguely coherent, even as my mind is whirring. Where is this going?
Declan doesn’t say anything.