Chapter Thirteen #2
I’m still staring at them on the screen when Bri’s camera comes on.
‘Hey, Clarrie!’ she says. Then she leans closer to the camera to peer at me down the computer screen. ‘Are you okay? You look concerned.’
I drop the eyebrows.
‘I’m fine,’ I tell her, rubbing my forehead. ‘Everything is fine.’ And actually, apart from Declan’s withdrawal and the yoga stretches I did to avoid stray snakes when I was going to the toilet, the afternoon has run relatively smoothly so far.
‘I’m so glad,’ says Bri cheerfully. ‘Thank you again for doing this. You and Declan are the best. Jed seems great too! What’s he like in person? What’s the connection like?’
For a second, I think she means the connection between me and Jed, but then I realise she’s talking about the computer. Bri is a little like a happy whirlwind.
‘The connection seems okay,’ I say. ‘Are you still going to do the opening?’
Bri nods, and her head sort of freezes in one spot but also keeps moving, trailing a blur up and down the screen.
‘I don’t think the nodding quite works,’ I tell her.
She stops. ‘Okay! No nodding!’ she says. ‘Is the audio coming through clearly? Can you plug in the Bluetooth speaker so everyone can hear me?’
I look around the deck, where Declan has very neatly set up everything he’ll need – a table, notes, a bottle of water, a larger screen that he’s connected to both the laptop and a portable generator so people can see Bri . . . but no speaker.
‘It’s not here,’ I tell her.
‘I think Declan was going to bring his,’ says Bri. ‘Maybe check his case?’
Is she asking me to go through Declan’s luggage?
‘His suitcase ?’ I say, and Bri nods again.
‘Damn it, I forgot about the nodding,’ she says. ‘But, yes, his suitcase. He won’t mind.’ She waves a hand in the air and it blurs across the screen.
Maybe he wouldn’t mind Bri going through his suitcase, but I’m not sure how he’s going to feel about me doing it. Not that there seems to be much choice.
‘Give me a second,’ I say. Yumi is going to have a field day when I tell her about this later.
I leave the computer on the deck and walk through the non-door into the cabin.
There’s a small, rustic kitchenette in one corner of the room, and two sets of bunk beds in two of the others – Jed and Declan are sharing one, and I’m on the other.
The rest of the room is just wooden floorboards and snake party space.
Despite my best attempts to pretend I’m someone who is naturally neat and tidy, my bottom bunk bed somehow already looks like I’ve lived in it for a week.
Declan and Jed’s, on the other hand, could appear in an advertising campaign for neat beds.
Declan’s case is leaning against the wall beside his bottom bunk, standing proudly like it wouldn’t dare let anyone mess it up.
We’ll see, suitcase, we’ll see.
I flip it onto the floor and a strange feeling goes through my stomach at the thought of touching someone else’s personal belongings. Specifically, at touching Declan Archer’s personal belongings. The thought doesn’t help make it feel less weird.
I tug open the zip, the sound loud in the quiet cabin. Somewhere in the background I can hear Bri chatting happily to someone on her end of the computer, interspersed with the occasional cry of a very small baby.
The suitcase smells like Declan – warm, clean and subtle – and I try to hold my breath, to search without actually looking.
There’s a book lying flat at the very top – surprisingly, not a copy of Talking to Trees . It’s called Retelling , by Francis Coates, and I’ve never read it, but the name sounds vaguely familiar, which is a level of knowledge I assume everyone is looking for in their local bookseller.
‘Clarrie?’ I hear Bri call faintly down the line and I seriously clutch my heart.
Smooth.
‘Clarrie, I’m not sure if you can hear me, but I’ll be back in a minute. My sister just needs me to hold the baby while she goes to the toilet.’
‘Okay,’ I yell back, hoping that the group haven’t already arrived, that Declan isn’t standing out there while I rifle through his suitcase and yell through open doors.
I take another breath and try to focus on the task. It’s just a suitcase.
I move the book aside to see T-shirts and sifting through them feels like it’s too much, too intimate, so I sort of pat the top and then . . . there . I find the speaker tucked under some socks and yank it out, then zip the bag up as quickly as I can and push it back against the door.
There’s only an empty chair on the screen when I get back, which I assume means Bri is still holding the baby.
I plug the speaker into the side of the computer and it registers with a beep, but, wherever Bri is, she’s either on mute or far enough away from her microphone that I can’t hear her.
I sort of stand and stare awkwardly at the screen for a few moments, but she doesn’t immediately return, so I lean back and rest a hand on the railing.
The table full of books is all set up on the opposite side of the clearing, piles of golden covers and Declan’s name in bold, white font.
This is my next two weeks.
The forest murmurs around me and I close my eyes, taking a second to breathe.
It’s funny, but despite the six hours in the car the day feels like it’s gone too fast. There are too many new things, all at once, and the peace of the clearing feels both incredible and oppressive.
Weirdly, in a forest full of literal trees, I feel like I need fresh air.
I wish I could call Yumi. I wish I could call Gran.
Not more than a minute or two later, the sound of people starts to filter through the trees.
It’s not loud by any stretch, but after the quiet of the past few hours the noise is jarring.
I glance down at the computer screen. Bri isn’t back yet, and a trickle of nerves flutters in my stomach at the thought that the speaker might not work.
I try to reassure myself that there’s not much I can do about that now anyway.
Then Jed appears through the trees, walking with what can only be described as stern purpose.
He nods to me across the clearing, then stops by a tall tree and starts shepherding people in from the path.
They come through in small groups, most of them wearing long sleeves and gumboots and looking around with an excitement that slowly begins to feel contagious.
More than a few of them look curiously up at me on the deck, and I try to smile with my best friendly bookseller smile.
For all that nerves are humming in my stomach, for all that I’m maybe not cut out to be in the bush, I find that I’m also .
. . excited. I’ve always loved the way that so many different people can have a book in common, a private world that they’ve entered into that can then become a shared experience if they want it to.
It still awes me that a book can be both intimate for a single reader and a source of community.
The once empty space is quickly filled with the buzz of anticipation, and I find myself unintentionally scanning for Declan.
I can’t see him anywhere, and I try to meet Jed’s eyes to ask where he is, but Jed seems to be busily alternating between reprimanding people for stepping outside their allotted space, and pointing out interesting birds in the trees.
Then the last few people walk through into the clearing, and there he is. He’s standing slightly off to the side of the book table, and somewhere between now and when I last saw him, he’s pulled on a cap. It’s the first time I’ve seen him wearing one since the day in the coffee shop.
I don’t mean to watch him, but before I can look away he looks up.
He doesn’t smile, doesn’t acknowledge me in any way, but it’s like the noise in the clearing pauses, just for a second.
And all I can think is that he looks different.
There’s something about the starkness of him being alone in this moment that makes me think of all the bookshop events I saw Gran do at Brooks’.
Memories of her joking with authors, of sitting with them and asking quiet questions, tug at my conscience.
I know Declan doesn’t like me, but he’s about to speak in front of a hundred and fifty people. What if he’s . . . nervous?
I blink and force my eyes to look away. It’s none of my business. Bri’s still not on the computer screen, but the event isn’t due to officially start for another ten minutes.
I don’t want to linger alone on the deck that is also a stage, so I push myself off the post and start making my way down the steps.
I weave through pockets of people, automatically heading for the book table.
I tell myself it’s just because I need to let Declan know about Bri and the computer speaker.
He glances up at my approach, but doesn’t meet my gaze.
‘Did you call Bri?’ he asks. His voice is sharp, but he sounds slightly winded, like he can’t quite get enough breath.
‘Yep, all ready to go,’ I say softly.
I hesitate. I might’ve totally misjudged this, but I take another step closer.
Declan’s eyes jerk towards me. ‘What are you doing?’
I ignore the question. ‘Have you ever heard of Gordon Ramsay?’
Declan frowns under his cap, but he doesn’t move away. ‘The chef?’
‘The picture-book illustrator,’ I say, ‘who happens to have the same name as the chef. But there were about twenty people who apparently didn’t know it was possible for two people to have the same name when they showed up to the Gordon Ramsay event at Brooks’.
Some of them brought frying pans to sign. ’
Declan doesn’t respond, and I feel a hot flush of embarrassment. This was a stupid idea.
‘Anyway, you’re the only Declan Archer I know,’ I finish awkwardly, then clear my throat, like doing so might clear everything that just came out of my mouth. ‘Bri’s just holding her sister’s baby. She should be back in a second.’ At least, I hope she will.
Declan nods. ‘Right,’ he says, tugging on the back of his cap. ‘Thanks.’ Without another word, he turns and walks towards the steps.
Great .
The chatter in the clearing fades when he reaches the stage, and everyone looks up at him. Even the trees seem to hold their breath.
Declan slips his hat off his head. He looks down at the computer screen, then looks back up at the crowd, a small smile tugging at the edge of his lips.
His hands shift on the railing. I feel like I’m holding my breath and I don’t even know why.
‘Okay, I’m back,’ a loud voice booms through the clearing. At least we know the speaker works. ‘How did you go, did you find it in Declan’s suitcase?’
It’s another silence that meets Bri’s words, and Declan automatically looks to where I’m standing. I feel, rather than see, a hundred pairs of eyes follow his gaze, and there’s nothing subtle about the blush that flames across my face.
Excellent.
‘Hi, Bri,’ says Declan’s low, slightly amused voice. ‘Declan here. And all the lovely people who have come for the event.’
‘Oh crap,’ says Bri. ‘I guess you’ve got the speaker then?
’ She says it cheerfully, because she’s not the one who has to stand in a clearing with the man she doesn’t like, who she just told an awkward story to.
Or with the hundred and fifty people who now think she just looked through his suitcase.
Then Bri’s face appears on the screen, bright and happy.
‘We’ve got the speaker,’ Declan says with warm affection and half a lightning smile, and I’m pretty sure everyone in the clearing falls more than half in love with him.
At least a handful turn to look at me suspiciously – the woman who clearly went through their darling’s suitcase.
‘Everyone, meet my publicist Bri,’ says Declan, shifting his hands on the railing and drawing attention back to the screen.
Bri laughs, and launches into her introduction.