Chapter Fourteen
We’re five minutes into Declan’s speech and I have to begrudgingly admit to myself that his book might actually deserve the attention it’s being given, and by the end of the forty-five minutes allotted to this section of the afternoon I realise that I might even like it.
From what I can tell, it’s part memoir, part an exploration of the way we treat others and ourselves, and part a love letter to trees.
Declan speaks calmly, his eyes lit with a passion that isn’t forceful or overbearing.
It’s more like he’s going on a journey himself and he’s just inviting everyone else to come along.
Even thinking the word ‘journey’ makes me want to gag a little, but .
. . it fits. Despite my dislike of him, Declan’s love of the environment we’re in is so genuine.
It’s almost like he’s forgotten that he’s presenting; he’s just sitting down with a coffee to talk about something he loves.
The session concludes to rapturous applause.
‘Thanks, Declan,’ says Bri. Declan blinks, like he’d half forgotten that he was leaning against a railing next to a computer.
Bri smiles, and her brightness really does translate surprisingly well to the screen.
‘Declan will be available to sign copies of his book now,’ she says.
‘If you’d like to purchase a copy, we have more than enough for you to buy one or ten.
’ The crowd chuckles good-naturedly – honestly, everyone seems to be in a great mood.
‘And trust me,’ Bri continues, ‘you’re going to want to buy at least one.
Because today, you have the opportunity to not only get a copy of your book signed by the man himself, but you can purchase it from the bookseller who inspired the dedication! ’
There’s a bit of a buzz from the crowd, and I’m surprised to find that it makes me nervous . For the first time I realise that the people who Yumi has been quoting from reddit are actually people , not just mythical internet beings.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, Clarence Brooks from Brooks’ Books!’ Bri announces, and then she starts clapping, her arms blurring from one side of the screen to the other.
The light may be softer in the forest, but there is still enough for people to examine the blush that’s taken residence on my cheeks.
‘Is it the woman that was looking through his suitcase?’ an older woman says loudly to her companion, and inadvertently to the whole group. For the first time, I wish that Declan’s stack of books was just a little bigger, so I could hide behind it.
The good news, though, is that I’m already blushing, so at least that can’t get any worse.
I don’t bother trying to defend myself or to deny any of it, and I determinedly don’t look at Declan. This is how we pay our bills.
If Gran were here, she’d have the crowd eating out of her palm while she told the story of the disastrous day that she met Declan Archer. Despite my resolution to sell books, I’m not Gran. So I settle for holding up a copy of Talking to Trees . Everyone is already looking at me anyway.
‘Would anyone like to buy a book?’
No fewer than twenty people ask me what’s in Declan’s suitcase. I’m tempted to tell them it contained nothing but underwear and a handwritten note outlining all the qualities he’s looking for in an ideal partner. I don’t, but thinking about the possibility of it gets me through the questioning.
Almost double that number again ask about the dedication and one woman confides in me that she’s glad I told him to write a better book because she found the first dreadfully boring.
She looks a little nervous saying it, so I don’t ask her to loudly repeat the words so that Declan can hear.
Although I will almost definitely find a way to tell him later.
Mercifully, there are no repeats of the customers who came into the shop to berate me for hurting their favourite author. Two people actually ask me to sign their copies next to the dedication.
For the most part, people are nice . There’s an older couple decked out in what looks like brand-new hiking gear who read Talking to Trees together and decided to take a trip around the forests Declan references in the book.
They promise me I haven’t seen the last of them, but in a lovely way, not in an action-movie-villain kind of way.
Then there’s the man who just quit a job he tells me was slowly destroying him, because reading the book made him realise that life is too short and holy crap what is in this book?
There are smaller stories too. A woman who took up gardening. A man who decided to dedicate more time each day to spend with his kids. A giggling book club who I’m pretty sure snuck a bottle of wine past Jed’s keen eye.
Then there are about three separate groups of women who spend most of the afternoon lingering near Declan’s signing table, taking pictures when he’s not looking.
He is pleasant the entire time, smiling, listening to stories, laughing at jokes, but once or twice I could swear I see him take a deep breath when no one is looking.
The books I brought in from the van sell out, and an hour later Declan is still signing on the deck.
Jed is across the clearing studying a tree.
He’s been there for about five minutes, and it’s entirely possible he will be there the whole night.
Finally, when Declan looks like he’s beginning to flag, and when my smile starts to hurt at the edges, it’s time for everyone to leave.
Declan and Jed walk them back down the path, Jed waving cheerily to me as they go.
Declan doesn’t even turn round, just leans in closer to listen to whatever the woman beside him is saying, as though he’s attentive and thoughtful rather than confusing.
Something I don’t care to identify flashes through my chest, and I finish packing up my table with only slightly more force than it needs.
Then everyone is gone and there’s silence again. Like the forest is breathing out, just a little.
The sun has just started to set and I turn on the portable light on the deck, then walk the clearing to check for rubbish before night falls in earnest. People were told that everything they brought in would need to be taken out and, surprisingly, most seem to have listened.
My phone buzzes, and I pause to slide it out of my pocket. There’s a new message from Ruth.
Gran update: Gave Maggie a new scarf today. It looks great with the jumper you got her! We sat and watched people out the window. Hope your trip is going well.
The phone vibrates again, and a picture of Ruth smiling brightly beside Gran in a hideously bright scarf lights up my phone.
I stare at the picture for long minutes, relieved at the update, but feeling so far away from them that it makes my chest ache.
Thanks, Ruth. So good to see you both, I manage to reply.
I shove my phone back in my pocket, pick up a few receipts and an empty bottle of wine, and then .
. . there’s nothing left to do. I feel restless under my skin, and suddenly the idea of being there, waiting for the moment when Declan and Jed get back, just feels like too much.
I know that today wasn’t about me, but I can’t help feeling overwhelmed. I don’t know what to do with myself.
I duck into the cabin and grab the head torch Yumi gave me, pulling it over my head. It’s not dark yet, and I figure there’s time for a quick walk before dinner and bed.
The head torch is snug on my head, and it feels somehow like Yumi is walking with me. The beam is barely visible with the setting sun but I turn it on anyway, feeling my insides uncurl as I start to move my legs.
Gran used to say that everything looked nice in the afternoon light.
Sometimes she’d pull a pose and stand in the corner of the bookshop where the fading afternoon sun hits.
She’d invite customers to stand with her, so they could all look good together.
It never usually lasted for more than a few minutes, but that was the beauty of it, she said.
To appreciate the perfect moment and then to move on.
The forest at twilight feels like a deep breath.
The last rays of sunlight kiss the leaves, the green different to when we walked in earlier today.
Crickets and frogs are chirping in a loud, discordant symphony, and for the first time all day I feel like I can properly inhale.
I make it to a small clearing, leaning against a tree and holding on to the moment for as long as it will let me.
Being alone helps, and by the time the last of the warmth fades from the trees, I’m not quite Wilderness Clarrie, but at least I feel a little less off balance, a little more like I can walk back into the cabin and make small talk.
For the first time in a while, I actually start to feel freaking hopeful .
Like maybe I might actually be achieving something here.
It’s with a renewed sense of optimism that I push off the tree, steeling myself to re-enter the fray.
But the path back through the trees feels different in the dark.
Bushes I was sure I’d recognise in the afternoon light are suddenly indistinguishable from each other in the stoic beam of my head torch.
I keep following the path, the calm from the clearing beginning to splinter.
I’m pretty sure I’m heading in the right direction, but the peaceful trees from earlier are gloomy now, pressing in around me.
Then an owl – or possibly a monster – hoots behind me, and when I spin round to check, my ankle catches on the root of a tree.
Sticks crunch underneath my hands as I go down, and a burst of pain shoots through my leg, sharp enough that I cry out.
And, still, the most overwhelming thought I have is that Declan Archer would probably laugh his head off if he saw me literally stumbling in the freaking dark.
Which is, of course, when he finds me.
‘What the hell are you doing?’