Chapter Fifteen
When I wake the next morning it’s to more murmuring on the deck, and it takes me a second to get my bearings. Did Declan and Jed not go to bed last night? But when I glance over at their bunks, Jed’s looks well and truly slept in, and even Declan’s is marginally more mussed than it was yesterday.
My ankle is tender, but it’s not as sore as it was last night.
I manage to pull some clothes out of my suitcase and then get dressed under my covers, feeling a little like a caterpillar getting stuck in its cocoon as it tries to become a butterfly, thankful that at least no one is there to see me emerge.
After a moment’s hesitation, I pick up the stick Declan gave me yesterday and shuffle over to the door.
The thump of the end against the floorboards is loud, and the murmuring outside stops.
I pause, giving myself another second to swallow my pride.
We’re together for two weeks, whether we like it or not.
I’m still mad at the way Declan spoke to me, but in the light of morning I can admit that, well, he wasn’t exactly wrong.
It was a little foolish to stay out in a dark, unfamiliar forest without telling anyone where I was going.
Still, my stomach rolls at the thought of facing him after I told him I wasn’t surprised that he wasn’t dating.
I make myself walk outside.
It’s raining, a light sprinkle that makes the leaves on the trees around the cabin look greener. Declan and Jed are sitting on chairs on the deck, three bowls on the table in front of them. They both look up when I walk out, and Jed stands.
‘Morning,’ I say, smiling at Jed as he helps me into my seat. Declan pushes a bowl towards me, but I don’t look at him because, apparently, I haven’t fully digested my pride yet.
‘Porridge,’ says Jed. ‘Declan made it. It’s delicious.’
My smile only falters a little as I make myself turn towards Declan, his eyes as unreadable as they were when we got back last night. Fresh shame trickles through me, and I hate it.
‘Thanks,’ I say.
‘How is your ankle?’ he asks, his voice level.
‘It’s fine,’ I tell him. ‘Better.’
Declan nods, then picks up his own bowl, which looks as though it hasn’t been touched.
The porridge is lukewarm, but filling, and the silence as we eat is broken only occasionally by bird calls, and then by Jed identifying the bird calls. Declan stands as soon as we’ve finished eating, and carries the bowls back into the small kitchen.
Jed leans forward over the railing and looks up at the sky.
‘Time for a walk in the woods, I think,’ he says. ‘When the rain clears later it will be a good night for spotlighting. We’ll get a feel for the area this morning, so we don’t have any more accidents.’
‘What’s spotlighting?’ I ask Jed, curiosity surpassing my embarrassment at his casual reference to my ankle.
But it’s Declan who answers, walking back outside and shoving his hands in his pockets.
When he’s not actively yelling at me, he looks relaxed out here, his hair tousled and the beginnings of stubble starting to prickle on his normally clean-shaven face.
‘Spotlighting is looking for things in the forest at night.’
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say that I must have been spotlighting last night, but luckily Jed speaks again before I can. ‘You coming, Archer?’
The two of them walk inside together, leaving me alone on the deck.
My stomach is warm from the porridge and I realise that with Declan and Jed gone I’m going to be alone in the forest. For the first time in a really long time, there’s nowhere I need to be.
Later, I’ll have to find a way to move the books from the van to the cabin, but, apart from that, it’s just me, my thoughts and, most likely, a copy of Talking to Trees .
I need to read it, but after hearing Declan speak about it last night I also .
. . want to read it. I just don’t want him to see me doing it.
But when Jed and Declan come outside it’s only Jed who is wearing wet-weather gear. Declan has his notebook in his hand.
‘I’ll see the two of you later on,’ says Jed with a nod, tipping his hat.
Declan lifts a hand, and I think I manage a half-wave, the porridge churning inside me. Declan isn’t going with Jed.
Jed marches off in a way that can only be described as gleeful, patting trees and touching leaves as he passes.
‘You’re not going with him?’ There’s a slight note of panic in my voice that I can’t quite swallow. Declan just shakes his head, not looking at me.
‘I want to do some preparation for tonight,’ he says.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him that I thought it went well last night, that he has nothing to worry about. But the sentence sticks in my mouth. We’re not yelling at each other this morning, but we’re not exactly friendly, either.
‘Right,’ I say instead. He sits down again on the deck and I stand to get my book, like we’re some sort of pop-up toy. ‘I’m just going to get a book,’ I announce awkwardly.
‘Do you need help?’ The words are stiff and strangely formal.
‘No.’ It’s hard enough that he bandaged my ankle and made me breakfast. My messy suitcase would probably give him a heart attack.
I hobble inside and pick up the book I was reading last night. I only hesitate for a fraction of a second before I pick up Talking to Trees as well. I’m a professional – it’s my job to read it. I take my phone too, in case Yumi needs to call.
I’m tempted to just sit on my bed and read, but the pride that’s flared back up won’t let me, so I limp back outside and into my chair. Declan is immersed in his notes, his head down and his brow furrowed, and I find that my frustration at him has faded to a soft embarrassment.
I open the first page of Talking to Trees but then pause. I swallow, glancing at Declan. The apology that’s been building inside me since I woke up is burning in my throat.
‘I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you last night.’ I say the words quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid. I might not want to be friends with the man, but . . . I was rude.
Declan looks up, a flash of surprise darting through his eyes. He watches me for a moment, like he’s trying to find some hidden meaning in the apology, and the idea of what he might say makes me feel like cringing. Then his eyes catch on the open copy of Talking to Trees on my lap and he freezes.
‘Please don’t,’ he says in a tone I’ve never heard before.
‘Sorry, what?’
He glances down at the book in my hand, and if it had been anyone else I’d have said that his face pulls into a wince .
‘I can’t . . . I don’t think I can watch you read it,’ he says.
There’s a massive part of me that wants to sniff haughtily that he’s the one who’s been telling me how bad I am at my job for not reading it. But the expression on his face is so uncomfortable that I can’t bring myself to.
I close the book, and his relief is palpable.
‘Thank you,’ he says briskly, and despite everything I find myself glad that I didn’t press.
Declan holds my eyes for another beat. Then I open my other book, and he goes back to his notes.
After a while, though, the forest starts to feel too quiet.
The book is fine, but I can’t get into the story, and the silence slowly begins to itch against my skin the way it did yesterday, giving me too much room to think, and my feet tap with the urge to do something.
To call Yumi and check on the shop. To call Ruth and ask if she’d mind going to see Gran again today. I shift in my seat.
Maybe I could get the books for tonight from the car. But then the rain deepens, spitting more aggressively at the forest and I sink back in my seat. Declan clears his throat.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks.
‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘You’ve sighed five times in the last five minutes.’
‘Says the man who has rubbed his head ten times in the last five minutes.’
I’m expecting Declan to snap back, but instead he puts his notes down on the table in front of him and rubs his head again.
‘How long have you owned the bookshop?’ he asks, like he’s trying his hardest to make nice conversation with me. Like maybe he owes me for not reading his book when he asked me not to. There’s no malice on his face, just curiosity, so I ignore the pang that the question sends through my stomach.
‘Almost two years.’
I see the moment that he registers what that means, the realisation that passes across his face that he must have come into the bookshop right after I took over.
He doesn’t say any of that, though, just looks up to meet my eyes.
And it’s maybe that which makes me add, ‘It belonged to my grandparents.’
‘I read that,’ says Declan. ‘In the article.’
The mention of Elizabeth’s article is enough to make my ears heat.
‘I didn’t tell her, you know,’ I tell him. ‘About it being me in the dedication.’
‘Right,’ says Declan, looking down at his notes again. Rain beats hard on the top of the cabin, and I can tell that he doesn’t believe me, even when I tell him like this. Not that it matters what he believes. ‘I liked her a lot.’
‘Who? Elizabeth?’
Declan’s forehead creases. ‘You know the name of the woman who wrote the article?’
‘You don’t?’
Declan sighs and shakes his head. ‘I’m not going to argue with you,’ he says, and I bite my lip to stop myself saying it was him who was arguing. ‘I was talking about Margaret.’
The sound of Gran’s name on his lips is so unexpected that I flinch. Declan catches it and his eyes soften slightly, and it’s almost more unbearable than him thinking that I’m a callous bookseller who would do anything for a sale.
‘She was my favourite bookseller,’ he says, and if I wasn’t feeling so raw I might laugh at the fact that I am as far from his favourite bookseller as a bookshop owner can get. ‘She always encouraged me to keep writing.’
I can almost hear her saying it, and a lump forms in my throat. ‘Did she ever read anything you’d written?’
‘Is that a dig at my writing?’ he asks. His lightning smile flashes, briefly, before he shakes his head.
‘She knew I was writing,’ he says. ‘But I don’t think she ever read Flight Risk .
’ His first book, the book that started all of this.
Which she definitely didn’t read, because it came in the week after she went into Glenhaven.
I don’t say that, though. Declan pauses, and the forest feels too small.
I want him to keep going. I want him to stop talking.
‘She recommended at least half a dozen of the best books I’ve ever read. She was incredible.’
And there’s something about the way he talks about her that makes my chest ache.
I know she’s incredible. I know that I’m not her.
But it’s the past tense that really gets me.
It’s one thing for me to miss Gran even though she’s around, but he doesn’t even know her, not really.
Tension flares in my stomach, and maybe I’m about to undo whatever the apology did, but I can’t help it.
‘She’s not dead,’ I say, and it’s so blunt that this time I swear Declan almost flinches.
He opens his mouth as though to say something else, when the ring of my phone pierces the clearing.
‘Sorry, I have to get this,’ I say, so relieved at the interruption that I don’t even look down at my phone until I’m halfway inside.
And, of course, it’s my mother.
There’s no way I can avoid the call, given that I just told Declan I had to take it. I slide my finger across the front and hold it up to my ear, hoping maybe today is the day she’s decided to call just to tell me she’s thinking of me.
‘Hi, Mum,’ I say.
There’s a pause. ‘Clarence.’ Her voice comes down the line, smooth and so out of place in the basic cabin. ‘I wasn’t expecting you to answer.’
I can see the back of Declan’s head through the open door, and I hobble over to my bed, wishing I’d had the foresight to bring my stick with me. Wishing the cabin at least had a door I could shut.
‘Is everything okay?’ I ask Mum, trying to keep my voice low.
‘Everything is excellent,’ she says. ‘I was just calling to let you know we’ll be by the store on Thursday.’
I close my eyes, leaning my head against the top bunk.
‘Who is we?’
‘I spoke to you about this,’ says Mum. ‘I’m bringing the estate agent to have a look. I think the building could be worth a bit of money, even if the business isn’t.’
I don’t even know how to process the words right now.
‘It’s not your building, Mum. It’s not your bookshop, and it’s not for sale.’
‘Darling, I’ve had a look at the financials, and I really think—’
‘Please, stop.’
Unbelievably, she goes silent. I take a breath, trying to gather myself. Hearing that Declan knew Gran has thrown me even more off balance. I feel exposed and confused, like my nerves are too close to the surface.
‘I can’t sell it, Mum.’
‘You can’t keep it, either,’ she snips. ‘It’s a black hole. You could be using the money to do something worthwhile. Something that hasn’t been unfairly thrust on you.’
‘Like you’re trying to thrust this sale on me? At least this black hole means something. It was Gran’s – does that mean nothing to you?’ I snap, before I realise what I’ve said. There’s a pause, and I know she’s gathering her ammunition, ready to swoop on my admission that it is a black hole.
‘Look, I’ve got a job to do, Mum. I can’t do this right now.’
There’s silence again. ‘Fine,’ she says finally, and there’s a distance to her voice that I know I’ll regret later. Another step away from each other. ‘All the best with the tour.’
She clicks off, and I’m left holding the phone to my ear, wondering how long I can avoid going back outside.