Chapter Twenty-one
The knock that wakes me the next morning is loud and decisive.
I glance at the alarm clock on my bedside table, then roll over and pull the pillow over my head. We’re only travelling four hours today and I don’t need to be up for at least half an hour. Whoever is at the door can wait.
‘“It would be great if you could just sign some stock after the book club,”’ Declan’s voice sounds through the door and every part of me freezes. ‘“It will mean so much to Alex,”’ he says.
A laugh catches in my throat.
‘Two hours, Clarence,’ says Declan. ‘You owe me two hours of my life back.’
I mean, that feels a little excessive. I push out of bed and pull on my trousers.
‘As if you didn’t love the book club’s attention,’ I say, ripping open the old wooden door to see Declan leaning on the railing, looking over the parking lot.
He’s wearing his jeans again, and most of the mud from spotlighting is gone, but there are a few patches near his ankles that he missed in whatever sink wash he did.
Rather than his standard white top, his shirt is a soft blue that I haven’t seen before, and he’s holding a stack of papers in his hand. He raises an eyebrow at me.
‘I thought you liked the book club last night,’ I say, half defensive, half amused.
‘I did like it,’ Declan concedes, pushing off the railing. ‘For the official hour and a half book-club portion of the evening. But then you left me, and I was stuck there for another two hours.’
‘ Two hours? ’ I can’t stop the snort this time. Declan glares at me.
‘I’m sorry!’ I say, trying to wipe the smile off my face. ‘I told you I was leaving. It seemed like you wanted to stay.’
‘I thought you were just going to the toilet!’
‘I was miming walking out the door! What toilet would I have been going to?’
Declan narrows his eyes, then holds the papers in his hand out to me. I take them automatically.
‘What are they?’ I ask, natural curiosity helping to push away my inclination to study the man for clues and glancing at the one on top.
‘More questions,’ says Declan. ‘About the book. That I didn’t get a chance to answer last night. I told them someone would get back to them as soon as possible. You are that someone.’
I’m filled with a mixture of horror and amusement as I flick through the comprehensive stack of questions.
‘You know I don’t know the answers to these,’ I say, and Declan just raises an eyebrow and leans back.
‘Better get reading after the tour,’ he says.
But before I can shove the paper back at him a bright voice calls out, ‘She’s up!’ and a second later something pushes past him and barrels into me.
A wave of happy perfume engulfs me, before a way-too-awake Bri pulls back to look into my eyes and then leans in to hug me again.
‘It’s so nice to meet you in person!’ she says after one more squeeze, stepping back to stand beside Declan. She beams at me, and then at him.
‘I forgot to mention Bri’s here,’ says Declan wryly, but he’s smiling now.
‘My sister’s husband came home early so I jumped on a flight,’ says Bri.
‘I went via the warehouse and loaded Little Blue up with as many books as I could. We’ll transfer them over to the van this morning before we leave.
’ She claps, and despite the fact that I’m not fully awake and I have a stack of very complicated questions in my hand, it’s hard not to catch some of her enthusiasm.
‘Everyone all right to leave in twenty or so? I made breakfast bowls for the cars!’
If you’d asked me a few days ago if I was looking forward to the four-hour car trip with Declan, I’d have almost certainly rolled my eyes at you.
But the sensation that washes over me at the realisation that we’re not driving together, that he’s driving with Bri, doesn’t feel like relief – it feels an awful lot like . . . disappointment.
I can sense Declan watching me, like everything running through me is somehow sitting just beneath the surface. But I want him to see how I’m feeling even less than I want to be feeling it.
This isn’t bad. In fact, it might actually be a good thing. Maybe the inexplicable bursts of awareness I have of Declan are just because we’re spending so much time in the car together.
I keep my focus on Bri, and pull my smile tighter.
‘Can’t wait!’
Jed is a surprisingly uncomplicated travelling companion.
He drives at a steady speed, he calmly points out every animal we pass and he listens exclusively to jazz.
If I miss a certain black-haired, green-eyed arrogant author and the slightly awkward random conversations, I don’t mention it to myself.
After half an hour, we pull over to the side of the road to eat breakfast. Declan and Bri are dropping off her hire car on the way, so Jed informs me that we have time for a fifteen-minute stop.
Honestly, it’s a lot like travelling with my dad, if my dad was marginally more communicative and a lot more into birds.
Jed pulls out the two breakfast bowls and passes one to me.
It’s filled with granola, yoghurt and every fresh fruit imaginable, and I groan when I take the first bite – Bri is some sort of breakfast wizard.
It also has the added bonus of making me think of Yumi, who weirdly hates anything that mixes dairy with fruit.
Jed, on the other hand, espouses in detail how good they are.
‘I have never had such a good breakfast in all of my life,’ he says between bites. When halfway through breakfast he glimpses a spotted wren in the forest, it’s a genuine struggle between the bowl and the bird. In the end he stands, bowl in hand.
‘I’ll be back in five minutes,’ he tells me, tucking his spoon into his pocket and gripping the side of his bowl.
He disappears into the trees, and for the first time in days I have reception and ten minutes to myself. I pull out my phone and dial the number for Brooks’.
‘Good morning, this is Brooks’ Books, why the hell are you calling and not kissing the hunk of a man you’re driving with?’ says Yumi in a sing-song voice.
‘Is that how you answer the phone to all our customers?’ I ask her, even as amusement fills my chest. I take another bite of granola.
‘Pretty much,’ says Yumi. ‘Although sometimes I sub “man” for “woman”. You would be surprised how many people hang up on me. I’m assuming it’s because they’ve gone to do the kissing.’
I can picture her sitting at the table in the kitchenette and for a second, I feel hopelessly lonely, wishing I was there, listening to the kettle shriek and answering Annabel Stone’s endless author questions when she inevitably comes in.
I curse Alex and his bookshop, and the things they made me feel.
The side of the road feels too quiet.
‘How are the trees?’ continues Yumi. ‘And by trees I mean Declan. Have you read the book yet?’
‘No,’ I tell her. I don’t tell her that he asked me not to, and I don’t know why. Only that now the idea of reading it on tour feels like betraying him, somehow. ‘I went spotlighting,’ I say instead. ‘But your head torch wasn’t bright enough.’
‘I got your message,’ says Yumi. ‘I thought it might’ve been some sort of sex reference. Are you trying to make up cool sex references now? It’s not working.’
I tell her about the owls and about Jed, and about the spider, about Alex’s bookshop and about the granola and yoghurt.
‘That’s disgusting,’ says Yumi matter-of-factly. Then, more softly, ‘It’s nice to hear you’re having fun.’
The granola sticks in my throat but I don’t correct her because even with everything that’s happened . . . I think I actually am having fun.
‘How are you?’ I ask her. We’ve texted back and forth, so I know she’s doing okay, but it feels different on the phone.
‘Both me and this old hunk of bricks are doing very well, thanks, boss,’ says Yumi. ‘Except . . .’ She pauses, and my senses go on alert. ‘You know what, never mind.’
‘What?’ I say.
‘I didn’t say anything,’ says Yumi.
I’m silent in response, and Yumi sighs dramatically.
‘Your mum came in yesterday,’ she says finally. ‘She had another woman with her. I think she was an estate agent.’
The words make my blood freeze, and the granola in my mouth turns dusty. She went in anyway, even after I told her not to.
‘Are you okay?’ I make myself speak, to ask the question that matters.
I can almost hear Yumi roll her eyes. ‘I’m fine.
The bookshop was quiet – it was just Annabel Stone in, and she always asks fewer questions when you’re not here.
Your mum was fine, and, honestly, they didn’t do anything.
Just walked around the shop and then out the back, muttering about your gran being manipulative.
They weren’t here for long. But I wanted to tell you, just in case. ’
‘Yeah,’ I say, trying and failing not to let my mum’s muttered comments get to me. ‘Thanks, Yumi. And I’m sorry.’ I’m not really sure what else there is to say. I rub my head and the motion reminds me of Declan so I stop.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ says Yumi. ‘Telling your mum that you’re having a torrid affair with Declan was the most fun I’ve had all year.’
‘Excellent,’ I say. Then I remember it’s Yumi I’m talking to. ‘You didn’t actually say that, right?’
‘Okay, I’m very busy,’ says Yumi. ‘I’m going to hang up now.’
She does exactly that, and I’m still staring at my phone, trying to untie the emotions in the pit of my stomach at the idea of Mum not listening to me, at Mum muttering about Gran and at her being in the shop with an estate agent, when Jed comes back.
‘No more dilly-dallying,’ he says, marching round to the driver’s seat. ‘We’ve got a schedule to keep.’
There’s something about Jed’s stern determination that rubs off on me, and I send a quick text to my mum. Please don’t go into the bookshop again when I’m not there.
I slide my phone back into my pocket. I have other things to think about right now.