Chapter 45
45
Unlocking the door at Books In The Bay the following morning felt very different. Opening my little bookshop really had been a dream come true, but now it felt like there was something missing. Or should I say someone missing. In the short space of time that Dennie had been in my life, he’d carved out a position for himself. But now, instead of us sitting together planning and plotting, I felt like I was just passing time. Days seemed longer without him in them and the nights seemed to go on forever. I hadn’t realised what a routine we’d got ourselves into, quiz nights at the pub, walks on the beach, fish and chips in the harbour. Just being with each other was enjoyable. And I’d gone and thrown it all away because I was too stubborn to see someone else’s point of view; too quick to pass judgement and think badly of someone. If I’d just let him explain at the time, we wouldn’t have spent the last week apart and Dennis now would not be over five and a half thousand miles away, not just in another country but a whole flipping other continent.
Dad was constantly wearing his I-told-you-so expression. He had spent most of my childhood years telling me that all is not always as it seems.
‘Reasonable people listen to explanations, Nancy. Give people the chance to tell the whole story.’
He was saying that I’d been unreasonable. I should have known he’d be on Dennie’s side.
The one good thing in my life was that Dan had given in his notice at work and was sowing the seeds for his own business, working on pieces that he thought he’d be able to sell easily and quickly for a decent profit. He’d been making some lovely book boxes for me, which I was selling in the shop. I had my own by my bedside table and a little wooden box with handles, which was just the right size to hold about six books when they were upright. We called them our Tbr boxes. I put a picture of mine on the shop’s social media page and the response was incredible. I was selling and shipping them as quickly as he was making them. I’d even been asked whether I’d hold a workshop for a book club in Truro who wanted to come and decorate their own.
As I planned it in the diary, along with two others for the following year, I thought how proud Dennie would have been of me for thinking ahead and getting these exciting projects off the ground as well. Christmas was looming and the orders were coming in thick and fast so I suppose everything was keeping me busy even though he was never far from my thoughts.
Canada seemed a million miles away. Dennie seemed so very far away from me. I still felt this constant ache in my tummy, which I presumed was loss, and even though I was functioning, I felt totally numb and wandered around in a cloud of sadness. I had allowed myself to get carried away thinking about a future with him. About us maybe moving in together, eventually getting married, even the possibility of having a family and like he said in his letter, growing old together. But it clearly wasn’t meant to be. Maybe I wasn’t cut out for a relationship. Perhaps I was better on my own.
It didn’t stop me spending all the free time that I did have googling Canada. Looking at the weather and the nightlife and thinking that he was probably out there having the time of his life and might have forgotten me already.
It was so hard not to ask Mum if Vi had said anything about him or ask where exactly in Canada he was, but I was determined that if he didn’t think enough of me to stick around, then he couldn’t have wanted us to be together that much.
While I was in a total daydream, the door to the shop barged open and Vi burst in.
‘It’s no wonder he’s a fuckwit, is it, with me for a grandmother? I’m so sorry, Nancy. I came as quickly as I could.’
I led Vi over to one of the chairs and sat her down. She was trying hard to catch her breath.
‘It’s OK, Vi. Whatever it is can wait. Just get yourself feeling right again.’
‘Oh, Nancy, I’m such a silly old goose. People have been telling me for years that I should be using my hearing aid more.’
‘What on earth are you on about, Vi?’
‘He’s not in Canada at all, Nancy. He’s in Canada Square in London. In Canary Wharf.’