Chapter 28
Lesson 27: Sometimes it’s better to just focus on Fabio’s nipples and drown out the rest of the world.
Reading List: Sixpence House: Lost in a Town of Books by Paul Collins (not read)
Bridget Jones Tally:
bookstore visits—12
“friendly” whacks on the shoulder—2
being told by your crush that you look all “peely-wally”—priceless
And with the return of the old bus, so too did the old folk music return to us. Though I rolled my eyes in Robbie’s rearview
mirror, the sound of it filled me with a happy, homey feeling, and I was glad to have it spicing the atmosphere of our tour
once more. I wasn’t sad to see the new bus take its leave. It had been with us only a few days, and though it had offered
comfortable temperatures and at least some amenities of the twenty-first century, it had also excreted a toilet full of crap onto my luggage. As busses went, that bus
was my all-time least favorite.
Lorna requested more of The Moth , and as we rode we listened to stories of triumph and failure and mortifying, unplanned nudity.
The intimate afternoon that Robbie and I had shared stuck with me like a scratchy sweater, close to the skin, always reminding me that it was there. It felt as if we had a secret from the others, this newfound closeness. The thought of it warmed me and sent a little thrill through my stomach that, in turn, made me uneasy in equal measure.
It had been the first real conversation we’d had since the night of the sandwiches. We had been through ridiculous and dramatic
events together, he had looked after me, we had fought and played and even shared an exquisite kiss in the rain, but we hadn’t
really talked since that night in the kitchen.
Over the next few days, I realized that the nature of our relationship had subtly but perceptibly shifted. We understood each
other better and respected each other more. We were no longer just two people who got under each other’s skin and whose capacity
to deal maturely with issues took a back seat to contempt, competitive goading, or sexual tension. We were, God help us, human to each other now. Meaning and care had sprung like weeds in the place that antipathy had left fallow.
We still teased one another, and perhaps to outsiders things looked the same as before, but they were more tender now. We
talked in the brief pieces of stolen time that we found to be alone, and we shared thoughts, not just jibes, and tried to
learn more about the other’s life.
“I’ve seen that look before, Alice. It would be a hell of a thing to waste.” Helena had caught me again, staring after Robbie
as he took Percy for a walk to save Doris’s knees.
“Oh no. It’s not like that. He’s got... we’re just friends.”
She laughed. “You’re not fooling anyone, Miss Cooper. It’s those warm blue eyes, isn’t it?”
I smirked. “Has he got blue eyes? I didn’t notice.”
“Yes. I caught you not noticing just now.” She sipped her tea and her voice softened. “Sometimes we’re not ready for the things that come our way. Perhaps you’re not ready to focus on anyone but yourself right now, and that’s not a bad thing.” She looked at me a little closer for a moment. “But then again, we shouldn’t close our hearts to everything that doesn’t arrive on schedule.”
“But. I thought you might have been trying to... you know, introduce me to Tristan.” I blushed. Oh my God! Did I imagine that?
“Oh, I was. I think you’d get on famously. But I think it’s good for a lady to have options. Besides, men do seem to thrive
on a bit of competition, don’t they?”
Yes, well, Robbie certainly has options.
“Women too.”
I wouldn’t knowingly participate in cheating, especially not after Hunter. Surely that wasn’t what she was suggesting. She
winked, smiled a smile full of mischief, and left me to wonder.
Rosie trundled us up to the Welsh capital, Cardiff, Roald Dahl’s hometown. I loved it. It was green and beautiful, and it
thrummed with life both young and old. And it had a collection of castles right there in the city. That just seemed greedy when DC didn’t have any. Old Roald always
knew the good stuff.
After that, we wound our way up to Hay-on-Wye, a sleepy Welsh village known as the first “book town” in the world, where more
than thirty bookshops nestled along its picturesque little streets, stacked higgledy-piggledy like books on a shelf. Any bookworm
in the world might feel their soul lived here.
And indeed, mine nearly escaped my body and stayed there forever after my heart shuddered to a gurgling stop in the cozy isles
of Richard Booth’s Bookshop.
“Isla is coming to see you?” Helena all but squealed.
Robbie laughed. “I know. She only just told me. I can’t wait.”
Helena gasped. “What’s the plan?”
“Well, sadly, she won’t be able to make it for dinner at the castle, but she’ll meet us for the ceilidh afterward, stay with
me, and then head back to Edinburgh in the morning.”
“Of course. She couldn’t miss the opportunity to get twirled around the dance floor by her big, strong man.” He laughed, and my face puckered in an involuntary scowl. “She must have been missing you.”
“I’ve been the one missing her, Helena. Three weeks is a long time to be away.”
“Tell me about it! I haven’t seen her since Hogmanay. Tell her that I simply cannot wait to see that gorgeous smile of hers.”
I put down the book I had been pretending to read—a topless Fabio coloring book, oh my God! —and backed away slowly, like I could go back in time and unhear the most heinous combination of words to cross my path since
toilet , dump , and valve .
I ran outside, took some deep breaths, gulped down some water, cursed out loud as some nice family happened to walk by, and
then slapped myself back into the real world.
It was going to be fine. Of course it was. It was just Robbie’s beautiful girlfriend coming to meet us. That’s all. With her
stupid beautiful smile. Totally normal. So that they could dance together at the ceilidh and stay together in a beautiful
room in the castle. It was fine. Totally fine. People had girlfriends all the time. Big stupid deal! What did I care?
It ruined my day. That night at the pub (which was also an adorable bookstore), I listened to what I assume was a fantastic
set of book readings from various authors with only half an ear. I decided to ask Robbie about it. Straight out.
Why not? I may as well prepare myself. Get used to the idea. I could handle it. I couldn’t have him anyway. What difference
did it make to me if somebody else had him... over and over again in the four-poster bed of a romantic Scottish castle
where I would be trying to sleep in the next room?
I grabbed my beer and sidled over to Robbie, playing it real cool.
“Hey. So did I overhear you and Helena saying that Isla is coming to the ceilidh?” He’ll say no. I probably heard it wrong from the other side of Fabio’s colorless nipples.
He whirled around with a massive, beaming smile. “Aye, ya did! I’ve only just found out myself. Isn’t it wonderful?” He grabbed
my hand. “Alice, I can’t wait for you to meet her. You two are going to get on like a house on fire!”
Whatever that feeling was in my chest dropped all the way down to the pit of my stomach. Why did it have to be “Isla”? Isla
was such a damned sexy name. Visions of Isla Fisher and her incredible body danced through my mind.
“Oh?” I worked to make my voice as casual as I could. “You think so?”
“Are you kidding? She’s going to love you.” His eyes sparkled. It was so warm and generous a statement. The woman whom he
loved would love me. And, if one were to extrapolate, it might be surmised that he himself loved me as well.
As a friend. Just like his hot girlfriend Isla would.
I pulled my hand from his, took a long swig of beer, and cleared my throat. “So what’s she like?”
“Actually, you two are a lot alike.” He did not just say that. “She’s funny. And sassy. She has a rapier-sharp tongue and loves to rip me to shreds with it. And she too has a great messy
mane of red hair!” He reached out and gave my hair a little tussle. It felt like he’d swung a 2x4 and whacked me in the stomach.
I have actually died and gone to hell, haven’t I?
He laughed, delighted. So she was me, essentially. But probably funnier, employed, and with better boobs. I fought to compose
myself and think of something funny to say, because apparently I was so funny. But he was too excited to wait.
“It was just a happy coincidence, really. She and her friends are in Malta just now, volunteering on a seahorse survey.”
I rolled my eyes. Great. She volunteered somewhere she could look sexy in a bikini while saving the planet, one goddamn seahorse at a time. “But she’ll be flying into Prestwick Saturday, and she told me she’d be close enough to hop on a train and meet us at the
castle to cut a rug.” He laughed again. I was beginning to hate the sound of it. “She said she could never resist kilted men
who smelled of whisky.” He rolled his eyes in playful exasperation. I began wishing that I would pass out on the spot and
not have to hear any more. Maybe I would get lucky, and we’d be attacked by terrorists from a rival bookstore. “Though if
I had any say in the matter, she’d be going straight to bed the moment she arrived.” I dry-heaved.
Scratch that. Just shoot me now.
I nodded. Pretending that I was totally alright and that this was a healthy conversation between two friends. Because we were
friends, weren’t we? We had become friends, and despite all those stolen moments alone, those intimate conversations, the sharing of our lives, nothing
else romantic had happened between us. No holding hands, no room invitations, no other needy, bone-melting kisses in the rain
or otherwise. His unguarded excitement to see his girlfriend confirmed what I clearly needed to see—that everything I had
started to feel for him, things I hadn’t felt in years—or more truthfully, that perhaps I had never felt before—had been one-sided.
“Uh-huh. So is she coming with us for the rest of the trip?” That would probably be the worst thing I could imagine.
“Sadly, no. This’ll just be a wee quickie. Knowing her, she’ll just be in long enough to give me a bollocking and then shoot
off again.”
Ew! Oh my God. Is that what they called it here? I’m going to throw up right here in the self-help section. “Please. Spare me the details.”
He laughed. “If you say so.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “Are you feeling alright, duck? You’ve gone all peely-wally.”
I cleared the bile from my throat. “I’m fine. It’s probably just shock.” Act normal. “The notion that any woman would voluntarily choose to spend so much time with you is making me feel seasick.”
He laughed and whacked me on the shoulder. “Oh, she’s no choice in the matter. She’s stuck with me for the long haul.”
Long haul? The words sliced. Burned. So I supposed they weren’t teetering on the edge of a breakup, after which he would immediately
realize that what he was looking for all along was a bossy, tightly wound American woman with a boyish figure.
He whacked me on the shoulder again like I was his old bar buddy. “Come on, Alice Cooper. You don’t look so good. Let’s go
and get you a drink.”