Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
I’d hoped that my conversation with Jack following the letter would wipe the slate clean or at least reduce the hyper awareness I’d felt ever since he moved into the berth next door.
But that awareness had morphed into something else, something even more acute, which I didn’t want to examine too closely.
And now I had the added problem that I actually cared about the way I interacted with my new neighbour.
Although that proved to be less of a problem than I’d anticipated because Jack seemed to be actively avoiding me, which was quite the feat given how closely moored our respective boats were.
It was like we were strangers all over again, as if that shared moment of laughter and closeness on the Jericho Wine Barge had never happened.
While Jack was avoiding me, I was trying to keep my distance from Liam, although he seemed determined to do the opposite.
He was obviously worried after having seen Jack and me in what would have appeared to be a compromising position, so he was playing up his hard-done-by routine.
It was growing increasingly hard not to challenge him, but Jack had asked for my discretion, and I didn’t want to betray his confidence.
I was also dying to have a go at him about his treatment of Flick, but she kept on insisting she didn’t want me to get involved, so I was having to bite my tongue about that too.
Instead, I tried to focus on planning my next event, the Oxford Bookship’s unique interpretation of an afternoon tea which I’d promised my best customers Kat and Leo I would hold.
In an ideal world, I would have had some recovery time from the Blind Date with a Book evening, but September would be here sooner than I would like, and my latest review of the accounts had impressed upon me the need to be proactive.
My profits were undoubtedly increasing which demonstrated the success of my business strategy, which I was proud of, but unfortunately they weren’t increasing fast enough.
By my calculations, it would take me until at least Christmas to have the amount I needed for the mooring fees, which would of course be far too late.
I toyed with approaching Jack to see if he would consider making my ‘Food and Fiction’ afternoon a joint event.
I told myself that being able to offer alcoholic drinks would be an added selling point, although I was self-aware enough to accept I was actually looking for an excuse to talk to him again.
But after loitering outside his boat for two afternoons on the trot in the hope of accidentally on purpose bumping into him, I gave up and decided to stick with my original plan, remaining completely independent.
Given that I’d only allowed a few days for selling tickets, they’d all been snapped up remarkably quickly, with four going to two new couples from my first Blind Date with a Book night, which had given me a particular glow of achievement.
I had created list upon list of things I needed to do, and when Saturday – the big day – dawned, I was already up and about long before my alarm clock, trying to get everything ready to my exacting standards.
I bustled in and out of the Oxford Bookship, setting up picnic blankets and cushions in the towpath garden, hoping that my customers would embrace the informality.
Hilda dutifully trailed my every footstep, occasionally pinching a cushion or two, which I generously tried to interpret as her version of helping. By theft incident number four, however, I had rather lost patience.
‘Hilda, stop that right now, or you’ll have to go inside,’ I warned her. She blinked innocently at me wagging her tail, pleased at having drawn my attention away from my task and back towards where it should be – on her.
Five minutes later, she galloped past triumphantly trailing a picnic blanket on the ground.
‘Right, that’s it, young lady, you’re in big trouble,’ I said, doing my very best to keep the amusement out of my voice at the sight of her lolloping around with a daft grin on her face.
She darted to one side, lowering her front legs, inviting me to chase her.
I deliberately turned my back, feigning disinterest. She decided to do another fly-past to attract my attention, only this time, I managed to grab hold of her collar and relieve her of the picnic blanket.
‘Are you going to leave things alone now?’
She gave her answer in the form of an excitable whuff.
‘I reckon it’s time you put your paws up and had a nap, my girl. Come on, let’s go.’
I escorted her reluctantly back on board. Just as I was closing the cabin door, my phone went off.
‘Hello,’ I answered, moving towards the tiller where I could hear more clearly over the sounds of Hilda dramatically flopping down onto her bed in protest.
‘Hi, it’s Becki from the Covered Market. I’ve got your food delivery. Are you okay to come and fetch it as we agreed? I’m parked up on Canal Street.’
‘Sure, no problem, I’ll be with you in ten minutes,’ I said, already leaping off the boat and hurrying down the towpath, forgetting to take my collapsible trolley in my haste.
The downside of canal life was the difficulty of getting stock and other supplies on board.
At least today I wouldn’t be ferrying heavy books, but carrying the bags of cakes and other delicacies I’d ordered during my shopping spree at the Covered Market yesterday would present no less of a challenge, especially as I’d gone overboard and chosen more dishes than I could possibly need.
Everything I’d bought was home-made and freshly prepared, and as I hurried along to Canal Street, my mouth watered at the thought of the melt in the mouth treats which would complement the books I had for sale on board.
I’d selected trays of the shiniest artisan chocolates on offer as a nod to Joanne Harris’s book Chocolat, had gone for a giant baklava as an admittedly somewhat tenuous reference to the Greek setting of Victoria Hislop’s novel The Island, and of course there was plenty of carrot cake in honour of Anne of Green Gables.
For those who fancied something savoury, I’d ordered two large lasagne, one meat, one veggie, both inspired by Elizabeth Zott’s determination to find the dish’s perfect iteration in a favourite book of mine, Lessons in Chemistry.
I hoped the fictional characters would approve of the selections I’d made, but more importantly, I hoped the very real people who’d forked out for tickets would deem them worthy of the entry price and be inspired enough to buy the books the food was linked to.
‘Thanks for bringing these,’ I said to Becki as I arrived at her brightly coloured van.
‘No problem. I wish I could help carry them back to the boat for you, but…’ She gestured at her pregnant belly apologetically.
‘Gosh no, you’ve done more than enough already. I’m sorry for dragging you down here in the first place.’
‘To be honest I leapt at the chance to have a break. It’s been non-stop in the market today. The tourists are out in force.’
‘Feel free to send some of them my way,’ I said with a smile. ‘I’ve definitely been getting more of them down, but I’m always happy to welcome even more.’
‘I’d be glad to,’ she said. ‘Which reminds me, we’ve nearly run out of your promotional bookmarks. Drop some extra ones by whenever you like.’
‘Thanks, you’re a star. This lot smells delicious by the way.’
‘It took every bit of will power I possess not to tuck into those chocolates.’ She grinned.
‘On to the important details. I took the liberty of packing everything into cool bags. The boxes are all lying flat at the moment but be careful if you put them down on the way back to the boat. The lasagne will take about thirty minutes to reheat, and the chocolates could probably do with going in the fridge until you serve them. It’s pretty stuffy today, despite the breeze. ’
‘As long as it doesn’t rain, I’m happy. That sounds good, I’ll stow them away as soon as possible. Thanks again, and I’ll stop by tomorrow to drop off those bookmarks.’
I waved as Becki drove off down the street, then loaded myself up with the bags, balancing myself up as best I could. It would have been better to carry them in two loads, but there wasn’t anywhere I could safely leave them without risking the food being snaffled by hungry dogs and/or students.
I set off at a good pace, but before long the straps of the heavy cool bags started to dig into my hands.
Why had I bought so much stuff? I wasn’t even sure there’d be enough room to store it in my tiny galley area.
It took at least twice as long as it should have to reach the canal.
I decided to set the bags down on the ground for a moment and stretched my fingers out, wincing at the deep red lines on my palms from where the canvas of the handles had been pressing into my skin.
‘No Hilda this morning?’ asked a familiar voice.
I looked up and saw Jack strolling into view from the direction of the moorings, all cool, calm and collected in a pale blue shirt and light-coloured jeans, while I sweated messily on the towpath.
Brilliant. He’d been avoiding me for days then chose the moment I looked like I’d been weightlifting in a sauna to strike up a conversation again.
I tried to look nonchalant as I felt a trickle of moisture trace its way down my spine. ‘She’s chilling out at home.’
‘Sensible creature.’
We stood awkwardly for a moment. I’d rehearsed this conversation in my head ever since I’d left Jack on the Jericho Wine Barge and walked off with Liam, but now I was standing in front of him, I was scared it would come out wrong.
But I reminded myself that not talking about what was on my mind hadn’t helped me much in the past.
‘Jack—’
‘Molly—’
We both spoke at the same time.
‘You go first,’ I said.
‘No, you,’ he replied, ever the gentleman. ‘In fact, how about we stand in the shade for a moment? I’ll bring your bags.’
He scooped them up and carefully placed them in the shadow of a tree trunk then returned to my side.
‘Shall we?’ he said. For a moment I thought he was going to offer me his arm, as if he was about to escort me onto a dance floor, but instead he did one of his funny little half bows and held his hand so it was hovering behind the small of my back as he indicated a cooler spot for us to stand.
My skin tingled as if he had touched me.
We moved under the canopy of leaves. I stood so I was facing the canal rather than Jack, feeling his quiet gaze on me as I tried to gather my thoughts.
‘I’m sorry. I believe you, not Liam. I’d much rather have stayed on the Jericho Wine Barge with you when he appeared the other day, but I was worried about what he might do, so I went off with him which upset you, then you didn’t want to see me at all—’
My words came to a halt because Jack had reached out and was now lightly resting his palm on my forearm. I turned towards him, his hazel eyes locking with mine.
‘You don’t have to explain yourself to me or anyone else,’ he said softly.
‘It was an awkward situation, and you handled it just fine. You haven’t upset me at all.
I’m the one who should apologise. When I wasn’t working, I was actually steering clear of Liam, not you.
It wasn’t exactly a mature way of handling things.
I’m sorry I gave you the impression I didn’t want to see you.
’ He glanced down for a second, then fixed me again with his steady gaze.
‘It was quite the opposite in fact. I was hoping that we could become friends.’
‘Friends. Yes. Of course,’ I stammered, taken aback by the pang of disappointment I felt. I tried to cover it by clearing my throat. ‘I should really get the food in the fridge.’
‘Let me help you,’ offered Jack.
‘I’m fine, thanks. You’re going in the opposite direction, and it won’t take me two minutes.’
‘It really wouldn’t be—’
‘No honestly, it’s not a problem,’ I insisted, ‘Enjoy your walk.’
‘Only if you’re sure.’ He paused, giving me another chance to accept his assistance. I tried to assume the expression of a strong and independent woman.
Jack shrugged, finally admitting defeat. ‘I guess I shall carry on my way. See you back at the boats in about half an hour I calculate, at your current rate,’ he added with a provocative grin, and marched off down the path whistling cheerfully before I could think of an appropriate retort.
And if I stood there watching his narrow-hipped, long-limbed, easy stride for a little longer, it was only because the pins and needles were finally going from my hands, something which I attributed entirely to the rest I’d given myself, rather than acknowledging as being a handy by-product of my slightly elevated heart rate.
Which was most definitely exertion related. One hundred per cent exertion related.