Chapter Twenty-Two
Seeing as Nick and I were both going to stops on the Northern line, we headed to the Tube station together.
As we walked, I fired off a text to Enzo, asking him if “Mr. Darcy” had come back to the café this afternoon, given that was the first place we’d met.
Enzo responded with a thumbs-down and a ghost emoji, followed by a question mark, but I didn’t reply.
There were lots of people I owed a proper explanation to, but Bianca was top of the list. I scanned to her number and considered ringing her, but something told me she wouldn’t want to chat with me right now, if ever. I shoved the phone back into my bag.
“She’ll forgive you,” Nick said, as if reading my thoughts.
“I hope so. We’ve always told each other everything, so I know how betrayed she’ll be feeling right now.”
“She’s also clearly a pragmatic woman, so she’ll understand your reasoning.”
I bit my lip, not so confident. After all, I wasn’t sure I even understood my own reasoning.
I’d been so determined to keep Darcy a secret, as if revealing his identity would somehow make the bubble burst and he’d disappear.
But it turned out that my not trusting people and hiding Darcy was what was making him disappear, rather than the other way around.
“How long have you and Bianca known each other?” Nick asked, in what was clearly an attempt to distract me from my own spiraling thoughts.
“Seventeen years. We met in our first year at Camden School for Girls, and we’ve been best friends ever since.”
“From what I’ve seen of her, she seems to be an incredible woman.”
“She is,” I said, smiling. “She’s smart and tough and unbelievably driven, but she also has the kindest, most loving heart.
And she’s supported me through so much shit over the years: when my dad left and then when Mum died, and when Crispin—” I broke off, unsure I wanted to discuss my personal life with Nick, a virtual stranger.
“Is this Crispin ‘Void of a Generation’ Carter you’re talking about?”
“The very same.”
“I’m still finding it hard to imagine you ever going out with someone like him,” he said, shaking his head.
“You mean because he’s a literary genius and I’m a romance-loving airhead who works in a café?”
“No! I mean because you seem like you’re cool and interesting, and he’s such a boring tosspot.”
For some reason this made my face feel warm, and I coughed. “We met at a novel-writing class. Crispin was a few years older than me, wore black, and had read loads of serious literary novels I’d never heard of, and I thought he was the most impressive person I’d ever met. I was so naive.”
We’d reached the Tube station and headed through the ticket barriers.
“So you’re a writer too?” Nick said as we made our way onto the escalator. He was standing on the step below me, but because he was so tall, our faces were at the same height.
“Yes. I mean, no.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Yes, you mean no?”
“I always wanted to be a writer, and I did seriously try for a couple of years after uni. But I started to lose confidence in what I was doing, especially compared to Crispin’s writing, and by the time he got his publishing deal, I’d given up.”
Nick frowned. “Were you writing dick lit too?”
I smiled at the reference. “No, definitely not. My book was a romance, quelle surprise. But I guess I kept comparing what I was writing to Crispin’s serious, profound book with its fancy prose, and I felt like what I was writing was all a bit one-dimensional and pointless.”
“Hang on a second!” Nick said. “You were the one who told me that romance novels are just as valid and worthy as literary fiction.”
“And they are! Good romance novels are incredible, powerful, life-affirming stories. But they also need a happy-ever-after, and for some reason, I was never able to write a convincing one. Honestly, I tried and tried, but every time I got to the last act, everything would fall apart, and I could never give my characters the ending they deserved. Eventually, Crispin and I decided that I’m just too sad and broken to ever be able to write a truly happy ending, and it was better I just give up than keep wasting my time. ”
I meant the last sentence a bit flippantly, but Nick was staring at me with piercing eyes. “You’re not broken, Zoe. And if Crispin ever made you feel like you are, then he’s even more of a fucking arsehole than I first suspected.”
We’d reached the bottom on the escalator, and I looked away from him as we made our way down the stairs toward the platform.
I wasn’t sure how to reply to what he’d just said; there was something about the intensity of his expression that confused me.
I think it might have confused Nick, too, because when he spoke again, his tone was lighter.
“Look, this may sound trite, but I genuinely believe it’s better to keep trying and failing than to give up on something you love. And if you loved writing once, maybe you can find that joy again?”
I smiled. “You know, Darcy said something similar. He’s encouraged me to start writing a diary again for pleasure, and although it’s only nonsense about my daily life, I have to admit it’s felt good to put pen to paper after all this time.”
Nick’s eyes went wide in mock surprise. “Wow, maybe Mr. Darcy isn’t so toxic after all.”
I laughed. “No, he’s definitely not. In fact, he’s been amazingly supportive of me this week.”
“I’m pleased to hear it,” Nick said. “And I bet your writing is much better than you’re giving yourself credit for. If it’s anything like you, I know it must be unique and funny and smart, which is more than I can say for many of the books I sell in my shop.”
I opened my mouth to answer, but once again found I wasn’t sure what to say.
Thankfully, at that moment a train came rushing noisily into the platform and I was spared from having to say anything.
The carriage was so busy when we boarded that we had to stand in the narrow aisle between the two rows of occupied seats.
As it set off, I pulled my thoughts back to Darcy.
Had any more of him faded yet? And if, as I suspected, he now knew he was a fictional character, how was he coping with the news?
While he was an outwardly stoic person, I’d seen a glimpse of the sensitivity below the surface this week, so I could only begin to imagine how distressed he must be feeling right now.
Plus, he would have realized that I’d lied to him, which I knew was something he’d never forgive.
My insides curled at the thought of how much pain I’d inadvertently caused him.
Why hadn’t I just told him the truth from the beginning?
“Do you know if your mum or relatives ever told any of their fictional visitors who they really were?” I asked, leaning closer to Nick so that the people around us wouldn’t hear.
“You mean, that they were creative types,” he said pointedly, and I nodded.
“No, I don’t think so. Part of the reason they only ever hosted their visitors in the back room of the bookshop was that it was easy to disguise what was going on.
I don’t know if you noticed, but that room was designed to look timeless, so it could just as easily be from 1726 as 2026. ”
I thought back to the room and realized he was right; there hadn’t been a computer or any modern technology in there, and even the light fittings could have been mistaken for candles.
“So the visitors were kept in the dark about where they’d come from and who they were?” I said.
“Yes. I mean, obviously they knew something odd had happened, given that, from what I heard, it could be an uncomfortable journey for some. But my family had been doing this for a long time, so they’d got pretty good at knowing what to say to allay visitors’ fears when they arrived.”
“I still don’t understand how your family managed to keep their abilities a secret,” I said.
“I know you said they weren’t allowed to advertise what they were doing, but I’d have thought that if there was a bookshop in the middle of London that brought fictional characters to life, it would be all over the internet.
But aside from a few vague references to your mum having a special book club, I didn’t find anything. ”
Nick glanced around us to check that no one was listening, but everyone nearby was absorbed in their phones. Still, when he spoke again, his voice was a whisper.
“That’s because my family worked very hard to keep what they did a secret.
They only ever offered their services to a select few customers who they thought would really benefit from their help, and everyone had to swear they’d never talk about what happened outside the walls of the shop.
Mum always said that book lovers were trustworthy people, and almost every one of them kept their word. ”
“But why all the secrecy? Your family could have made a fortune from their skills.”
Nick gave a small smile, as if the same thought had occurred to him many times.
“I don’t think my family were ever interested in money or fame.
Apparently, before Ava, the secret was so closely guarded that my relatives only ever read characters out for themselves or their loved ones.
It wasn’t until after my great-grandfather’s death in the war that Ava decided she wanted to do something good for the people of London, so she started discreetly offering her help to a few customers she deemed in need of hope. ”
“Wow,” I said. “And nobody outside the women in your family can do it?”
Nick shook his head. “Not that I’ve ever heard of…until you.”
I swallowed, lowering my voice even further. “I told you, Nick, I don’t have the same powers. I must have just somehow triggered whatever residual magic was locked up in your mum’s copy of Pride and Prejudice.”