Chapter Thirty-Four
I chucked Nick out of the room, although not before we’d had another long, dreamy kiss. The dressing table was as I’d left it earlier, balls of screwed-up paper scattered everywhere. I pushed them aside as I sat down and grabbed a fresh piece.
Write what you know and love.
I closed my eyes and took a long, deep breath.
As I did, I thought about Mrs. Atallah, with her big voice and even bigger heart, and Mr. Wickham’s stubborn refusal to abandon me, even when I did everything in my power to push him away.
I thought about the way Bianca laughed with her whole body and the wonderful Sunday lunches with her loud, boisterous family.
I thought about Darcy and the extraordinary time we’d had together, and the fact that even though he might not be my perfect man, I would forever be grateful for all the things he’d given me: the amazing memories with my mum, the pep talks about writing and grief, and most of all, the belief that I deserved to live a life as happy as his and Elizabeth’s.
And finally, I thought about Nick Baskerville, the sweetest, sexiest, most loyal person I had ever met.
The unfinished chapter in my story, and the man I was fast falling in love with.
And then I opened my eyes, picked up a pen, and started to write.
I don’t know how long I wrote for, only that when I heard a knock on the door, jolting me out of my trance, I looked out the window and realized the pale sun was already low in the sky. I sank back in my chair, exhausted but exhilarated.
“Sorry, we gave you as long as we could,” Maggie said as she entered. Nick came in after her, now changed back into his own jeans and sweatshirt.
“What time is it?” I asked them.
“It’s three thirty,” Maggie said.
Bloody hell, it had only felt like a few minutes, but I’d been writing for almost two hours. I couldn’t help but smile. “How’s it going out there in the novel?”
“Well, the good news is that Elizabeth has refused Mr. Collins’s proposal. It turns out that even without Darcy in the picture, my girl still knows better than to marry a man who could never make her happy.” Maggie smiled affectionately. “And Nick tells me your chat with Darcy went OK?”
“I think so. He seemed a lot calmer once he knew he hadn’t been imagining things, and I told him he can’t give up on Elizabeth. With any luck, he and the Bingleys should be heading to London soon.”
“Well, in that case, I don’t think there’s anything else we can do within the novel, so it’s time we got out of here too,” Maggie said. “Did you manage to find some inspiration?”
“I think so.” I glanced at Nick as I said this, and he gave me a smile that made my insides twist deliciously.
Maggie must have seen our look, because she gave an awkward cough. “Good. Well, in that case, I think we should go outside to do the reading so there’s less chance of us being disturbed and Zoe losing concentration. Are you ready?”
I glanced down at the pages in front of me, filled with rows of messy handwriting, and felt suddenly sick. Was I ready? What if the stuff I’d written wasn’t realistic enough? After all, I wasn’t a proper writer, I was just… I swallowed, pushing the Fear—and Crispin—out of my head.
“I’m ready.”
The three of us headed outside and across the large lawn that stretched from the house down to the woodland below. A strong, icy wind whipped at my skin as we walked, and I shivered, wishing I was wearing something warmer than a thin T-shirt and jeans.
“Here, have this,” Nick said, and before I could respond, he’d pulled his sweatshirt off and handed it to me. I was about to refuse, but my teeth had started to chatter, so I put it on gratefully. It smelled of Nick, and I immediately felt calmer.
A distant roll of thunder filled the air as we reached the tree line, and Maggie swore under her breath.
“What’s wrong?” Nick asked her.
“This storm is new,” she said, stopping to look up at the sky, which was filled with swirling pale-gray clouds.
“It’s always a clear autumn day at this point in the story, so something’s still not right.
I feel like even with Darcy back on track, the three of us being here is affecting the plot too much, and it can’t cope. ”
“It’s all right, we’re about to get out of here,” Nick said, giving me an encouraging look, and I felt my stomach twist, this time not in a delicious way.
“Tell me exactly what I have to do,” I said to Maggie.
“OK, so the difference between reading a character out of a book and reading one back in is all about intention,” she said.
“When I read someone out, I used to ask for their help in whatever problem needed fixing and then visualize them in the bookshop. Whereas when I read them back in, I would thank them for their help and then picture them in whatever scene in the book they came from. So for us, while you read your passage, I think you need to visualize the three of us being back in 2026 London in a specific place. Do you have one in mind?”
“Well, I wrote about all the people and places I love, but I think the most useful stuff is the bit at the end about Baskerville Books because it’s easiest to imagine you both there.”
“Great,” Maggie said. “The important thing is you have to really re-create the shop in your mind, so it feels as lifelike as possible. And whatever happens, don’t let yourself get distracted by any other thoughts.
Even when the pain starts, you have to keep your mind anchored on us in the shop; otherwise we could end up goodness knows where. ”
Oh God, I’d forgotten how painful this process was. As if I hadn’t felt anxious enough already, now I had the knowledge that I was about to be in agony added to the mix.
“You can do this, Zoe.”
I glanced up to see Nick looking at me, his face soft.
He must have seen the absolute terror in my expression, as he pulled me into his chest, holding me tight.
I closed my eyes and sent up a prayer to the universe.
Please, dear gods or muses of literature or whoever was in charge of this strange book magic: Get us all home safely.
There was another rumble of thunder, louder this time, and I extracted myself from Nick’s hug, although he still held on to my left hand tightly.
“Start whenever you’re ready,” Maggie said. “We’ll be here with you the whole time.”
I swallowed, wishing I’d had a drink of water before I left the room. Then I took a deep breath and started to read.
“Baskerville Books looks unassuming from the outside, its front window tired and a little unloved, so you’d be forgiven for walking past. But if you open the heavy front door and step inside, you’ll find yourself in one of the most magical bookshops in London.”
As I read the words, I pictured Baskerville Books with its oak shelves and cozy chairs. I recalled the comforting, slightly musky smell of the shop and the way the sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the shelves. Please take us back there, I willed.
“The first person you’ll spot when you walk in is a tall, broad-shouldered man, with messy blond hair that you might want to run your hands through, a chiseled jawline, and a mischievous smile.”
I visualized Nick in the blue shirt he’d worn the first time I met him, the one that brought out the color of his eyes.
I imagined the two of us in the bookshop together, bantering about books, and wished with every fiber of my being that we could be back there now.
I felt a twinge low in my stomach, like a period-pain cramp, and my heart jolted.
“Nick likes people to think he’s a world-weary cynic who would rather chew his own arm off than read a book with a happy-ever-after ending. But beneath the gruff exterior, the man is a cinnamon roll, straight out of the pages of the romance novels he loves to hate.”
I pictured Nick watching me across the bookshop, his eyebrow arched as I said something, and felt another twist in my stomach, more intense this time.
Next to me, I heard Nick take a sharp breath.
Did that mean he was feeling the pain too?
I sped up my reading, desperate to keep the momentum going and get us all out of here.
“Nick’s mum, Maggie, is the real brains behind Baskerville Books—the spark that makes the magic happen. From her small office at the back of the shop, she helps customers most-in-need realize the transformative power of a good book.”
I tried to imagine Maggie standing in the back room, her eyes full of life like they’d been in the photo on Nick’s desk.
In front of her was a diary, like Ava’s one Nick had shown me, and I pictured her filling in the details from her latest reading.
Please bring Maggie back where she belongs, I wished.
Bring us all back. I braced myself, waiting to feel another painful tear in my stomach, maybe finally the one that would pull us all out of Jane Austen’s novel, but now I felt nothing.
Somewhere behind me, I heard another crack of thunder, and I felt the wind whip my hair. No, stay focused, Zoe!
“Together, Maggie and Nick have created something truly special: a haven for book lovers, a balm for the brokenhearted, and a refuge for those lost and alone who need some much-needed hope.”
I closed my eyes, desperately trying to picture the three of us back in the shop together, but my stomach felt empty.
“Don’t give up,” I heard Nick whisper beside me, and I was suddenly aware of his hand, still clutching mine.
“It’s not working,” I moaned.
“It was!” he said. “I felt a strong pain a moment ago when you were reading your description of me. You have to try again; I know you can do it.”
“I knew my writing wouldn’t be good enough, Nick. I can’t—”
“There’s nothing wrong with your writing.” This was Maggie’s voice, and I opened my eyes to look at her.
“Was it something to do with the way I was reading it, then? I was completely focused on the three of us in the shop—it was almost like I could smell the books and reach out and touch Nick behind the counter—and then it suddenly stopped. What did I do wrong?”
Maggie didn’t answer immediately, her eyes flicking from me to Nick and then back to me again. When she spoke, her voice was so quiet I had to strain to hear her above the wind.
“You didn’t do anything wrong. Your writing was full of life; you painted the bookshop exactly how I remembered it, and your description of Nick was perfect. The problem isn’t anything you’ve written. The problem is me.”
“What do you mean?”
“You clearly have a strong visual and emotional sense of you and Nick in Baskerville Books, but you can’t see me in the shop in the same way, and that’s what’s stopping it working.”
“Then why don’t you try reading Zoe’s passage, Mum?” Nick said. “That way you can picture yourself back in the shop along with us.”
“I’ve tried to read myself back home thousands of times over the years, but it never works; Zoe saw that herself the other day,” Maggie said. “Besides, I don’t think I can visualize us all there. I’ve been away from the shop too long.”
“I just haven’t written you well enough,” I said. “I’ll go back to the house and rewrite this so that you’re more vivid.”
I started to walk toward the open ground, but Maggie reached out and grabbed my arm. “There’s no time, Zoe. Just look at the color of the trees around us; the story’s fading fast. You and Nick have to get out of here while you still can.”
“No,” Nick said. “We’re not leaving without you.”
Maggie turned to her son, giving him a small, wistful smile. “I made my peace with living in Pride and Prejudice a long time ago, darling. But you and Zoe have to go; you don’t belong here, and the story can’t survive with you both in it.”
“There has to be a way of getting you out too,” I said, hearing the desperation in my voice. “I just need to get a clearer mental image of you in the shop. What kind of clothes did you used to wear? Did you have your hair up or down? What did—”
Maggie raised a hand to stop me. “Zoe, however hard you try, I don’t think you’ll be able to read me back. Please, save my son while you still can.”
There was a moment of silence as we all stared at each other. Then a bolt of lightning tore across the sky, and I felt drops of icy-cold rain start to fall on my skin.
“I can’t lose you again, Mum,” Nick said, and for a moment he sounded not like a thirty-year-old man, but like a small child.
In reply, Maggie opened her arms and pulled him into a tight embrace. They stayed like that for several moments, locked in each other’s arms, both their faces creased in pain. Then Maggie stepped back.
“I need you to promise me that you’re not going to give up on life, Nick. I know what you’re like, and I don’t want you moping around that bookshop all day, growling at anyone who tries to get close to you. Promise me you’ll get out there and live the wonderful life you deserve.”
Nick nodded but didn’t speak, his cheeks wet with rain and tears.
“You don’t have to keep Baskerville Books. That shop was my dream, not yours, so if you want to close it and do something else, then I completely understand. Although if you do keep it open, do me a favor and sort out the front window; nobody wants to come into a shop that looks tired and unloved.”
Nick smiled, although I could sense his heart was breaking. “I will, I promise.”
Maggie turned to me. “Look after Nick for me; my boy deserves his happy-ever-after. And promise me you’ll live your life to the fullest, too, and never give up on writing again.”
“I promise,” I said, my own voice catching.
Maggie nodded, and I could see tears were starting to fall down her cheeks too. There was another roll of thunder, this one so loud it sounded like it was on top of us, and the rain began to fall harder. I glanced down at the piece of paper in my hands and saw the ink was beginning to smudge.
“I need to read this before it becomes illegible,” I said.
Maggie cleared her throat. “Do exactly what you did last time, only focus on just you and Nick in the shop. Forget about me.”
“Mum…” Nick said, but Maggie shook her head.
“Do it, Zoe. Do it now.”
I looked at her for a second longer, this wonderful, strong, brave woman, and then I turned back to the page and began to read again.
By the time I got to the second line, I began to feel the familiar, excruciating pull.
This time, I didn’t allow my concentration to falter, focusing everything I had on my mental image of me and Nick in the shop.
The pain got stronger, as if I were being split in two, but I carried on reading, my words as loud and clear as I could make them.
I started to feel that horrible tilting sensation, and the wind and rain on my skin stopped as my head spun, but still I carried on reading, my mind fixed on nothing but Baskerville Books, Nick, and me.
And then, just as I thought I might explode from the pain, everything went black.