Chapter 33
CARLY
I sent Dad a couple of photos of Mum doing her thing on stage, telling him how proud he’d have been of her.
I didn’t mention the Nicolas interlude, too livid at him to share.
But I did tag on a comment at the end of the message about me taking over the bookshop.
I’ve been checking my phone every few minutes to look for a reply, but nothing, until now:
Carly, it would make me very proud to see you run the bookshop, but financially the business is in a mess, and I can’t have you starting life with a loan of your own.
Why don’t you think about finding a bookshop manager job, see if it’s really your passion before committing to a business of your own? Dad xx
‘What’s up?’ Daisy asks, watching me chomp into a huge croque monsieur and frites outside a brasserie close to Gare du Nord. I don’t need a psychologist to tell me that I’m eating my emotions.
‘Nothing,’ I reply, figuring there really isn’t anything to say other than I’m back to square one: no guy, no job, no way of bringing my dream to life. When I get back to Edinburgh I’ll have to look for any old job so I can help Mum and Dad financially.
‘Feel better?’ she laughs, once I’ve had a few bites of sandwich.
‘Sort of,’ I reply, wiping my greasy fingers on a napkin then reaching for a cluster of French fries.
‘It’s like I told you, Carly. Nicolas was never the right choice for you.’
It takes me a moment to shift focus from Dad’s message, where my real disappointment lies, to Nicolas, who took off after Mum’s talk without so much as an au revoir.
‘I didn’t see it coming. As usual, my radar was firmly out of whack,’ I say, horrified that I fed him info on Mum. The only saving grace is that Ginny also confided in him, providing more ammunition.
‘That’s why you need to listen to me,’ says Daisy. ‘Tell her, Joe, I’m the queen of match-making, right?’
‘She does have a good eye,’ concedes Joe, who’s been sitting quietly absorbing the last of our time in Paris.
‘I’m telling you, Carly, the universe wants you to be with Flynn. You have to see this is your opportunity to have what your mum and his dad missed out on thirty years ago.’
‘Daisy, for all I like your enthusiasm, you can’t really think I’m going to fall for this guy. From what I can make out, Flynn’s not dissimilar to his father, and my mother made absolutely the right decision three decades ago.’
‘Carly, you have to cut the guy some slack. He’s good-looking, loves books, defended your mum, and it turns out he’s a romantic, too! What more are you looking for?’
‘He’s also two-timing,’ I say, even though much of what she says rings true. In my heart I know it’s time I gave up on men, and the bookshop, that I need to stop dreaming and accept life as it is.
Daisy shrugs and sips her lunchtime Parisian cocktail. ‘I’m just saying, don’t throw the baby out of the pram before you know all the facts.’
‘Looks as if now might be a good time for us to leave,’ says Joe and he nods discreetly to the entrance. There, scanning the tables, is Flynn, looking casual in blue jeans and a grey T.
‘Guys, don’t you dare—’ I say, but it’s too late. Before I have a chance to finish, both Joe and Daisy are standing, pulling out the handles of their wheelie cases, telling me they’ll meet me at the station.
I watch them leave, Daisy grinning broadly with a wave, Joe scuttling beside her.
‘I hope they didn’t leave on my account,’ says Flynn, joining me. He gestures to where Daisy was sitting, asking if he might sit.
‘Who knows?’ I shrug, indicating that it’s OK for him to take a seat. ‘Daisy is a law unto herself.’
‘She certainly is,’ he laughs, moving his sunglasses to the top of his head. The sun catches his eyes and I realise how relaxed he looks in contrast to the last couple of days.
‘I wanted to thank you for all you did to convince your mum to give the talk. You really saved my bacon, in a big way,’ he says.
‘You’re welcome,’ I answer, not because I’m especially glad I helped him, but because I’m glad I helped Mum.
‘And I’m sorry for what happened with Nicolas.’
‘I probably should have seen it coming,’ I say, still nursing my wounds.
‘No, it’s not your fault. I should have seen it coming. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me.’
I cast him a quizzical look.
‘Last night, at the café . . .’
‘You guys had a row, I saw,’ I say, recalling their heated discussion at Les Deux Magots.
‘A mutual friend tipped me off that he planned to write an article for a national paper denouncing the romance genre, citing your mum’s work in particular. I managed to stop the article, but it never occurred to me that he’d speak out at the talk.’
‘How did you stop it?’ I ask, grateful that he did.
‘He basically asked for a trade – what was I prepared to give up for him not to publish the article.’
‘And what did you say?’
‘The review,’ he answers.
‘Of the trip?’
He nods.
‘You did that for Mum?’
He cocks his head to one side, looks at me with shining eyes, a look I can’t quite read.
‘Thank you,’ I say, hoping he can hear the sincerity behind the words.
‘You’re welcome. And I’m sorry too that I didn’t come over to say hi last night, I was so stressed about Chris Rose going missing and Nicolas, and . . . well, it all got on top of me.’
‘And all that stuff you said about romance and community and wanting to make books available to all . . .’
‘Turns out you weren’t the only one passion-seeking,’ he smiles. ‘Turns out I had some searching of my own to do.’
And in spite of everything, I find myself softening, a little piece of my heart won.