Chapter 35
CARLY
With a couple of hours to spare between the Eurostar and boarding the Scotsman back to Edinburgh, Daisy, Joe and I walk the short distance from St Pancras to Word on the Water – a bookshop barge on the Regent’s Canal.
Love this, I think, admiring the barge from the outside while Daisy and Joe head in to browse. I sit on a giant wooden book-cum-bench on the path alongside.
‘Isn’t it amazing?’ asks a voice soon after, and I look up in the brilliant spring sunshine to find Georgia standing beside me. My heart rate accelerates at the sight of her.
‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ I say, wondering if she’s about to accost me over Flynn.
‘Almost as inviting as Shakespeare and Company,’ she says. ‘May I join you?’
‘Sure.’ I wipe the bench before she sits so she doesn’t mark her beautiful white linen trousers.
We sit for a moment watching some ducks, a runner going by, and a mum pushing a buggy.
‘Flynn told me what happened in Paris,’ she says, her gaze forward. ‘That you two got quite close.’
I brace myself for her venom.
‘Georgia—’ I begin.
‘Carly, I’m—’
‘No,’ I insist. ‘I want to assure you that nothing actually happ—’
‘Carly,’ she interrupts, turning to me, the focus in her eyes making it clear that she wants to lead the conversation.
I take a deep breath and clasp my hands to stop them trembling.
‘Flynn told me you were instrumental in Fran’s talk yesterday. I know how grateful he is for that. Without a headline act, I’m afraid I might not have given him the promotion after all, particularly after he lost us that review.’
‘I’m sorry?’ I stammer.
‘The promotion I promised him, if he pulled off the book train without a hitch.’
‘I don’t understand. You’re not his girlfriend?’
‘No!’ she says, with a roar of incredulous laughter.
‘You said in the bar that it was “make or break time” for you both.’
‘In business!’ she laughs, her eyes full of kindness.
‘I’m Flynn’s boss. I told him that if the book train project was a success that I’d recommend him for the promotion he’s been wanting for years.
I’ve been in Paris watching his progress.
I told him yesterday morning that the next two days were make or break. ’
‘Oh,’ I wince. The memory of Flynn in the library bar kissing Georgia on the cheek then leaving purposefully suddenly has a very different meaning. ‘So you and he have never . . .’
She shakes her head with a grimace, and flashes me an engagement ring. ‘Happily taken,’ she confirms.
‘Is his promotion in Edinburgh?’
‘London. Director of UK Events. It’s a big deal.’
‘Good for him.’ I smile, my head happy for him, my heart not quite up to speed.
‘I hope so . . .’
‘You’re not certain?’
‘Flynn is everything you could want in a director, and he’s worked really hard for a decade to climb the ranks, but . . . I don’t know, I don’t want to speak out of turn.’
I say nothing, keeping my eyes on hers.
‘It’s just there’s something about him,’ she continues. ‘Something different from all the other guys I’ve seen come up and move into senior positions. He’s . . .’
She trails off and again I wait, wanting to hear what she has to say.
‘He’s quieter, more considered than the others. I know he’s capable, a brilliant networker and promotor, I’m just not convinced it’s where his heart is.’
She holds my gaze for a moment before standing, wishing me well and walking away. I’m left watching the water, wondering how I’d got things so wrong, and what Georgia meant by where Flynn’s heart is.
‘Welcome back,’ cries Grant, ushering Mum and me back on board the Scotsman. ‘And welcome to you,’ he says to Dad, beaming his best cheery grin.
‘It feels good to be back,’ I say, slumping into one of the lounge chairs in the observation carriage. The surroundings that felt opulent and luxurious on the outward journey now feel comfortable and familiar, and designed specifically to take the strain of this city-weary traveller.
‘It certainly does,’ says Mum, sitting beside Dad on the couch opposite and reaching for his hand.
‘I can’t believe you left Edinburgh without a book deal and are returning with a four-book offer,’ I say, accepting a rosehip aperitif from a waitress.
‘About that,’ says Mum. She squeezes Dad’s hand, and they exchange a knowing look.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask.
Mum takes a mouthful of her drink. ‘The advance Ginny is offering is generous.’
‘That’s fantastic news,’ I say, noticing another hand squeeze.
‘Enough for us to take some time off and cover some refurbishment costs around the house.’
‘Amazing,’ I say, happy for them both but wondering what it is that Mum still seems to be withholding.
‘We think there would also be enough for some bookshop improvements too,’ Dad says ruefully, which really grabs my attention.
‘What kind of improvements?’
‘Décor, shelving, new stock.’ He breaks into a wide smile. ‘Enough for a marketing budget too.’
I pause, my heart pumping a little faster, certain I know what they’re about to say but not wanting to jump the gun. I breathe out.
‘And we were wondering . . .’ says Mum, my anticipation building. She looks to Dad before they say in unison, ‘If you’d still like to take over the running of it.’
‘Oh my God,’ I say, my jaw nearly on the floor, my hands tingling with excitement. I put down my glass for fear of dropping it. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Never more so,’ says Dad and he wraps an arm around Mum and brings her close.
‘And you’re not disappointed?’ I ask Dad.
‘Of course not, we both know you’re never happier than in the bookshop, and happiness is all that matters.’
‘So, will you?’ Mum asks.
‘Mum, of course I will!’ I cry, getting up to wrap myself around them both.
Supper in the dining carriage was a feast of smoked salmon, followed by haggis, neeps and tatties, and ending with cranachan soaked in enough whisky to sink a small ship.
I’d sat at a table with Flynn, Daisy and Joe and chatted the journey away with ideas for the bookshop – Flynn and Joe brimming with ideas for events and new titles, Daisy excited about the prospect of a great neighbourhood bookshop for her to redesign and where she might while away her days.
Now, after supper, and with Flynn supervising the setting-up of the ceilidh, Marleen approaches me in the observation car where I’m dreaming about the whirlwind that was Paris.
‘Have you had a chance to think about the position I offered?’ she asks, sitting beside me.
‘I have,’ I answer, my tone apologetic. ‘Unfortunately, I have to pass.’
I explain about Mum and Dad offering me the bookshop and how everything I’d be doing for her in London I could be doing at home in Edinburgh.
‘I figure it makes sense to be part of an independent neighbourhood bookshop scene in my own city rather than somewhere else.’
‘I must confess, I thought you were too bright for the position anyway,’ she says kindly. ‘Perhaps you’d be willing to allow me to do a book talk or two when you have the bookshop up and running?’
‘I’d like nothing more,’ I say, giving her a hug.
‘Oh, and Carly,’ she says, holding my hand and looking me directly in the eyes.
‘Yes?’ I ask, uncertain what she’s about to say.
‘A word of advice.’ She glances towards Flynn, who’s just announced that we can all make our way back through to the dining car. ‘Try to look past people’s signs; they are often misleading.’
‘OK,’ I laugh nervously, not sure what she’s getting at.
She pats me energetically on the knee. ‘Shall we go join the ceilidh?’
‘Sure,’ I reply.
Marleen leads me through to the dining car, where kilts are swishing and fiddles playing. She takes me straight to Flynn who sweeps me into a reel that neither of us appears to know but we enjoy regardless.
We dance until I can stand no more.
‘I need to sit this one out,’ I pant, dizzy from Grant spinning me at a hundred miles an hour.
‘You and me both,’ puffs Flynn, and we collapse on to a sofa in the corner of the carriage with a bottle of water and a shot of whisky each.
‘Joe’s going to regret this in the morning,’ I laugh, watching him being flung around by Daisy, already three sheets to the wind.
‘Him and your dad,’ he laughs, as we watch Mum and Dad completely lost in an eightsome reel.
‘It’s nice to see him smiling,’ I say, thrilled at the sight of both my parents enjoying themselves, something I haven’t seen in a long time.
‘Frank and Marleen look to be having a good time too,’ he says, the two of them taking the reel at their own pace, broad smiles on their faces as they dance hand in hand. ‘They’ve got great chemistry.’
‘Chemistry,’ I repeat, the static between us rising.
‘It’s not something you can fake,’ he says, drawing closer, just as he did at the Eiffel Tower, but this time I inch forward too. ‘I shouldn’t have answered the phone at the tower, and I should have spoken to you at the meet and greet.’
‘You were busy.’
‘I was,’ he answers, pausing. ‘But I was also put off by . . .’
‘By what?’
‘Nicolas.’
I squint in confusion.
‘I saw him giving you his number in London.’
‘And?’ I ask, not completely getting what he’s alluding to. ‘What’s going on with you guys? For friends you seem very at odds.’ I recall what he said about how he’d sacrificed the newspaper review, and how it felt then as if he wasn’t telling me the whole story.
‘Friends is a loose term,’ he laughs wryly. ‘We were part of a wider circle for a year, and the group stays in touch.’
‘And?’
Flynn rolls his head on the back of the sofa.
‘When Nicolas and I were at university he stole a girl from me.’ He uses finger quotes around the word ‘stole’. ‘He’s owed me a favour ever since, hence why he was on the trip, writing a review about the book train.’
‘Uh-huh,’ I say, still not getting the full picture.
He pauses, considers how he’s going to phrase the next part. ‘When he became aware that you were Fran’s daughter, in true Nicolas fashion, he made a play . . .’
‘For me? To get info about Mum?’