Chapter Twenty-Nine
I haven’t been to Paddington library before, tending to stick to the London Library where I have a yearly membership. But it’s lovely here; expansive and bright and buzzing with more activity than I would have expected for a Sunday afternoon.
‘This building is great,’ River remarks, looking around the old room. ‘Good bones.’
‘Agreed,’ I say, picking a random book off the shelf. ‘I love a library. The smell of old books is like nothing else in the world.’ I take a hearty inhale of the one I just opened and immediately burst into a noisy sneeze as a bunch of dust takes root in my nostrils.
River startles at the noise.
‘I’m an obnoxious sneezer, okay?’ I say defensively. ‘I’ve tried to rein them in, but they just come out really loud, like a town crier relaying an emergency. It’s an issue.’
At this, River laughs out loud. ‘That was terrifying. But I have to admit, I am impressed with that lung capacity.’ He raises an eyebrow.
‘Why are you saying “lung capacity” like that?’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know, like it’s sexy.’
‘I’m not!’
‘Hmm. Maybe it’s just that deep voice again.’ I fold my arms. ‘But FYI, I actually do have an excellent lung capacity. I can hold my breath underwater for almost two minutes.’
River holds his hands up. ‘Would you stop with the dirty talk? We’re in a library.’
It’s my turn to laugh out loud then and, to my relief, a little of the tension that’s been steadily building since this morning dilutes into something more comfortable.
I glance down at the book I’m holding. ‘How to Play The Bagpipes,’ I read out. ‘I could never. My lungs may be strong but my mouth skills are lacking.’
River grins. ‘Oh, I’d say your mouth skills are perfectly …
’ He trails off, quickly grabbing a book from a nearby display table and gazing at the back cover with deep concentration.
Squish, attached to the lead River is holding, suddenly barks and strains in the direction of a thin man in a waistcoat who is standing by the reception desk and fully staring at us.
‘Gertie?’ he calls to us cheerfully. ‘River?’
‘Yes!’ I say, heading over. ‘How did you know who we were?’
‘Mrs C pinged me a text, told me to expect you.’ He leans down to scratch Squish behind the ear.
Squish rolls onto his back for an immediate belly rub.
‘Ordinarily dogs aren’t allowed in the library but my wife used to be Squish’s dog-walker so Squish and I are firm friends.
’ He winks conspiratorially. ‘I’m very happy to bend the rules for friends from time to time. ’
I grin at the cheerful, melodic Yorkshire accent that reminds me of my dad’s.
My lovely dad. I quickly shake off the thought of my parents and focus on the librarian who is beaming at us.
‘I’m Aled.’ He shakes both of our hands.
‘I hear you are in need – desperate need – of books to help with your writer’s block, Gertie? ’
‘Yes. We were going to look on the internet but Mrs Casablancas – Mrs C – told us you’d be able to find us the best stuff.’
‘Internet? Boo hiss!’ Aled laughs. ‘We can do a lot better than that, here at the library.’
I expect him to lead us through the stacked shelves in the direction of the most appropriate non-fiction section, but instead he taps a pile of five books on the desk at his side.
‘I took the liberty of pre-selecting the books I thought would be most helpful for you.’ Aled picks up a purple textbook called Writing From the Inside.
‘My best friend,’ he lowers his voice discreetly, eyes flicking from side to side, ‘the crime author R. L. Cooper, found this one to be incredibly helpful.’
‘R. L. Cooper read this one?’ I gasp, a flip of excitement in my stomach. ‘I love his stuff. Okay! I’ll take the whole stack. Thank you, Aled. Mrs Casablancas was right. You are tremendous at your job.’
Aled flushes with pleasure and holds his palm out expectantly. ‘You have a library card, I assume?’
‘You bet.’ I fish my library membership card out of my pocket.
‘Would you like one, River?’ he asks as he scans my books through the computer system before placing them neatly into the tote bag I brought. ‘A library card is a portal, if you will, into any universe you can imagine!’
River laughs darkly as Aled hands him the tote bag. ‘I’m all good on extra universes for now, though I appreciate the offer.’
‘He’s not from around here,’ I explain in the biggest understatement of the decade.
‘Of course, silly me!’ Aled chuckles. ‘Your accent. Of course.’ He picks up a tiny stuffed owl from the desk and waves one of the wings at us.
‘Well, good luck. And if you need any more assistance I am here all day, every day, except for Monday lunchtimes when I play squash at the community centre and Tuesdays when my wife forces me to take a day off.’
‘Thank you so much!’ I say waving back.
‘Bye!’ Aled says, waving. ‘Bye, Squish!’
‘Good day, Aled,’ River says, reaching up to tip his hat and then – remembering it’s in Mrs Casablancas house for repair – does a weird sort of forehead tap instead. ‘Thanks so much for your help.’
Once we’re outside the library, Squish pulls frantically on his lead, straining for us to move towards a nearby lamp post he wants to examine. When we don’t immediately obey him he starts to bark, absolutely furious.
River peers down at him, a stern expression on his face.
‘This behaviour would not fly on Oakley Ranch … Now just sit. Come on now, Squish. Sit.’ He leans down and gently presses Squish’s bottom downwards.
‘Sit.’ Squish ignores him, his tail wiggling furiously at the unexpected attention.
‘You’re your own man, huh?’ River mutters eventually. ‘Reckon you know better, huh?’
I find myself watching the pair of them, a slow smile igniting at the sight of this burly interdimensional cowboy failing to control a tiny puppy.
When River notices me watching him, I sort of spin on my heel and face the wall like I’m in The Blair Witch Project, panicked that he thinks I’m perving on him, or waiting for the right moment to pounce for another kiss.
This is ridiculous. I mean, I only kissed River because I was feeling reckless in the moment.
Because I was curious and in desperate need of distraction and he is the most attractive man I’ve ever seen in real life.
Plus he told me I was sexy. Which felt really nice.
But it’s not like I fancy him. Not properly.
Not in anything more than a surface-level basic ‘he’s a very hot guy’ way.
Not like in the deep, emotional way that I fancy Henry. Love Henry.
Henry.
I squeeze my eyes shut as the humiliation of the party snakes its way through my chest. The very particular way Henry’s elegant hands were splayed across Marisol’s lower back flashes into my brain like a clip in an erotic movie I never ever wanted to see.
My Henry. With Marisol Keats. I bite my lip, fascinated that the main emotions I’m experiencing are fury and embarrassment, but still not the earth-shaking sadness I thought I’d feel in a situation like this.
Hmm. Maybe it’s one of those repressed emotions things?
Like when your body and brain doses out trauma reactions in small bursts so that you don’t explode with feeling.
Maybe tomorrow the sadness and the jealousy will join the humiliation and anger for a lovely little pity party in my head.
I feel River’s presence at my side. I glance across at him. He stares at the wall with narrowed eyes. ‘What are you doing?’ he asks.
I shrug. ‘Just, you know, taking in the, uh, wall,’ I reply like a dunce.
River nods slowly. ‘Well, as fascinating as this wall is – truly – I’m so glad I interdimensionally travelled here to witness it … I reckon it’s time to get back home.’ He lifts up the bag of books he’s carrying. ‘You and I have got some work to do.’
*
I don’t mean to zonk out within thirty minutes of getting home, but I’m so mentally exhausted I barely get through one chapter of the library books Aled gave us before I drift off into a late-afternoon slumber.
I come to when I hear the sound of a gentle sizzling, the scent of something fresh and delicious emanating from the kitchen area.
I slide on my glasses and sit up on the bed to see that River, hair damp and dressed in fresh clothes, is quietly dancing his way around my kitchen.
Is he humming? I watch for a second as he takes a wooden spoon from the ceramic holder on the countertop and swishes it over the pan, occasionally bending down to give a rapt Squish a tiny bit of cheese.
Wait – the fridge was empty. I’ve been eating nothing but takeaway meat for a whole month. Did he go out?
River’s face brightens when he notices I’m awake.
‘Squish suggested I steal your card so we could venture to Sainsbury’s to pick up some groceries,’ he says.
‘I told him you wouldn’t be happy about it, but he insisted and the dude is stubborn.
I would pay you back, but unless you guys have interdimensional bank transfer abilities then I’m afraid dinner is on you. ’
‘You can’t take dogs into Sainsbury’s. Did you get told off?’
‘Nobody said anything.’ River waves the spoon about. ‘In fact one of the check-out assistants asked if she could take a photo of Squish and I for her Pinterest inspiration board, whatever that may be.’
I roll my eyes. Of course that’s what happened.
I climb out of bed, which causes a cacophony of excitement from Squish who spins in precise little circles, scampering his way across the floor like one of those battery-operated cuddly toys.
‘That smells great,’ I remark, glancing skywards as I hear the rhythmic patter of rain on the rooftop.
‘So what’s cooking?’ I head to the stove and peek at a pan full of lightly charred red peppers.
As I do, the bare skin of River’s forearm brushes against mine, a little shock making us both jump.
I take a big sidestep to the left. River clears his throat.
‘Just veggie tacos,’ he says, moving the wooden spoon over the pan.
‘Like I said, I never cook at home – no time – but I found this.’ He taps at one of Josie’s old cookbooks lying open on the counter, pages covered with sauce stains and scribbles that Josie had made in the margins. Vegetable tacos was one of her go-tos.
My face must be doing something because River asks, ‘That okay?’ He points down at the handwritten notes. ‘Figured if you’ve made it before, that you’ll definitely like it.’
I take a deep breath. ‘It’s perfect. I’ll set the table.’ I grab some cutlery and napkins from the kitchen drawers. River lights one of the cream dinner candles I usually only use for display purposes and then, grabbing a chilled bottle of Sancerre from the fridge, pours us both a glass of wine.
‘No whisky?’
‘I’m attempting to be civilised.’
‘It doesn’t suit you.’
He brings the plates over to the table and sets them down neatly. I take a seat, lift up my wine glass and then halt. ‘I don’t actually know what to toast to. Everything has been … sort of shit, hasn’t it? A horrible day all round.’
‘Not everything,’ River says lightly.
‘No?’
‘I mean, we’re eating tacos right now,’ he thumbs at the plates of food.
‘Two very different people, from two very different worlds, having a home-cooked meal right in the middle of London. We’re warm, we’re safe, we’re accompanied by a very odd dog, and this wine is …
’ he takes a sip, ‘passable.’ I laugh out loud.
River laughs too. ‘And we laughed. And that means there was some good in this horrible day.’
And so the pair of us toast to that, our voices stoic beneath a low rumble of thunder from above. When our glasses clink prettily, I try my best to ignore the fact that this feels very much like a date.
*
When we’ve finished eating our tacos – which turned out to be just as delicious as when Josie made them – River opens the fridge and pulls out a cardboard box. He waves it at me, eyes twinkling.
‘What are you so happy about?’
‘I got me some Auntie’s Delicious Spotted Dick,’ he announces, examining the box of pudding with delight. ‘I cannot believe this is the name of a real pudding here.’
While the pudding microwaves, he grabs an open library book from where it lies on the sofa. ‘I’ve been reading this.’
I sit up straighter. ‘Anything useful?’
‘Possibly. I was thinking that maybe after dinner we could go through them all and try to make a plan? You in?’
His jaw flexes then and I realise that despite the seemingly chirpy bravado he is deeply worried about getting back to his own world in time for the land auction, about saving the place he promised his father he would always look after.
‘Of course,’ I reply, scooping a bit of fallen candle wax onto my finger. ‘That’s a great idea.’
‘It might be a bit heavy-going, but that’s why I bought the pudding,’ he explains as the microwave pings. ‘I thought a little dessert would giddy us up.’
‘Dessert and reading – always a winner.’
‘On that we can agree.’
He tips the puddings into bowls, places one onto the table in front of me and then takes a ginormous spoonful, sighing in delight as he does.
‘Looks like Auntie was correct,’ he says, doing an odd little dance of joy as he sits back down at the table, eyes meeting mine. ‘This dick is fucking delicious.’
I take a huge spoonful myself. ‘Yep. Best dick I ever tasted.’
River catches my eye then, his lip lifting into a smile he seems to be trying to suppress.
I feel myself blush, a strange giddy feeling bubbling in my chest.
‘What?’ I ask as he continues to look at me.
‘Nothing,’ he replies as he returns his attention to his own pudding. ‘Nothing at all.’
‘You were going to say something!’ I laugh.
River shakes his head. ‘Must have repressed it.’