Chapter Two
Erin scratched her top lip, hoping to cover the yawn that crept up on her as she tried to keep up with Susan’s description of all the priceless paintings which had been plundered by the Nazis and never recovered.
The subject came about because of Jackson Brodie’s extensive investigation into missing art in Death at the Sign of the Rook, and it was one Susan seemed bizarrely knowledgeable about.
This was one of the wonderful things about book group; they were such a diverse bunch of people, and they all had different experiences and wisdom to share.
Susan was going on a bit, though. Not that she’d ever let on, but Erin was pleased when Hafsa took advantage of a pause to tell an anecdote about the time she and her husband went to a murder-mystery evening at the Clarendon Hotel, across the heath, in relation to the murder-mystery event in the novel.
‘It ended rather abruptly when the lead suspect, who was slurring his lines from the off, stumbled into the champagne fountain and brought it crashing to the ground,’ she said.
‘He just stared at it, swaying and blinking like this—’ she moved her eyelids slowly over her soft brown eyes ‘—as if all the shattered glass and liquid came out of nowhere. We were all given a refund and a voucher for ten pounds off another murder mystery. Funnily enough, we never redeemed it.’
Undeterred, Susan took a pause in the discussion to regale them with a detailed description of Canaletto’s missing Piazza Santa Margherita, only stopping at the sound of the door opening.
A tall man who appeared to be in his mid-fifties, wearing a biker jacket covered in badges, stood in the doorway. ‘Am I in the right place?’ he said.
‘That very much depends on what you’re looking for,’ said Susan, chin pulled back to her neck.
Erin suspected she was irritated at being interrupted, but that was no reason to be rude. ‘Can I help you?’ She met his eyes and felt the odd sensation of having met him before, despite not recognizing his face. His gaze lingered on hers, and she had to force herself to look away.
‘Sorry, yeah, is this book club?’ He shifted his weight onto his other foot, and raised his eyebrows, which were dark in comparison to his greying stubble and what was left of his closely cropped hair. ‘The fella in the bookshop on the corner told me there was a book club here.’
‘Come in, young man,’ said Joe. ‘You’re in the right place, and you’re very welcome.’ That was typical of Joe. No one stayed a stranger for long with him around.
Erin smiled, but it was a little forced.
It was a long time since she’d felt an instant attraction to a man and it unnerved her.
Physical attraction rarely led anywhere good, in her experience.
Her attraction to her ex-husband had led her to overlook his flaws time and time again, and look how that had ended.
On top of that, various people had come and gone from book group over the years, but it had been just the six of them for the best part of two years now, and the dynamic worked.
She’d stopped telling other people about the weekly meet-ups for fear of upsetting what she’d come to see as the perfect combination of characters: Susan’s cynicism balanced out by Mercy’s cheerful positivity, and Hafsa’s scientific, analytical take on things, countered by Riley’s creativity and thinking outside the box.
It was a delicate ecosystem and she didn’t want it messed with.
Her insistence that the next book was always chosen by reading the last page had been challenged enough times by potential new members.
She didn’t want to have to explain, or more accurately, defend it, again.
‘Yes, that’s us, come in,’ she said, standing. ‘Can I get you a drink …?’
‘Adam,’ he said, striding forwards with his hand outstretched. ‘Adam Darling. Good to meet you.’
Erin shook his hand. His grip was firm but not painfully so.
Her mother always said you could tell a lot about a person by their handshake and could instantly take against someone with limp fingers, or a knuckle-grinding, power grab of a shake.
‘I’m Erin,’ she said, then introduced the others, before asking again if he’d like a drink.
‘The prices are on the board,’ said Susan bluntly, pointing at the chalkboard on the mantlepiece above the fireplace on the left-hand wall. ‘Don’t let her give you a freebie, even if she offers.’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ said Adam, amusement in his voice. ‘A black coffee would be perfect. Decaf, if you’ve got it.’
She’d presumed as much. Caffeine in the evenings was a sign of recklessness in her opinion. ‘Coming right up. Take a seat.’
‘Thank you,’ Adam said, when she handed over his drink a couple of minutes later.
The man was now sitting in the seat she’d left.
There were six comfortable leather armchairs; the perfect number for the group as it stood ten minutes ago.
She’d known he’d disrupt things, and now she had to sit uncomfortably.
She dragged a wooden chair from a table and put it on the periphery of the group.
Adam leaped up. ‘Sorry, I’ve taken your seat. Please, sit here.’
‘You’re all right, I’m fine here.’
‘I insist.’ He stood aside and held out his arm, gesturing for her to sit back in the armchair.
‘Thanks,’ said Erin, graciously accepting. Tybalt jumped from Joe’s lap and crossed to Adam, bashing his head against his denim-clad shins.
‘Hello fella,’ Adam said, scratching under the cat’s chin. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Tybalt,’ said Riley.
‘Tibbles?’
‘No, Tybalt, like in Romeo and Juliet,’ said Susan. ‘He spends most of his time in here, but he belongs to the woman who used to have the shop next door. When she got him, he was a fiery little creature, always picking fights with bigger cats, so she named him after a Shakespearian troublemaker.’
As if determined to make Susan a liar, Tybalt rolled onto his back and showed the white fur of his tummy. ‘Yep, you seem like an absolute demon,’ said Adam, grinning as he leaned down to ruffle the soft fur.
‘He got old, fat, and lazy,’ said Riley. ‘The good life’s made him soft.’
‘Hard relate,’ said Adam.
Erin laughed along with the others, despite thinking that none of those adjectives seemed to describe the man currently petting the cat.
‘He still has his moments,’ she said. ‘Victoria’s more than happy to be shot of him most of the time.
I wouldn’t be surprised if she secretly got the cat flap taken out of her door because he’s still a bit of a pickle.
His main hobby is tormenting any dog sitting quietly by a table in here.
One day he’ll get his comeuppance, won’t you, Mr?
’ Tybalt ignored her. ‘Now what did I miss when I was in the kitchen?’
‘Adam’s a journalist, but not the scuzzy type,’ said Riley. ‘He wouldn’t go chasing Princess Diana through a tunnel or taking pictures of her mangled body in the car wreck.’ She turned accusing eyes on him. ‘Would you?’
He straightened up, his aptly named Adam’s apple moving as he swallowed nervously. ‘Erm, no, no, I would not do that.’ Tybalt got to his feet and jumped back onto Joe’s lap.
‘You weren’t even born when that happened, were you?’ Erin said to Riley, confused and a little disturbed by her oddly graphic cultural reference.
‘No, but my nan never stopped going on about it,’ said Riley, seriously. ‘She stopped buying the papers altogether after that. Gave journalists a bad name, that bunch of tossers.’
Adam shifted on the chair. ‘I think it was more to do with the paparazzi …’ He paused when Riley scowled at him.
‘But I am absolutely not one of those kind of journalists. I’m an international reporter turned travel writer, actually.
’ He held out a conciliatory hand. ‘Not the salacious, click-baity ones.’
So he said. Erin wasn’t convinced. No one could deny that Princess Diana’s death was a story, so what would stop him chasing it? ‘Sounds adventurous,’ said Erin. The last adventure she’d been on was that trip to Australia.
‘Oh, how I envy you,’ said Mercy, her voice full of yearning. She clasped her hands to her chest. ‘I always dreamed of travelling the world, but I’ve never been away from these shores.’
‘What stopped you?’ Adam asked the question so easily, as if he didn’t understand that not everyone could just jump on a plane to far flung countries on a whim.
Mercy let her hands drop. ‘Life. Work. Time’s winged chariot.’
The sadness in her voice made Erin view her old friend through fresh eyes. ‘I didn’t know you wanted to travel.’
Mercy gave a sad smile. ‘It’s always been at the back of my mind, but my parents left their home in Kenya to make a new life here, and it was hard for them, you know?
’ She peered around the group, and they nodded sympathetically.
‘They made the commitment, and stood by their decision, but my mother never really felt at home here. I saw her keen for the country of her birth, for the friends and family she left behind. That made me nervous about leaving here, since it was my home country, where everything was familiar, I suppose.’ She pursed her lips.
‘That could be my excuse, though. I let the years slip through my fingers and now I’m an old lady.
’ She sighed. ‘I think travel’s a young person’s game. ’
Erin understood completely. Safety first. Why take the risk?
‘It’s not too late,’ said Adam.
Erin eyed him suspiciously. It was all right for him to come in and make sweeping platitudes, but he had no idea about any of their circumstances. ‘You make it sound simple,’ she said.
‘It is. You buy a ticket, then you go.’ Adam held out his palms. ‘Simple as that.’
Mercy chuckled. ‘You almost convince me.’
‘I suppose if travel is essential for your work, then it is fairly simple. But what about family commitments, that sort of thing?’ said Susan.
‘Yeah, I suppose I’m lucky in that respect. I’m free as a bird,’ said Adam. ‘Nothing tying me to one place more than any other.’
‘You’re not local then? You won’t be sticking around?’ Erin fought a tinge of disappointment. Why had he interrupted the flow of book group if he wasn’t going to be around long enough to read the next book?
‘Not local, no. I’m originally from Brighton, and I’ve lived all over, but since I’ve decided to slow down a bit, work-wise, I’ve rented a place not far from here. It’s been ideal so far, close to central London, but with all the open space on the heath and the park.’
‘Welcome to the area,’ said Joe. ‘And welcome to The Last Page Book Group.’
‘We’re not your usual book group,’ said Erin. Her voice sounded defensive, and she saw a question when she caught Joe’s eye. She looked away. ‘So, don’t worry if it’s not your bag.’
‘Different how?’ Adam’s forehead creased.
Erin steadied her gaze, and resisted the urge to jut out her chin. ‘We read a book a week, and we choose our next book by reading the last page first.’