Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
WREN
‘Well, if it was a steak, I’d send it back,’ said Libby, staring up at the charred remains of the first floor of the bookshop from the street below. She was holding a sleeping Margaret on her shoulder, the baby blissfully unaware that her childhood home had gone up in smoke before she’d even entered the building.
‘Yes, I prefer my home a little less well done too,’ agreed Wren, daring a look at Libby, who seemed to be taking things a little too well, considering. ‘Seriously though – I’m so sorry.’
Libby nudged her with her hip. ‘Stop saying sorry. You can’t be held responsible for faulty wiring. And I can’t say I wasn’t warned. Your new boyfriend read me the riot act when he did the windows.’
Wren smiled and found herself shuffling her feet shyly. In amongst breaking the bad news about the bookshop, she’d managed to explain to Libby the almost unexplainable presence of Nick in her life. ‘He’s not my boyfriend. He’s just… a nice man that I can’t seem to shake off.’
Libby smirked. ‘I don’t see you doing a lot of shaking. Didn’t I see him helping you carry boxes up to the new flat?’
She had seen Nick do just that. But in the chaos of the fire, the loss of his nanna and her newly ended relationship, their meetings had been practical and comforting, except for a few stolen kisses. He seemed nervous to push her, and she felt the same. They were treating one another like an expensive ornament being packed into storage – delicately, respectfully, but knowing that it couldn’t be left behind or given away. Despite this, they couldn’t stay away from each other, and she feared for the universe’s response if they did. Its determination to drive them together might lead to an earthquake or a meteor shower if they weren’t careful.
She turned her attention back to Libby. ‘What did they say about the books?’
‘Surprisingly, other than a section that was smoke-damaged, they were largely unscathed. I can’t quite believe it. Cravenwick Pages might live to see another day.’
‘It will. I’ll help you with everything, Lib. Down to the last insurance paper, the last lick of paint. I’ll be there.’
‘I know you will,’ she said, stroking Margaret’s back. ‘But what about you? Any news on a new job? Because I’ve got a vacancy when we re-open. Jenson quit, even though I offered to pay him while we’re closed. Apparently I have a “chaotic aura”.’
‘You do. I love that about you. Jenson is an idiot.’
Libby shrugged. ‘Anyway, the offer is there. Just to tide you over until someone inevitably snaps you up.’
‘Thanks, Lib. Although you might be sick of the sight of me after living in my flat until then. You’re free to change your mind at any time.’
In the few days since Wren had moved in, she’d filled the flat with all the possessions she’d taken from her old house. It was smaller, so it was crowded and stacked with piles of books, reams of clothes and mismatched furniture. It was a happy mess, instantly cosy and felt like an extension of her own personality. Alex would have hated it.
‘Don’t be daft. I’ll owe you one after putting up with me and a newborn baby.’
Wren shook her head, despite the previous night with the two of them alternating pacing the floor with a screaming Margaret. Wren was finding her new role as Margaret’s de facto stepmother quite challenging, which reminded her of seeing Max in the hospital car park, looking every bit the person to take the mantle.
‘Anyway, speaking of new boyfriends…’ she said, a slow smirk edging across her lips.
Now it was Libby’s turn to look awkward. ‘I don’t know who you could be referring to.’
‘Hmm. Okay. Well, I may have seen a certain debut author outside the hospital, trying to look his very best self for a certain bookseller. With gifts in hand.’
Libby lifted her nose, blustering, ‘He’s been very kind.’
‘Kind of into you, you mean?’
Libby’s face broke into a reluctant smile. ‘Maybe. But we’ll see. For now it’s just me and Margaret against the world, or at least against a wrecked flat and a singed bookshop. After that – maybe.’
‘Correction. It’s you, Margaret and me versus the crispy bookshop.’
Libby’s face crumpled, a mixture of exhaustion, overwhelm and gratitude, and she enveloped Wren in a one-armed hug, Margaret gently sandwiched between them.
‘Thanks, Wren,’ she said. ‘Although life’s kind of busy for you too.’
Wren squeezed her. ‘I’ll never be too busy for you.’
‘Maybe you will, and you have my blessing. Look behind you.’
Wren broke away from the hug and turned around. Nick was getting out of his van with a large bag for life and a tray of takeaway coffees.
‘I thought I might find you here,’ he said, holding out the coffees to Wren and the bag to Libby.
‘What’s this?’ asked Libby.
‘Just a few bits for the baby. I know everything must have been lost in the fire.’
Libby welled up again. ‘Nick, you shouldn’t have.’
He waved a hand. ‘Don’t get too excited. There’s a package in there from the Kitchen that they do for mothers and babies – wipes and nappy bags and what have you – and Travis put a few things in from his kids’ collection.’
Libby reached into the bag and lifted out a Babygro with the Chanel logo on it, a pair of tiny snakeskin-print trainers and a marabou feather headband.
‘Just the essentials,’ he said with a wry grin.
Libby gave a low squeal of gratitude and hugged him. ‘Thank you. And I promise, I will listen the next time you give me home maintenance advice.’
‘Make sure you do,’ he said good-naturedly then nodded at the smoke-stained shopfront. ‘And you know who to call when you need that window replacing. Again.’
‘And I’ll make sure I’m wearing a crash helmet,’ said Wren.
‘Ha ha,’ he said, deadpan. ‘Anyway, I was hoping I could borrow you for a bit?’
Wren looked at Libby, who was biting her lip with her eyebrows raised, mischievously gleeful. ‘Go on. I’m going up to your place anyway to do a mini fashion show with Marge.’ She glanced into the bag. ‘I, for one, can’t wait to see her in the mermaid-shimmer leggings.’
‘I’m not sure I want to miss that,’ said Wren.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll take plenty of photos,’ said Libby over her shoulder as she walked away. ‘I’ll see you when you’re back, whenever that might be…’
Wren turned back to Nick, who was now holding open the van door like a chauffeur.
‘Come on – I’ve got something I want to show you.’
Wren crossed her arms, pretending to think. ‘If it’s a kayak, I’d rather not, thank you very much.’
‘It’s not a kayak, and I promise I’ll take very good care of you.’
‘In that case, I’ll get in. But I’m doing my seat belt up tightly.’
Edie’s house looked different in many ways but still so familiar. The neat, well-maintained front garden was unchanged, and Wren now realised that it must have been Nick who was keeping on top of it for her. Inside, the furniture was the same, but the place had been streamlined, cleared of the clutter and trinkets, and there was a scattering of male accoutrements here and there. Jackets hung on the coat pegs, trainers by the door, a Wickes catalogue on the coffee table. She stood in the hallway, one hand on the living-room door, taking it in.
‘You’re living here now?’ she asked.
‘Just for a while,’ he said.
Wren looked again at the slightly spartan front room. Then she remembered something she still had in her bag.
‘Well, this calls for a house-warming present,’ she said, producing the snow globe and giving it to Nick. ‘It was meant for Edie. But I think you should have it.’
He shook it, and a smile spread over his face. ‘This brings back memories.’
‘Doesn’t it just?’ she said with a grin.
He placed it on the windowsill underneath the front window, and they both looked at it for a moment as the snowflakes settled around the lighthouse and caves.
‘You know, I’ve been thinking,’ she said. ‘About the lighthouse and the sirens in the grottoes.’ Nick turned with interest. ‘One of them lures people into danger, and the other warns people away and saves their lives. It reminds me of us. Every time we’ve got close it’s like the sirens have called us into some dangerous situation. But then you coming into my life feels like I’m out of harm’s way.’
‘Like I’m the lighthouse?’
Wren gave a quiet laugh. ‘It’s silly, I know.’
Nick said softly, ‘I think it’s very apt. And just so you know, I feel like you’re my lighthouse too.’
They looked at each other for a moment then broke away, smiling to themselves.
‘Anyway,’ said Nick, ‘I’ll show you why I’m living here, and why I need a bit more space than I had at Travis’s.’ He pointed through the corridor towards the spare-room door.
Wren walked over and looked inside. Gone were the double bed and the bookcases loaded with books, and in their place was the bedroom of a little girl’s dreams. There was a cabin bed with ladders up to the sleeping area, and underneath was a small desk surrounded by fairy lights. Gauzy curtains hung at the windows, and a plush baby-blue rug covered a large part of the floor, which had been stripped to reveal honey-coloured floorboards, freshly sanded and polished. A box of toys stood in the corner, waiting to be played with.
‘For your daughter?’
Nick nodded, a contented smile on his face. ‘She’s going to be staying every Friday night from now on.’
‘She’s going to love it,’ said Wren. ‘Is this what you wanted to show me?’
Nick shook his head. ‘No. But I couldn’t resist giving you a look. I’ve barely been able to tear myself away from looking at it myself.’ He paused, giving the room a last once-over, then closed the door. ‘What I want to show you is in here.’ He nodded towards the kitchen, and she followed him.
On the kitchen table there was a book, and on top of the book was a photograph. Even from the doorway Wren could recognise the face of her mother alongside a younger version of Edie. She rushed forward and picked it up, tears pricking at her eyes.
‘When I came to the bookshop to find you, the night of the fire, I was coming to show you this.’ Nick’s voice was gentle, and he stood back, letting her absorb what she was seeing.
Wren couldn’t reply. Her finger traced the outline of her mother’s face. Caron’s face was thin and weary, but there was colour there, and she was smiling. A snapshot of contentment, a feeling Wren was sure couldn’t have been a constant for her mother, but it was evidence that light had occasionally glimmered through the cracks in her life. Sunshine that Edie and the Community Kitchen had shone on her for a short while.
‘She wrote to me. Your nanna,’ Wren whispered. ‘She was going to tell me about my mam, but then she—’ Her throat felt thick and ached so much she had to stop. Her eyes swam at the image of the two women, both gone now.
‘That explains why I found this picture on her mantelpiece. She must have had it ready to show you. When I saw the necklace in the photo…’
Wren touched her bare neck instinctively. It was both gone and returned to her.
‘I just… I didn’t think it was the right time, after the fire. But when I came back here and sorted through some more of Edie’s stuff, I found that photo album too.’
On the table was a burgundy book, its edges embossed with faded gold. She flipped it open to find a piece of paper, yellowed with age and a heavy crease mark through the middle from what looked like years of being folded away. It lay on top of pages of photographs slotted into plastic sleeves, two per page, front and back.
‘I found it in one of the photo pockets. I think it must have been slipped in with the photo of your mam.’
She felt Nick’s hand on her shoulder.
‘I’m just popping out front to water the plants.’
His hand disappeared, and Wren glanced up at the kitchen window, still beaded with the morning’s rainfall. She opened the letter.
Dear Edie,
Thank you for the loan of the jacket – I’m going home tomorrow so I won’t need it now. I thought about what you said when we talked, and I’m going to give it another shot. I’m going to try really hard this time. Like you said, she deserves it, even if I still think she deserves better. Maybe I can be better.
You know what, I listened to everything you said, and you were right. But what really made me think was seeing your Tracey with her little lad. Watching her playing with him, singing with him, it brought it home to me what I’m missing. And she’s doing it on her own as well. If I can sort things out with Alan, then Serenity could have the both of us.
Do you know why I called her Serenity? It means peaceful, and that’s what she is to me. When I was carrying her, I felt a calm like nothing else, like she was keeping me anchored. Then once she was born I felt untethered again, and now here we are. But maybe, if I can just beat this once more, I can be an anchor for her . We’ll see.
Anyway, thank you, Edie. Not just for the jacket. For everything. And when I’m sorted, I’ll bring Serenity in to see you.
Love, Caron
Wren sat holding the letter for some time.
Nick was sitting on the garden wall when she went outside, the late-afternoon sun making his sandy hair look tipped with gold. He was facing the street, away from her, and his T-shirt stretched across his broad back. She walked to him and pressed herself to it, wrapping her arms around his front and resting her cheek on his shoulder. He flickered momentarily with surprise, but then she felt his muscles ease into her, fitting like a hand into a glove.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured.
He said nothing, just squeezed her forearm. The emotion she felt from holding her mother’s handwritten letter in her hand detoured into a strange realisation that made her laugh out loud.
‘I thought it was weird bumping into you in Italy, but it turns out we go back way longer than I realised.’
‘I know,’ he said, giving a tiny shake of his head. ‘It’s… mad.’
‘And you were the reason my mam was coming back to me.’
‘ You were the reason your mam was coming back to you,’ he said, pulling her arms tighter around him. Then he spoke so quietly, it was almost a whisper. ‘I’m so sorry she didn’t make it.’
Wren’s throat tightened. It had been so close. The letter was dated the day before Caron died. Who knows what had happened between writing it and her death. A last hurrah with her habit? It had to be. Now that she’d read her words, she knew her mother wouldn’t have simply changed her mind.
Caron Rowbottom had been through some terrible times that had pulled her out of the orbit of her own family, out of the life she was meant to have. But she’d been drawn back in by love, even if she never quite managed to make it home. Life was chaos, and love was the seam of peace that ran through it. You just had to keep trying to come back.
Maybe all the things that had happened recently had been for a reason, to put Wren on the path she was meant to be on. Alex was meant to cheat, so she could see him for who he really was. The paper was meant to close, so she could find something new and exciting to do, even if that hadn’t materialised yet. And even Nick, right here in front of her, had appeared in her life in a cloud of shattered glass. Peace masquerading as mayhem. She certainly felt her heart rate slowing and a warmth in her chest while she was near him.
He loosened himself from her grip and turned around on the wall to face her, opening his legs so she could stand between them. She did – and wrapped her arms around his neck. In this position, she was slightly taller than him, and she lowered her forehead to rest against his.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked.
She smiled. ‘I’m better than okay. You’ve given me the missing piece of my puzzle. Well, you and your nanna between you.’
‘It was all her – I just stumbled across it. And thanks to her and that photo, I was able to find you again. And in a way, that’s thanks to your mam too.’
‘I bet she never imagined that little boy in the Kitchen would grow up to be the man that almost flattened me with a windowpane,’ said Wren.
Nick chuckled. ‘Or that you and that man would go on a hair-raising, white-knuckle trip around the Amalfi Coast. Hang on. Speaking of being flattened, I never did get round to telling you off about the bookcase.’
Wren squinted at him. ‘What bookcase?’
He shook his head, grinning. ‘Never mind. Just something that came back to me.’
He stood up, keeping his arms around her, and she watched his expression turn more serious. ‘Wren, I know things are messy at the moment. For both of us. But all I want to do right now is kiss you.’
She didn’t reply and just pressed her lips to his, kissing him deeply and for so long she began to feel dizzy. When she let go, he held her face in his hands, looking searchingly into her eyes.
‘Are you sure this isn’t a bad time?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know. Maybe a better time than being mugged?’ she murmured.
‘Or being trapped in a cave?’ His face drew closer.
‘Or being burned alive?’
Their lips met again, and his hands delved into her hair.
‘We seem to be quite good at getting into scrapes,’ he breathed.
‘Or getting each other out of them,’ she said, sliding her hands up the back of his neck to hold his head close.
A cloud moved overhead, letting a brighter beam of evening sun shine down onto the garden. Just inside the living-room window, the snow globe caught the rays, and light glowed from the tiny grotto caves.
‘So are we good for each other or bad?’ he whispered against her lips.
‘I don’t know,’ she said, pausing to kiss him again. ‘But I’m prepared to take the risk.’