Chapter 1
Twenty years later
Eve turned out of the southwest exit of the University Parks towards Broad Street, the smell of hot chocolate from the crêperie on the corner lingering in her nostrils, making her stomach growl.
She hadn’t eaten since breakfast – she’d been too nervous – and now she was starving.
She’d messed this up already, she reflected.
By the time she reached Caffè Nero in Blackwell’s – the designated meeting place – she would be too light-headed to concentrate on the man sitting across the table from her, and too self-conscious to eat.
Besides, at her own suggestion, this was meant to be a quick after-work cup of coffee.
If she told him she was thinking of ordering a sandwich, he might interpret this as an invitation to dinner, which would be fine if she liked him, but what if she didn’t?
As she passed the Pitt Rivers Museum and waited at the crossing, she came to a decision.
She turned, walked quickly back towards the entrance to the Parks and joined the short queue at the crêpe van.
She was terrible when her blood sugar was low.
It gave her the worst kind of brain fog; she couldn’t think, or talk, and if the café was busy, she wouldn’t be able to filter out any background chatter or music.
It would be better to arrive late and to feel well and coherent – and ready.
She ordered a chocolate crêpe and sat down at one of the outside tables.
It was February but warm enough, and a nice setting, too, she thought, as she looked at a spread of snowdrops blanketing the grass beyond the path.
Maybe she should have suggested meeting here instead?
She’d have an easier escape, that’s for sure.
She imagined her date – Chris; his name was Chris – sitting opposite her, a snatch of bewilderment on his face as she jumped up without warning and broke into a run towards the safety of the trees that backed on to Norham Gardens. The thought made her laugh.
Seriously, though, she felt ridiculous. What was she even thinking about, joining a dating app at her age?
This was her sister’s doing – Sascha, who had met Graham, her husband, online twenty-two years ago and was quite evangelistic about it.
‘You’re not going to meet anyone in a bookshop, Evie,’ she’d said.
‘If you leave it to chance, you’ll be waiting forever. You have to take charge of your life.’
Eve had been dismissive. What about Rich, she’d argued, her soon-to-be ex-husband?
He’d met someone by chance, hadn’t he? But by the time her divorce came through at Christmas, she had started to concede that her sister might be right.
After all, what did she know about modern-world dating?
She’d met Rich in the mid-1990s. The internet had barely existed and mobile phones were only just coming in.
They’d married young and had grown together for a few years before slowly, over the next two decades, growing apart.
When Rich had initiated their separation two years ago, after twenty-five years of marriage, Eve had agreed it was for the best. But it had felt momentous, all the same.
Mackenzie, their only daughter, was all grown up and living with her boyfriend.
Rich had quickly moved on, and here he was getting married again.
He and his fiancée had already started a new family.
Eve didn’t resent either of them their happiness, but she couldn’t help feeling left behind.
Now, she folded a napkin and dabbed at her lips, hoping that her make-up hadn’t smudged.
The crêpe had done the trick, though; she felt loads better.
She brushed the crumbs away, pulled out her phone and fired off a quick message.
Sorry, running a little late. On my way.
She got up and walked briskly towards Blackwell’s.
She’d be fifteen minutes late, at most. Her date had described himself as easy-going, and if this was true, he wouldn’t mind.
As she walked, Eve couldn’t deny that along with the apprehension, she felt a quiver of excitement – euphoria even – at what could be waiting for her just around the corner.
Sure, she’d need to keep her wits about her, but they’d spent the past three weeks chatting, her and this Chris, so he wasn’t a complete stranger.
He was nice enough looking, seemed smart and had a good job, and they did really seem to get on.
And they would be meeting in a bookshop, wouldn’t they, even if it wasn’t an entirely organic meeting.
As she turned the corner into Broad Street and saw Blackwell’s up ahead, Eve was even able to begin imagining the story she might tell about this in the future. We met in a bookshop.
She took a deep breath as she pushed open the door.