Chapter 40
JOSIE
I’m not what you’d call an expert packer.
With Cora and me, even though it was only ever the two of us, we always ended up lugging way too much baggage on our trips.
Toys, books and once, at the peak of our obsession, I’d brought Buckaroo all the way to a campsite in the Chilterns.
However, this time my neat little black leather backpack (bought especially for this trip) screams ‘sensible minimalist packer!’ next to Rupert’s enormous hard-shell suitcase.
‘Christ,’ I mutter as we struggle to lift it onto the train’s luggage rack. ‘What’s in here? A dead horse?’
‘Yes, we are. But it’s June, Rupert. You’ve packed as if we were going to Barentsburg for a winter break.’
‘Barentsburg?’ he repeats.
‘A remote little town in Norway.’
‘I didn’t know your geography was so good!
’ As the train rattles northwards, it transpires that he has also packed a full set of thermal undergarments and a new power pack for his phone.
He has the air of someone who truly believes that he might never make it back to London alive.
Still, it was generous of him to book us into first class, an entirely new experience for me.
Every time someone comes along with a trolley, dispensing sandwiches and hot drinks, I accept them gratefully.
‘You don’t need to do that.’ Rupert chuckles.
‘Do what?’ I ask.
‘Have something every time they go past.’
I laugh because, obviously, he doesn’t get it. ‘It’s that free bar thing. You know how everyone goes mental because they think it’s going to run out?’
He frowns. ‘Why would they think that?’
I shake my head, deciding not to go into it.
Because Rupert wouldn’t understand that, when faced with such abundance – for no money!
– people can go a little crazy if they’re not used to it.
Like the child raised on the joyless breadstick/rice cake/carrot baton category of snack, suddenly unleashed on the neon-iced cupcakes at a party.
Already, Zack has decreed that Poppy will ingest no sugar – ever.
Not a single gram of it, like it’s heroin.
The journey passes pleasantly, and I’m relieved that Rupert hasn’t brought up the Dairylea incident again.
Fine, I think. Being back at the bookshop has been surprisingly enjoyable and he has been more respectful and thoughtful since our ‘break.’ That, I think, is how we’re viewing it.
We were on a break, we needed to figure stuff out and here we are, back together again.
We arrive at Whitby and check into our hotel.
Not a twin room, obviously, but separate rooms. Compared to the Love Heart Boudoir, the decor is restrained: soft grey walls, cream curtains and a vast bed, not merely king- or queen-size but…
what? Emperor-size? There is also a vase of fresh white lilies, a bowl of fruit, a box of speciality teas, various biscuit options, several crisp and salted nut varieties and – thrillingly – a well-stocked mini-bar.
From the vast sash window I take pictures of the view: the choppy sea, the tumbling clouds, the higgledy-piggledy streets and dramatic silhouette of the abbey.
There’s so much history here – and I know who loves history.
I want to turn and grab Shane’s hand and squeeze it tight.
I want to say, ‘Isn’t this amazing?’ I want to share it all with him, or at least tell him that I’m back in Yorkshire, so soon after our trip.
But what would I say? Instead, I unpack and iron my smart trousers and top for tomorrow, and my dress for tonight.
Rupert and I are meeting later for dinner in the hotel restaurant.
His treat, he’s assured me – ‘but don’t be going for the lobster thermidor!
’ I mean, as if. He plans to go through his speech with me in preparation for the all-day independent booksellers’ conference tomorrow.
He’ll be one of several speakers and his talk will only last for forty minutes; I’m surprised by how nervous he seems. I am too – just a little – on his behalf.
So, while he naps in his room, I pour myself a G&T from the mini-bar.
And then, seated by the window with the glorious sea view, I dash off the message I’ve been desperate to write since we stepped off the train at Whitby station.
Josie
Hi, just wanted to let you know I’m up north again.
Whitby this time – a work thing (I’m back at the shop!).
Hope you’re good. I want to say I’m deeply sorry for how things ended and also thank you.
Our trip was bonkers but also brilliant.
I’ll never forget it – especially our last night. Love, Josie xxx
With no hesitation, and no fiddling about with the wording, I send it.
I wait for a reply, but there is nothing.
To stop myself from constantly checking, I hide my phone in a drawer and run a deep, deliciously scented bath, and luxuriate in the bubbles for almost an hour.
Later, still with no message from Shane, I trot down the wide, curved staircase towards the opulent dining room.
It’s fine, I tell myself. At least I have my job back – and not even my job as it was. It’s better now, and I’m a lucky woman to be staying here in this gorgeous hotel. As for Shane – I’ve tried and now it’s time to forget him. There’s nothing else I can do.