Chapter 42
I’m so unused to praise that I don’t quite know what to do with it. ‘You were great,’ enthuses a small man, his sandy hair combed immaculately over the bald zone. ‘That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? Passion?’
‘’Cause none of us are in it for the money,’ a younger woman jokes.
Rupert pats my arm affectionately. ‘You, Josie, saved my bacon today.’
I chuckle, about to say ‘Oh, it was nothing’ – but actually, it was a lot. As my heart rate gradually returns to something like normal, Rupert catches the attention of an elderly chap in a lilac shirt sitting across our circular table. ‘Jonathan – it is Jonathan, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right,’ the man says.
Rupert glances at me with something like trepidation. ‘Erm, Jonathan’s experienced something similar to our processed cheese situation himself. With an order, I mean. Jonathan specialises in first-edition railway books…’
The man nods, fixing his gaze on me over the sea of coffee cups and water glasses and name cards. ‘There have been a few of us,’ he starts, ‘and we’ve done a bit of detective work.’
I look at him, not getting it at all. ‘Detective work about what?’
Jonathan smiles grimly. ‘Well, it happened to me. Guy ordered a book online – a very special book. I know it’s arrived, and I assume it’s all fine, but then I get a complaint…’
‘What kind of complaint?’ I ask.
‘Bit of salami stuck in it. Horrible and greasy, ruined the pages.’
‘Just like ours!’ I exclaim, turning to Rupert.
‘So I refund him and ask him to return it,’ Jonathan continues, ‘and the email bounces back. He’s gone. No way of contacting him. And then—’ he taps his nose ‘—I dig around a bit, go on forums, and it seems this person has been doing this to a lot of booksellers…’
‘And it’s always the same,’ the woman announces. ‘A bit of food apparently stuck in the middle. A slice of ham, that’s what our customer said – cheap, thinly sliced ham that had soaked right into the book…’
‘Mine was a numbered limited edition,’ Jonathan announces. ‘It was fine when we sent it. Excellent condition. He’d faked it.’
‘He – or she, we don’t know – uses different aliases and orders from different booksellers,’ the woman adds. ‘But it’s always cheese or meat—’
‘Turning the book into a kind of sandwich?’ suggests the red-headed man to my right.
‘Exactly,’ Jonathan says.
I look around the table, taking this in. The woman introduces herself as Magda and smiles warmly. ‘I loved your speech,’ she tells me.
‘Thank you.’ I sense my cheeks flushing. ‘But… how does the person make money this way?’
‘Because most of us are old school,’ Jonathan explains. ‘We give a refund before the book has been returned to us.’
‘We operate on trust,’ Magda says. ‘With mine, I was so mortified that it had happened that I didn’t even ask for the book to be returned. I refunded them and said they could keep it.’
I look at Rupert, wondering if he’s planning to apologise for wrongly accusing me of book vandalism. Instead, he merely shrugs and says, ‘So there we are. I didn’t actually refund the customer, so no harm done!’
No harm done? I want to say. What about you blaming me? But instead, I chat with the booksellers and then settle into listening to the rest of the talks. When the day is over, I head up to my room for a little much-needed respite before dinner.
There I notice a missed call – from Pam, Ravi’s mum. Strange, I think. But then it hits me that there’s only one reason why she’d ring me. My chest tightens as I call back. ‘I’m so sorry I missed you,’ I say. ‘I’ve been at a conference all day.’
‘Oh, where are you?’ she asks.
‘Whitby.’
‘Lovely! That was always one of my favourites when the kids were young. They loved all the scary stuff – the spooky abbey and all that. So, did you do the tour?’
‘The Dracula tour?’ Could this possibly be what she means?
‘No, the band tour. The reunion tour…’ She laughs her tinkly laugh.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘My head’s been in a whirl today. Yes, we did. I should have told you…’
‘Don’t worry. I’m just glad you did it.’ Not all of it, but I decide not to mention that. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance of seeing you, is there?’ Pam asks. ‘Before you head back south?’
‘Oh, I’d love to but…’ Mentally, I run through the obstacles. The distance involved, and how I’d get there. Yes, I’m in Yorkshire but my home town is hardly down the road.
‘When are you going back to London?’
‘Friday morning.’ I’d persuaded Rupert to stay for the duration of the two-day conference, and to factor in a little sightseeing too. Just to show him that ‘The North’ isn’t that scary after all.
* * *
‘We can do that another time,’ Rupert insists over breakfast next morning.
And so I set off to my home town, having been offered a lift from Magda who, it transpires, runs a children’s bookshop in Selby.
From there I can hop on a bus. But when it comes to it, she insists on driving me all the way to the Kapoors’.
Magda parks a little way down the lane, and I get out and close the door. ‘Thank you so much,’ I say.
‘Honestly, you’re welcome. No trouble at all.’ She smiles, and I wave as she pulls away.
My heart is hammering now as I approach the Kapoors’ house.
As if sensing that I’m near, Pam comes out to greet me.
This time she’s dressed casually in a lightweight mossy green sweater and trousers, and her long silvery hair is tied back in a ponytail.
‘So good to see you,’ she says, hugging me tightly.
She takes my hand and leads me into the pale pink cottage.
In the kitchen, the kettle is clicked on immediately and a home-made cake is produced, and in among all of this she enthuses over the Polaroids as I set them out on the table. ‘So lucky you had them with you!’ she says.
‘It is.’ I’ve been carrying them everywhere with me, in the little zipped section of my bag, but I don’t tell her that.
‘Did you go to all the places?’ she asks.
I hesitate, wondering how to put it. ‘Not quite. We didn’t make it to Huddersfield, but—’
‘Oh, I’m sure that doesn’t matter,’ she says with a smile.
But it does, I reflect. It really does.
‘Maybe you’ll get there another time,’ she adds.
‘Yes, maybe. I hope so.’ As she hands me a mug of tea, I look around the room.
I had my first taste of fresh herbs in this very kitchen.
They seemed to explode with flavour in my mouth.
At home, our prehistoric herbs had gone grey in their jars and were reached for, tentatively, by Mum around once a year – as if she feared that a shake of the dusty old oregano might alter our minds irreparably.
I gaze at the framed photos of Pam, Kamal, Ravi and Dev on various trips and days out.
A montage of faded prints in a clip frame depicts a family holiday in Spain.
As a teenager, the Kapoors were the only family I knew who’d been abroad.
It all seemed so magical. I couldn’t imagine ever visiting another country.
As we’re finishing our tea, Kamal appears and hugs me.
‘We’ve been waiting for you!’ he announces with a twinkle.
I smile, not understanding, but follow obediently as he beckons me out to the front of the house, and across the neatly tended garden, past a blur of forget-me-nots. ‘What is it, Kamal?’ I ask.
‘C’mon.’ He grins and leads me round to the front of the garage. Pam is at my side, acting a little oddly. She’s almost giddy, I realise – bubbling up like a child on her way to a party.
I glance at her quizzically, and then turn back to the garage.
The door is open and I gaze in. This is it – the place where it all began.
Shane’s first drum kit is still here, and the faded burgundy velour armchairs we used to lounge around on.
Posters of our musical heroes are still tacked to the walls.
One of our tour T-shirts too. It’s like a museum of us.
But I am not taking in any of that, not really.
I stand wordlessly, watching as the tall figure lifts a box from a shelf. ‘Shane?’ Pam prompts him.
He turns and sees me and the smile breaks across his face. ‘Josie,’ he says.
Tears spring to my eyes. ‘You’re here!’
He places the box on the floor and strides towards me.
‘Yeah,’ he says, a little shyly. ‘Just looking through some of our stuff. Old tapes, a few records – and I found these.’ He hands me a sheaf of crumpled papers covered in scribblings.
I squint to read the barely legible handwriting.
It seems to be a mixture of Ravi’s, Shane’s and mine, and I manage to pick out snatches of song lyrics.
‘I still don’t understand,’ I say, handing them back to him.
‘I’ll explain,’ he murmurs. And somehow, as we step outside, Pam and Kamal fade away and it’s just the two of us, making our way round to the back of the house, and down to the bench at the bottom of the garden.
The very spot where we discussed the joys of service stations and modern bus travel just a few weeks ago. ‘I came up to see Mum,’ he tells me.
‘Really?’ I ask in surprise.
He nods. ‘She’s been in hospital. Pete got in touch to let me know.’
‘Oh, no! Is she okay?’
We sit side by side, so close I can feel the warmth of him. ‘She wasn’t, but she’s made an amazing recovery. Tough old girl.’ He smiles. ‘And she’s binned Pete.’
‘My God,’ I exclaim. ‘What made her do that?’
He shrugs. ‘He wasn’t there for her when it mattered. Wouldn’t call an ambulance or drive her to hospital. Reckoned she was putting it on…’
‘Putting on what?’ I stare at him.
‘Well, a heart attack, basically…’
I shake my head in wonderment, letting this sink in. ‘So… how come you’re here?’
He shifts position and his hand folds around mine. ‘Mum really seems fine, but—’ He breaks off. ‘I needed a bit of a breather. I think she did too. So I called Pam to check if it would be okay to visit…’
I study his face. ‘Pam knew I was coming,’ I murmur.
He nods, grinning. ‘Yes, she did.’
Did Shane know, I wonder? It doesn’t matter now. ‘It’s so good to see you,’ I say. ‘And I’m sorry about what happened—’
‘Hey, I’m sorry too.’ He pauses, as if figuring out the best way to put it. ‘It wasn’t your fault. It was mine—’
‘That’s not true,’ I insist.
He inhales slowly and smiles. ‘Maybe it was both of us, and we just didn’t know how to handle things, after all this time?’
‘Yeah.’ I nod. ‘I think it was something like that…’
‘So, d’you think we could finish the tour sometime?’
‘What, and go to Huddersfield?’ My heart soars.
‘Sounds romantic, doesn’t it?’ He laughs.
I smile and don’t even answer, because he knows what I want to say.
It does. It actually does. And then I look at him – really look at him, at the man I’ve always loved – and I kiss his beautiful mouth. His arms are around me and we are kissing, kissing, kissing, in the place where it all began.
When we stop, the sun slices through the clouds, turning the Kapoors’ garden into a blaze of colour. ‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ I whisper, my head spinning.
His hands squeeze mine. ‘Josie, I love you so much.’
‘I love you too.’
He smiles and flushes slightly. ‘I should tell you something else.’
‘What?’
‘Just that I always have, really.’ He laughs. ‘No, not really. Just that I always have.’
I smile and kiss him again, and when we stop he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a sealed white envelope. ‘What’s this?’ I ask.
‘No idea,’ he says, handing it to me. ‘Pam gave it to me.’
I study it, almost afraid to open it. To Josie and Shane, Part 2, reads Ravi’s loopy handwriting on the front. ‘What does she want us to do now?’
‘A global tour?’ he suggests with a grin.
‘Oh, I’d be up for that!’ As I open the envelope, I realise that, of course, Ravi wanted to bring me and Shane back together.
I think I’d figured that out by the time we reached Grimsby.
But it wasn’t just that. She also wanted to push us, as she always had.
She was the brave one – the one who made things happen around here.
Our lives were – and are – anything but ordinary, and it’s all thanks to her.
‘It might sound crazy,’ Shane says as I pull out her letter, ‘but I feel that she’s still here, all around us.’
‘Me too,’ I murmur as my gaze lands on the handwritten page. His arm winds around my shoulders, and I lean into him as we read it together.
Dear Josie and Shane,
Now you really must be wondering what all that was about. The tour, I mean. Making you go through all that again! You poor things. So why did I ask you to do it? To say sorry. To make it up to you. And to hopefully put things right.
I knew all along that the two of you were mad about each other. Not because I’m clever or particularly insightful, but because everyone knew. It was obvious. And I was hell-bent on not letting it happen because guess what? I loved him too. (Are you blushing now, Shane?)
I was madly in love with you, Shane Calvert.
And I hated the fact. Hated that this thing was consuming me – this giant bloody crush that I could not shake off.
A bit like the unsightly fucker I have growing inside me now, destroying the good cells.
Of course, my crush wouldn’t ultimately kill me.
That’s the difference. I should have stopped trying to control everything and everyone and just let you be.
That’s why I sent you back on our crazy tour. To have your time back that I took from you. Yes, I made things happen for us, but at a cost.
For a few years, out in Australia, I had a boyfriend and he’d done the twelve-step programme. You know about that? Part of it is, you apologise to those you’ve hurt, and you try to make amends as best you can so you can be free.
And that’s it, dearest Josie and Shane.
I am free now. I am happy. And I hope you are too.
Love, Ravi xxx
We sit there for a moment, the two of us, taking it all in. ‘So, here we are,’ I say finally, looking up at him.
‘Yes,’ he says softly. ‘Back where it all began.’
I can’t speak. My head has emptied itself of words, so I kiss him again. And this is where our future begins, as he takes my hand and we make our way back into Cherry Cottage, the place we have always called home.