How to Find Love in a Book Shop (27 page)

She could hear the clatter of high heels as the same girls clustered into the loos. She could hear Lulu’s voice above the rest.

‘Hugh said a wedding’s not a wedding without a little goodie bag,’ she said.

Alice could hear gasps of glee.

‘Oh my God – amazing!’ said another girl. ‘He is
such
a party animal.’

‘He says just wait for the parties he’s going to have here.’

‘Chop it out on the sink surround,’ said another. ‘I’m not snorting it off the loo seat.’

Alice stood up, rearranged her dress and came out of the cubicle. Lulu smiled at her brightly.

‘Do you want some?’ she asked. She held up a little bag of white powder.

They were too stupid and drunk to be careful, thought Alice, or to realise that she wasn’t like them. They assumed because she was marrying Hugh she would be the same as they were. She held out her hand.

‘Can I have it, please?’

Lulu blinked for a moment. ‘Sure – if you want to do the honours.’

‘Thanks.’ Alice took the bag. She looked down at it.

‘There’s loads,’ said Lulu. ‘Enough for all of us to have a good time.’ She giggled. ‘Hugh said just because he’s moving to the country doesn’t mean he’s going to turn into a bumpkin.’

Alice shut her hand around the bag. ‘Sorry, girls,’ she said. ‘But this is mine.’

Lulu was outraged. ‘You can’t just walk off with it!’

‘Watch me,’ said Alice.

She felt very calm as she walked down the steps and across the lawn back to the reception. No one dared to follow her. She could see Hugh, holding court at their table. He’d looked her in the eye and lied to her, she thought. She could almost,
almost
have excused the cocaine, but not the lying. You couldn’t be married to someone who was prepared to hide that kind of thing from you.

She walked over to their table. Hugh saw her and stood up with a smile.

‘My beautiful bride,’ he said.

She wasn’t going to take issue with him about what he’d said about her scar. She couldn’t be bothered.

Instead, she dangled the little bag in front of him. His face turned as white as the powder.

‘Here’s the deal,’ she said to him. ‘You leave this wedding reception right now. On Monday morning you call your solicitor and arrange for an annulment. For which you will pick up all the fees, yours and mine. And I never want to see you again.’

Hugh opened his mouth to protest. He put up his hand to take the bag off her, but she snatched it away.

‘Either that, or I call the police. But then it would all be over the papers and, to be honest, we don’t want the scandal.’

She could see her parents bearing down on her out of the corner of her eye.

‘Darling?’ said Sarah.

‘Hugh will explain,’ said Alice. ‘Won’t you, Hugh?’

Ralph loomed over his son-in-law. ‘What’s the story, Hugh?’

‘It’s not what it looks like. I think Alice is—’

‘Alice is what?’ asked Alice. ‘Look, I don’t want a fuss. I want everyone to carry on and enjoy themselves. It would be a shame to break up the party now. Daddy, perhaps you would get Hugh a taxi? I don’t think he’s fit to drive. And Mummy – there’s someone I need to go and see. Could you be hostess for me? I’ll be back later.’

Sarah hesitated for a moment. Whatever had happened, it was serious. Things weren’t going to pan out as she’d thought they would. But she trusted Alice, and had made her a promise that very morning. She and Ralph would be there for her, whatever happened. And she thought she knew who it was Alice was going to find.

‘Of course, darling.’

Alice gave her mother a hug and left the reception.

She was going to leave Hugh to explain. She smiled as she thought about his bluster. How he would try and squirm out of it. Her parents would deal with him appropriately, she was sure, and make certain there was as little fuss as possible.

She made her way to the courtyard round the back of the house, where her old banger was parked. She fished around for the key on the top of the wall. She always kept it there, because she lost it otherwise. She started up the engine and put the car into reverse. Luckily she’d only had one glass of champagne, because she was still on painkillers. She turned the car round and headed off down the drive.

Dillon was on his second pint of cider. He’d better stop at that, and maybe have something more to eat. Or maybe he should go home now. The trouble with drink was it could fool you into thinking it made you feel better.

Brian walked past him and patted him on the back. ‘Not at the wedding of the year, mate?’

‘No chance,’ said Dillon. She’d be married by now, he thought. He took another sip of his pint, then put it down. It tasted sour. He didn’t want any more.

There was consternation over by the door. He looked over and frowned. It was dark outside so he couldn’t be sure. But the figure in the doorway was wearing a white dress. A wedding dress. The veil on her head had come loose and her hem was spattered with mud.

‘Alice?’

She walked over to his table.

‘I think I’d like a glass of elderflower cordial,’ she said. ‘And maybe some crisps. Salt and vinegar.’

She sat down on the wobbly bench.

‘What have you done?’ he asked. ‘Shouldn’t you be …?’

‘I’ve buggered it up a bit,’ she said, ‘but I expect a good lawyer will get me out of it. I should have realised earlier.’

‘Realised what?’ He looked at her, her mascara running and her hair falling out of its elaborate do and her lipstick all smudged.

‘It’s
you
I want to be with,’ she told him.

‘Me?’

‘You’re always there for me. We always have a good time together. You love Peasebrook as much as I do. And more than anything, I want you to kiss me.’

For a moment, he wondered if it was some sort of joke. If Hugh would appear with a shotgun if he did what he’d been wanting to do ever since that day in the hospital.

Well, kissing Alice was worth getting shot for.

Her veil had fallen back down over her face. He lifted it up, so he could see all of her: her beautiful eyes, her lovely mouth.

And then he kissed her. And as he did so, he swore he was going to look after her and protect her as long as he lived, whatever happened.

Twenty-Five

Two weeks later the refurbishment at Nightingale Books was complete.

The shop was still recognisable as its former self, but looked fresher and brighter. The walls were pale grey, the shelves white, with hand-painted signs.

Bea had dressed each section to feel like a room. Fiction had a pink squashy sofa and small tables either side, each with a jug of fresh roses. Crime was positioned by the fireplace, with a plaid armchair and a Persian rug, and you could almost imagine Sherlock Holmes reclining there with his pipe. Cookery was designed around a butcher’s block displaying the ingredients from a particular recipe. She’d accessorised all the other sections too: an easel for art, a spinning globe for travel.

They reopened the first week of December, ready for Christmas. There was no time to organise a party, but Emilia had a small opening ceremony for everyone who had been involved: June, Mel and Dave, Jackson and his cohorts, Bea, Andrea …

‘This means the world to me,’ said Emilia. ‘Thank you all. And I know my father would thank you all too.’

And she turned the sign to
Open
.

There were people waiting on the pavement, eager to shop, and they carried on flooding in all day long. There were queues at the till and Emilia was relieved she’d had the foresight to take on three new members of staff to cover the Christmas period.

At the end of the day she had just thanked the staff and said goodbye to them but hadn’t locked the door when the bell tinged. She would tell whoever it was they were closed for the day.

It was Marlowe. He was standing there with a smile and a bottle of Perrier-Jouët.

‘Are you closed?’

‘I can make an exception. Just for you.’

‘I wanted to buy a book on your first day. To mark the occasion.’

‘Well, come in and have a browse.’

He put the bottle down on the counter and looked around in admiration.

‘It’s wonderful, Emilia.’

She looked around and saw it with his eyes. It
was
wonderful. And suddenly she felt overwhelmed, because the one person she wanted to see it wasn’t there. She felt tears well up.

‘Hey!’ Marlowe was at her side in a moment.

‘I’m sorry. I just wish he was here to see it.’

‘Of course you do.’ Marlowe took her in his arms. He put up a finger to wipe away her tears. ‘He’d be so proud. You know that.’

Emilia nodded. She should pull herself together. Go and open the champagne or something. But she didn’t want to move out of his embrace. On the contrary, she wanted to move closer. She shut her eyes.

They stood there for a moment, closer than close, their breathing in rhythm.

‘Which book was it you wanted?’ she asked eventually, barely able to speak.

‘Have you got a book about a man who takes ages to realise the person he loves has been right under his nose all along?’

‘There’s loads of those,’ she said. ‘Can you be more specific?’

‘Well,’ said Marlowe. ‘He’s a violinist. And she’s got a book shop.’

She opened her eyes, suddenly realising what he meant.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I don’t think there is.’

‘Someone should write one, then,’ said Marlowe, smiling down at her.

Emilia swallowed, trying to take in exactly what this meant.

‘Is it true?’ she asked.

‘Yes. Ever since I watched you play “The Swan” at your father’s memorial. You were so scared but you were so brave and you did it with so much love … I’d never heard it played like that before.’

‘Oh.’ Emilia didn’t know what to say. She was overwhelmed, both by his confession and his comments about her performance.

‘Delphine knew before I did,’ said Marlowe. ‘That’s why she left. She was pretty good about it. She said she didn’t want to stand in the way.’

Emilia felt overwhelmed. She rested her head on his shoulder and felt his arms tighten around her.

‘So how’s this book going to end, then?’

‘Oh happily,’ said Marlowe. ‘Like all the best books. And it would be called …
How to Find Love in a Book Shop
.’

They stood holding each other, tighter than tight.

‘It sounds,’ said Emilia, ‘like the best book ever written. I shall order fifty copies at once.’

Twenty-Six

I
t was Christmas Eve in Peasebrook.

From early in the morning its streets were thronged. There were queues snaking out of the butcher as people came to collect their turkeys and their geese and Peasebrook Cheese had all hands on deck, handing over wheels of Cheddar and wedges of Stilton and boxes of Vacherin. A choir sang lustily around the Christmas tree in the market place. The air was crisp and cold; the blue sky filled with plump white clouds.

‘There’ll be snow before the day’s out,’ said Jem’s father, gazing up with a knowing look in his eye.

The promise of snow added a sense of urgency to the day. Eyes were bright; noses were pink; smiles were wide as people hurried through the streets to finish their errands and head home.

In Nightingale Books, Emilia hadn’t drawn breath since turning the sign to
Open
at nine o’clock and she’d been nearly trampled in the stampede. She had no idea how people had the nerve to wait so late to buy their presents, but she didn’t complain. They were buying with gusto. Thomasina had made gallons of mulled wine to hand out to customers as they browsed and the air hung heavy with the scent of cloves and cinnamon. She and Lauren had also made gingerbread men for any stray children to chew on while their parents shopped.

Bea was in charge of the wrapping station. Books were such a pleasure to wrap, with their satisfyingly straight edges and sharp corners, but perfectionist Bea took it to a higher level. The books were covered in the plain brown paper Julius had always used, and tied with red ribbon, then carefully stamped with
Merry Christmas from Nightingale Books
in one corner.

June and Emilia were kept busy helping customers with recommendations: they were easily identifiable by the red velvet elf hats Bea had made them. Emilia sold
The Cat in the Hat
and Enid Blyton and
Thomas the Tank Engine
and Flower Fairies gift books; Sherlock Holmes compendiums and gardening encyclopedias and Agatha Christie box sets; endless cookery books and biographies and atlases.

A dashing man in a navy overcoat came in needing a book recommendation for his wife. Emilia imagined a pretty woman in a beautiful Georgian house and sold him the Cazalet Chronicles, on the basis that no one she had ever met who had read them had ever disliked them.

And at four o’clock suddenly the shop was emptied as if by magic. Emilia put on her coat, shut the door and turned the key. She thought of all the books they had sold, and imagined them being opened the next morning, and people being transported as they sat on the floor surrounded by wrapping paper, or curled up on a sofa with a glass of champagne, or sitting by the fire while the chestnuts roasted.

And she turned and Marlowe was there, smiling.

‘Ready?’ he asked, and she nodded, and hooked her arm through his.

They walked up the high street towards the church as the rest of the shops in Peasebrook shut their doors. And then, in the coldness of the night air, with the crushed velvet sky above them, she saw a bright star and although she knew it was nonsense she couldn’t help feeling it might be Julius, smiling down and feeling proud of them all. And she let herself believe it
was
him, and she tipped her face up to the sky to smile back, and she felt an overwhelming sense of warmth and joy and belonging.

‘What are you grinning about?’ asked Marlowe.

‘I feel happy,’ she said. ‘I didn’t think I would, because this is my first Christmas without him, and of course I wish with all my heart he was here but … I feel happy.’

Marlowe put his arm round her and squeezed her into him. She didn’t need to explain that he was one of the things that made her happy, because he knew without being told, and that was one of the reasons. Marlowe always knew.

The church was bursting at the seams, but Emilia saw June’s red gloves waving at her and they wove and wormed their way past seated knees to a space near the front, whispering apologies and smiling hellos at the people around them. The Basildons were in the front row, of course: Sarah in a fur hat next to Ralph, then Alice leaning on Dillon, who was looking slightly overwhelmed at being in such a conspicuous position.

The church was as quiet as a mouse as Mick Gillespie took the lectern and read ‘Ring Out Wild Bells’, his unmistakable timbre tinged with West Cork holding the congregation rapt.

‘Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky

The flying cloud, the frosty light …’

Next to her, Emilia saw June’s eyes fill with pride and fondness. With his hair now white, and his spectacles on the end of his nose, Mick was a million miles from the bright young star she had fallen for, but he could still hold an audience in the palm of his hands as Tennyson’s words resonated around the church.

‘Ring out the grief that saps the mind

For those that here we see no more; …’

Emilia felt Marlowe squeeze her arm and loved him for once more just knowing. She looked over at Sarah and wondered how she was feeling. In her pocket she could feel the soft package she was going to give her later. She’d found it in a drawer in the office when she was emptying it out. She knew it was meant for Sarah and that it was her duty to make sure she got it, even though she knew it would mean mixed feelings, both joy and sadness.

She watched Mick leave the lectern and make his way back to June’s side and watched her whisper well done to him, and she loved how he smiled his thanks and appreciation even though he was an Oscar-winning actor who didn’t need to be told he was brilliant. And she felt pride that in some small way she had been responsible for bringing them together at a time of life where they may both have feared they could be alone forever.

And there were Jackson and Mia and Finn, and she knew that amongst all the footballs and skateboards and Nerf guns Finn was going to get the next day, there was also his first Harry Potter, and she hoped that late on Christmas afternoon Jackson and Finn would curl up together and begin the journey to Hogwarts.

Everywhere she looked she saw familiar faces.

Afterwards she and Marlowe went to Peasebrook Manor for Christmas Eve drinks in the great hall. There was the biggest Christmas tree by the stairs, reaching up two floors, and a roaring log fire, and Ralph rushing round with a bottle of wine in each hand making sure everyone was kept topped up.

Emilia slipped away from the party and found Sarah in the kitchen, pulling sausage rolls out of the Aga and tipping them onto a silver tray.

‘I found something,’ she said. ‘In the bureau. I’m certain it’s for you. And I know my father would want me to give it to you.’

Sarah stood up, holding the tray in both hands. Her eyes were wide with uncertainty.

‘Oh,’ was all she said. Then she put the tray down and wiped her hands on a tea towel.

‘I can just leave it here …’ Emilia indicated the kitchen table.

‘No. Please. I’d like you to be here. While I open it.’ Sarah looked around to see if there was anyone listening, but it was quiet here, away from the hubbub of the jollity. She took the little package. Emilia had stuck fresh tape on it after she’d opened it, but she slid her finger under it carefully and took out a scarf: a long devoré scarf in midnight blue and silver grey, with silken tassels.

She nodded, as if in recognition that this was exactly what Julius would have chosen for her. She held it to her face and felt its softness on her cheek.

Her voice was slightly cracked as she spoke. ‘I feel as if he’s going to walk into the room any minute. And tell me he chose it because of my eyes.’

Emilia could imagine her father in the shop, comparing colours and fabrics, holding the scarves up to the light until he had found the right one.

‘He was the most brilliant present chooser.’

‘Thank you for finding it, Emilia. Thank you for bringing it to me.’

‘It’s what Dad would have wanted me to do.’

Sarah folded it back up and tucked it back into the tissue just as Ralph appeared in the doorway.

‘Sausage rolls, darling? Everyone’s ravenous. They need something to soak up all the booze.’

Emilia turned around with a smile and Sarah picked up the tray. ‘Just coming.’

The two of them walked out together into the mêlée, then drifted apart amongst the throngs. They would always have a tie, because of their secret, but it didn’t need to be vocalised. They knew they would be there for each other, if they ever wanted to share a moment’s reflection, or memory, and they would give each other comfort.

It was an unusual situation, thought Emilia, but then – what was usual? The whole point of life was you couldn’t ever be sure what would happen next. Sometimes what happened was good, sometimes not, but there were always surprises. She smiled to herself as she scoped the room, and spotted Marlowe standing by the fire, chatting up a pair of sprightly elderly ladies who were surveying him as a pair of foxes might a chicken who’d escaped its coop.

‘Oh look!’ someone cried. ‘It’s starting to snow!’

Everyone rushed to the windows and gazed out at the almost luminescent snowflakes twirling round in the golden glow of the garden lamps. Faster and faster they fell, tiny ballerinas in the spotlight.

‘Do you think we should go?’ Emilia asked Marlowe. ‘We don’t want to get snowed in.’

‘Let’s,’ said Marlowe. ‘I feel as if I might be eaten alive any minute.’

They slipped away as discreetly as they could – endless goodbyes and Christmas wishes would only hold up the jollity. Marlowe started up the car and turned on the heater, then drove carefully through the blizzard, windscreen wipers at the double. The carol service from King’s College Cambridge played on the stereo. It was as if they were in cosy bubble, tucked away from the outside world.

‘A white Christmas,’ sighed Emilia, as the landscape around them transformed into a winter wonderland. Their first, she smiled to herself, and thought about waking up in his cottage the next morning, and the stocking she had filled for him hanging by his fireplace.

As they came into Peasebrook, Marlowe stopped the car just on the hump of the bridge and Emilia looked at Nightingale Books, the light from the windows still glowing inside, the roof already covered in white, and in her mind she said ‘Merry Christmas, Dad,’ and then the car rumbled down the other side of the bridge and up the high street into the oncoming snow.