The Secret of Happy Ever After (48 page)

‘But we’ve already got those blankets by the shelf,’ said Anna. ‘And you keep bringing more and more cushions in. And those teacups on the crime display – there are more teacups than books now.’

She said it lightly, but it was starting to bother her. Every day Michelle moved things before she came in, to make more room for merchandise that belonged in Home Sweet Home, not here. The front part of the shop, in particular, was starting to look less like a bookshop and more like an extension of next door. There was a velvet-covered chair near the window that actually had a ‘Please do not sit on this’ note on it, something Anna had removed when Michelle wasn’t looking.

‘That’s the reality of selling. We’ve got to keep the profit margins up.’ Michelle was arranging the throws while she spoke and moving Anna’s books out of the way to do it. ‘You know how nice those blankets are. You’ve got one yourself.’

‘I know, they’re lovely but . . . they’re not
books
. And this is a bookshop!’

‘Fine. You can have just books, and you can close next month. Do you want this shop to stay open or not?’

Anna was startled by the snappiness in Michelle’s tone but she stood her ground. ‘Of course I don’t. But if you put too much other stuff in here people won’t think it’s a bookshop. Everyone says how much they love it now. We can do other stuff. I can do more promotions, get the library involved again . . .’

‘Listen, I know what I’m doing.’ Michelle didn’t sound like herself at all; she sounded tight and stressed. ‘Don’t start all that “books are precious” bollocks. You’ve been doing this for eight months. I’ve worked in retail since I was nineteen.’

‘What is
wrong
with you?’ Anna burst out.

They stared at each other, then Michelle rubbed her face. She looked on the verge of tears. Normally Anna would have been the first to apologise but today she didn’t want to. The bookshop was her baby and she was going to defend it. It was the only thing she had left.

‘I’ve had a horrible morning,’ said Michelle. ‘I had a meeting with my solicitor.’

‘Rory?’

‘No. My real solicitor.’ Michelle sank onto the ‘Do not sit’ chair. ‘I’m getting a divorce.’

‘You’ve finally filed papers?’ Anna’s concern swept away her anger and she crouched by Michelle’s side. ‘Well done. Well done, Michelle. You’re doing the right thing.’

Michelle looked up and her eyes were hunted. It was nothing like her usual confident expression. Even her liner flicks seemed subdued. ‘It doesn’t feel like it. I’m terrified of what Harvey’s going to do when he gets the letter. I’m worried he’ll tell my parents I’ve had some kind of breakdown. They’ll believe him.’

‘You’re the bravest woman I know,’ said Anna, meaning it. ‘And the toughest.’

Michelle managed a short, sad laugh. ‘Well, I’m not exactly the person you think I am. I’m a lot of window dressing.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Anna said. This was going some way to explaining Michelle’s bad mood; if her divorce was out of her control, at least her shop wasn’t. She tried to be positive for her. ‘It’ll be grim, but it’ll be over in a few months. Then you’re free. Focus on that. You don’t have children to sort out, and the assets should be easy enough to split.’

‘I don’t want any money,’ said Michelle.

‘Come on,’ said Anna. ‘What’s the worst thing he can do?’

Michelle shook her head slowly. ‘What if he’s right? What if he really is the only man in the world who’d put up with me? What if I am making a big mistake?’

‘You’re not. And if you believe that, then you’re better off on your own,’ said Anna. ‘And I can think of at least one other man who’d—’

Michelle held up a hand. ‘Don’t.’

Anna had thought about telling Michelle about her row with Phil but when she saw the fearful expression on Michelle’s face, she decided not to. It wasn’t so much that her news wasn’t as bad, but that Michelle just didn’t seem capable of hearing anything else.

Anna realised she’d left her mobile phone at home just before she had to go up to Butterfields to do her Reading Aloud session, so she drove back to pick it up, taking Tavish with her for his weekly visit to the old people.

He waited patiently in the car while she dashed into the kitchen to get it. There she found Becca standing in front of the fridge, eating mascarpone straight from the tub and staring into the chilled depths as if to see what she fancied next, with no thought to the cold air escaping from it.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ said Anna. ‘That’s a relief. I thought Chloe had developed some kind of eating disorder.’

Becca looked guilt-stricken. ‘Why did you think that?’

‘I can’t seem to keep the fridge full, and I knew it wasn’t Lily, or me, or your dad. I didn’t think it was you, because you only eat cottage cheese, so I assumed it was Chloe. And she wasn’t getting any fatter, so I . . .’ Anna stopped. She didn’t need to go into her insane Googling of bulimia symptoms, or her spirals of guilt that ended with Chloe on a drip in a treatment centre blaming Anna for not spotting her dairy product cries for help. ‘I don’t mind you lot
eating
, it’s just when no one will admit to it I wonder if I’m going mad and leaving unpacked bags of shopping to rot behind the sofa or something.’

Becca looked down at the pot of mascarpone. ‘Sorry. I didn’t think about it like that.’

‘You’ll think about it soon enough when you’re having to fill your own fridge,’ said Anna. ‘Have you got your marker pen ready for putting lines on the orange juice? Would you like your own lockable tuckbox? It can be arranged.’

‘I’ll borrow Lily’s.’

Lily had been going through a Chalet School phase now she’d despatched Malory Towers; so far she had a tuckbox, a washbag with a flannel, and two bottles of ginger beer in the fridge, which would be there for years since everyone hated it.

Becca hesitated, then went back to eating the mascarpone, spooning it into her mouth with a rhythmic compulsion, as if she wasn’t even tasting it.

‘You’re not comfort-eating because you’re unhappy, are you?’ Anna asked, paranoid that maybe Becca had picked up on the coldness between her and Phil. ‘You’d tell me if you were? It’s better to talk about stuff, Becca. Don’t bottle it up.’

‘I don’t want to worry anyone.’

‘You won’t worry us! I’ll only worry if you don’t say anything!’ protested Anna. ‘I’ll miss you, you know. You’re the voice of reason round here. You neither sing everything nor express your inner thoughts through the medium of a velour pig.’

‘I’ll miss you too,’ said Becca. ‘I can stay if you like.’

‘No, you’ve got to go,’ said Anna. ‘You’ve worked hard. You deserve it all.’

Becca looked at her with big eyes that forecast rain. ‘Anna . . .’

Anna didn’t wait for her to say any more. She opened her arms and pulled Becca into a big hug.

‘It’s going to be fine,’ she said, stroking her hair. ‘Just remember, you can always come home. That’s what my dad said to me, when he drove me to Manchester. “If it gets too awful and you can’t bear it any more, you can always come home.” And you know what? I phoned home on the third night and begged them to come and get me, and he said, “Of course, Annie, we’ll come at the weekend.”And what happened at the weekend?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Becca in a dull voice.

‘I was at a party and I missed them arriving.’ Anna unwound her arms and looked into Becca’s face. ‘Call me if you want to come home,’ she said. ‘Call me if you need
anything
.’

Becca smiled, keeping her lips together.

‘Listen, I’m going up to Butterfields to read to the old folk,’ said Anna. ‘Want to come with me?’

‘Not really.’

‘Go on. It’ll be a chance to see your gran before you go. And I’d like to hear you read,’ Anna went on. ‘I could do with half an hour of relaxation myself.’

‘OK,’ said Becca. ‘But no set texts, please.’

If Anna had hoped there’d be some tender grandmotherly behaviour from Evelyn on the eve of Becca’s departure, she was disappointed.

She and Becca were waiting in the day room, talking to Mr Quentin, who had Tavish tucked happily on his knee, when Evelyn stalked into the Reading Aloud session as if it were a verruca clinic. She swept the room with her gaze and sighed with disappointment to see Anna. She managed a wintry smile for Becca.

‘Hello, Evelyn,’ said Anna. ‘Not wearing your new scarf ?’

‘When I find something in my wardrobe that it goes with, it’ll be the first thing I’ll reach for,’ she said witheringly, and focused her attention instead on Becca. ‘You’re looking very peaky,’ she informed her. ‘Too many late nights?’

‘I’ve been working on my reading list,’ said Becca. ‘I’ve got loads to do before I go away.’

‘Too much studying isn’t attractive. No one likes a smarty-pants. Especially men.’

‘Wrong,’ said Mr Quentin from his wing chair. ‘Nothing more interesting than a lady you can discuss a good book with. Even better if she has some smarty-pants too.’

He winked at Anna and Becca, who smiled back. Mr Quentin always seemed to perk up when Tavish arrived, thought Anna, as if his dog and a story reminded him of happier times.

Evelyn raised her eyebrows. ‘Is that thing staying during our literary hour?’ she demanded, enunciating each word. She liked to imply that everyone but her was deaf or mentally impaired. ‘Is it
hygienic
to have animals on the furniture?’

‘No more
unhygienic
than having incontinent old women around the place,’ said Mr Quentin.

‘Do you mean me?’ Evelyn began furiously, but Anna interrupted her.

‘Becca’s going to read for us today,’ she said. ‘It’ll be her last reading session before she goes to university, so I know you’ll want to wish her luck!’

There was a ripple of applause and murmurs from the assembled residents, and Becca rounded her shoulders shyly under the attention.

‘What do you want to read?’ Anna asked. ‘I don’t think we had any requests in Joyce’s book.’ She handed her the anthology they’d been using and Becca flicked through the index, then stopped.

‘I’ll read this,’ she said, glancing at Anna. ‘For you. It’s one of your favourites.
Little Women
.’

Anna settled back into her chair as Becca began to speak. She had a confident reading voice, with the long local vowels and rolling intonation. Anna wondered how much of that would still be there when she came back to them in a term’s time.

She had chosen the chapter about Beth creeping into the Palace Beautiful, as the Marches called the Laurences’ big house, to play their piano – one of Anna’s favourites. There was something about unassuming but talented Beth, with her big shy eyes, that reminded her of Lily – she could imagine Lily playing to herself in an empty house and not noticing the staff watching her in secret.

She could imagine her own grandfather, too, ordering complete silence so Beth would believe she was on her own, so she could play freely. Anna loved stern but gentle Mr Laurence, and this chapter often brought her to tears, thinking how good a grandfather her own dad would be. When she was Lily’s age he used to wait until she was playing the piano, clumping away badly at her exercises, then walk in and say, in pretend amazement, ‘Isn’t the radio on? I thought I could hear a record!’

Anna’s eyes misted over and she nearly missed the murmur that ran around the room. She blinked. Becca had stopped reading and tears were running down her face. With one look at Anna, she pushed the book into her hands and ran out of the room.

‘It wasn’t
that
emotional,’ said Evelyn dismissively. ‘It wasn’t even the chapter where the child nearly dies.’

It took Anna a while to find Becca, but when she pushed open the door of the staff lavatories she heard sobbing coming from inside the disabled cubicle.

She knocked softly on the locked door. ‘Becca? It’s me. Come on out, sweetheart.’

The sobbing stopped momentarily, then started again, harder.

‘Becca? Is it college?’ Anna didn’t want to put more worries in Becca’s mind, but she wanted her to know she understood. ‘Is it leaving Owen? Because terms aren’t very long. They fly by before you know it.’ She paused, then added, ‘And if he moves back to London he’ll only be an hour or so away.’

There was no response. ‘Is that not it?’

Anna leaned her forehead against the door, trying to remember what it felt like to be eighteen, and the first person in the world to fall in love. ‘I know it’s hard to leave him. I know. But the next few years are going to be so wonderful. So many opportunities and new things. The people, and the lectures, and the parties . . .’

Slowly the door opened and Becca’s tear-stained face appeared. She looked about twelve years old, exhausted and scared. Anna’s heart ached for her; surely this wasn’t about leaving Longhampton to go to the university she’d been looking forward to for so long. This had to be the aftermath of all that exam stress, and Sarah’s news, and exhaustion. Becca had coped so well. Too well. She knew that feeling too.

She held out her arms and Becca flung herself into them.

‘What was it that upset you?’ she asked, as Becca, nearly a head taller than she was, clung to her. ‘Was it thinking about your granddad?’

‘It was thinking about . . .
Dad
.’