Bookends (21 page)

‘I’ll find it for you,’ he says with a smile, leading her away, and I huddle back behind the desk, wishing I were in a better mood, because normally these things just don’t bother me, but today, obviously, isn’t a normal day.

*

‘Cath, darling!’ Lucy’s voice is breathless as she dashes back behind the bar, and for a second it almost makes me think that last night must have been a nightmare; it feels so unrealistic when Lucy’s voice is still exactly the same. ‘I can’t believe we haven’t had a chance to speak today. Give me a hand with these cups, and then you can tell me how last night went with the lovely James.’

‘Lovely.’ I try to make my voice sound as normal as possible. ‘I’ll tell you all about it later.’

‘I’ve got a better idea,’ she laughs. ‘Josh has another meeting tonight, so I’m on my own again. I haven’t got the energy to cook, but if you won’t tell anyone we can order pizza and you can tell me all about it. How does that sound?’

Scary, is how it sounds, because I know that the memory of Portia and Josh together will loom all evening, but the desire to see Lucy properly, out of the work environment, to be somehow reassured by her, is far more overwhelming than the fear. ‘Great.’ I say. ‘I’ll supply the wine.’

‘All right, my darling. We’ll go home together. Whoops, Bill’s calling you, must be about that order you put in yesterday.’ Either that or another bloody customer.

In the event I end up going home first, because it’s freezing and I didn’t turn the heating on when I left, and the one thing I can’t stand is going to bed in a freezing cold flat – it means I won’t sleep for hours. So I dash home to put the heating on for later, and tell Lucy I’ll be round in about half an hour.

It’s ridiculous to feel even more nervous about seeing Lucy, seeing her socially, as opposed to in the shop, than I did last night when I saw James, but it’s the truth. And I know I’ve spent the whole day in the shop with her, but it isn’t the same. I’m not altogether sure how we’ve managed this, but during the day, at work, you’d never know how close we are.

Despite that old myth that you should never get involved in business with friends, we seem to have found a way to make it work. It’s not as though we don’t talk during the day, in the shop, we just try to keep it as businesslike as possible, particularly given that Bill and Rachel are around most of the time as well. And already, in just over six weeks, we’ve developed a routine that seems to work perfectly for us.

We tend to get in first, Lucy and I, usually around nine, an hour before the shop opens, just to give ourselves a bit of breathing space. Lucy sticks the coffee on, while I check to see what was sold the day before, muttering to myself in frustration as I try to decipher my own handwriting, should I have been the one to have been manning the till at the time.

And then Lucy brings the coffee over as I get on the phone to the wholesalers to reorder the books that have been sold, and to place orders for customers who are looking for things we don’t usually stock.

Yesterday a man came in and asked where he’d find
The Guide to Natural Plant Life in Outer Mongolia
. I checked the computer, because I knew he was the type who wouldn’t take no for an answer without actually seeing me check the stock, and when I said I could order it for him he flew into a deep rage and demanded to know why, given that we are a bookshop, we didn’t have it in stock. I tried to explain that we cannot possibly stock every book ever printed just on the offchance that someone should want it, and that with more obscure titles we do have to order them.

That really set him off. Obscure? he said. Obscure? And then he proceeded to go into a detailed rant about how he had read this book twenty years ago and it had changed his life. Rachel got the giggles, which nearly set me off, and eventually, feeling evil, I sent him off to Books Etc., knowing full well that they wouldn’t have it either, but figuring he could vent his fury on them instead, and I told him it was only a five-minute walk. Ha!

But, despite the occasions when people are just plain
peculiar
, I love it. We all do. And although we aren’t actually in profit yet, it won’t, according to Josh, be long now. It looks like I made the right choice after all.

I stand on the doorstep of Lucy’s house, place a hand over my heart to calm it down, and ring the doorbell. I hear footsteps, and Ingrid comes to the door, followed closely by Max.

‘Hello, Cath,’ she says, with what looks like, unless I’m very much mistaken, a suspiciously warm smile. Has this woman gone completely crazy? I peer at her closely, refraining from asking her if she’s feeling all right, and give her a faint smile in return.

‘Lucy has popped out to get some vegetables. She said she would be back by half past. How are you?’ she says over her shoulder as I follow her down the hallway, trying very hard not to step on Max, who is jumping from side to side in front of me.

‘Fine,’ I say slowly. ‘Umm, and you?’

‘Oh, fine,’ she says breezily. ‘Would you like a glass of wine? We are having one.’

‘We?’ I follow her into the kitchen, and I swear to God I’m not exaggerating this, but my heart threatens to leap into my mouth and I actually gasp because sitting at the kitchen table, as cool as a cucumber, is Portia.

I stand, frozen, in the doorway, and not sure whether to reverse immediately and run far away, or to walk in and pretend nothing’s wrong, although considering I’m doing a very good goldfish impersonation right here, I think that it would be fairly difficult to pretend there’s nothing wrong.

What the fuck is she doing here? Oh Christ, oh no. Please tell me she’s not here to confront Lucy, to do something awful like tell Lucy that she and Josh are in love and Lucy should leave. Oh Christ. Get her out of here. Get me out of here.

And then I notice that Portia’s expression is exactly the same as always, and she doesn’t have any qualms at all about sitting at the kitchen table of her lover’s house, and she probably isn’t going to confront Lucy, she’s probably here to see Josh before they go off to her flat for an evening of passion.

Christ. I could kill her.

I mean, does she have to be so obvious about it? Look at her, in her plunging shirt with her cleavage on view for all to see, what the hell does she think she’s playing at?

‘Hi, Cath,’ she says warmly – bitch – standing up and coming over to give me a kiss as I stand there like a statue, hardly moving. ‘I was just leaving.’

‘Here to see Josh, were you?’ The words are out before I have a chance to think about what I’m saying, and I can’t hide the sarcastic, bitter tone in my voice. Portia gives me a strange look, and you know what? I don’t care if she knows that I know. I want her to know because I will not play her game and I will not protect her.

‘What?’ she says carefully, looking at me strangely, and I know she doesn’t think I know. For a second I think she looks flustered, but no, Portia’s far too cool for that. ‘I was just passing, so I thought I’d pop in and see if Lucy was home,’ she says. ‘I brought her this recipe book from Italy I’d told her about,’ and she gestures to a cookery book lying on the kitchen table.

Ha. A likely bloody story. But what’s really weird is that I’ve heard of unfaithful husbands buying their wives unexpected gifts when they’re having an affair, but I’ve never heard of the mistress doing it. It’s the classic sign, isn’t it? The husband who never pays any attention to his wife, suddenly starts pitching up with roses and jewellery, saying that it’s his way of apologizing for working so late all the time, when he’s just trying to find a way to appease his guilt and live with himself.

I suppose the mistress isn’t usually friends with the wife. Maybe if she were, she’d be doing exactly the same thing as Portia. Maybe she’d be turning up with cookery books too.

Or maybe she’d be turning up with any old lame excuse just to see more of the husband. At least Josh is out and she’s had to put up with Ingrid, which is a punishment I wouldn’t wish on my closest enemy, except at this point in time I feel it would take a lifetime with Ingrid to inflict the sort of pain I feel would be appropriate.

‘Right,’ I say slowly, nodding at Portia to let her know I know she’s lying.

‘Anyway,’ she says, smiling brightly at Ingrid and slightly less brightly at me, ‘got to go. Big night out tonight.’

‘I’ll just bet,’ I say, and she stops and stares at me, then shakes her head as if I’m the one who’s mad, and Ingrid shows her to the door. I can hear the two of them whispering in muffled voices, and Jesus Christ, I can’t believe Portia is whispering about me to the bloody bitch of an au pair girl, but I don’t care, at least I kept
my
dignity this evening.

‘Are you certain you are feeling okay?’ Ingrid says, walking back into the kitchen after the front door slams, and pouring an orange juice for Max.

‘I’m not the one you should be asking,’ I say pointedly, and Ingrid shrugs nonchalantly and goes out to call Max just as – thank God – I hear the key turn in the front door and Lucy walks in, only to be practically knocked over by Max jumping into her arms.

‘That wasn’t Portia I just saw driving off, was it?’ she says, cuddling Max as she walks into the kitchen.

‘Yup. She was dropping off a cookery book.’ I point to the book as Lucy shrieks and immediately starts flicking the pages.

‘Oh, she’s such an angel! I can’t believe she remembered this, how lovely. I must remember to phone her and thank her. Honestly, Cath,’ and Lucy looks up at me, smiling, ‘I cannot tell you how thrilled I am that Portia has come back into all of your lives, that she’s now a part of mine. We’re all very lucky, you know,’ and she covers Max’s face with kisses as he giggles and flings his arms round her neck, kissing her in return.

Oh bugger, I think, using Lucy’s favourite expression. If only you knew.

Chapter twenty-one

A week later and I’m convinced Lucy thinks I’m completely mad. All day yesterday she kept catching me watching her with, as she put it, these big worried eyes, but every time she asked me what was wrong I just sighed, apparently, and said it was nothing.

Just before six o’clock I start telling people that we’re closing, but, as usual, they all suddenly seem to have gone deaf, which I suppose can only be a good thing, really, given that there appear to be five deaf people currently in Bookends, which is infinitely preferable to no people at all.

‘I’m sorry, but we are in fact closing now.’

‘I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.’

‘I’m sorry, but we will still be here in the morning if you want to come and finish the book.’

And all this said with a polite smile. Eventually everybody leaves, and Bill, Rachel and I walk around the shop and put the books back where they belong, the shelves managing to get extraordinarily muddled up by the end of each day.

Bill and Rachel leave, and half an hour later I move over to the bar to see how Lucy is. She finishes wiping one of the tables, winks at me, then a few minutes later comes over to the table with two large milky coffees and a giant slab of juicy carrot cake with two forks.

Untying her apron she collapses into a chair and gives me a weary smile. ‘How are you doing, my darling Cath? And more importantly, what are you up to tonight?’ she asks. ‘Seeing James again or is it too soon?’

‘Much too soon. I haven’t even thanked him for last week. Damn. I meant to phone today.’

‘Why not phone now?’

‘No, it’s okay. I’ll wait until I get home.’

Lucy’s smile disappears for a while and she stares into space, her mind obviously on other things. Poor Lucy. Oh God. Do you think she knows?

‘Lucy? Are you okay?’

She looks at me with a smile and nods, but the expression in her eyes is one of sadness.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Well, no.’ She says finally, and I mentally brace myself because if she actually asks me if I know anything, I just don’t know what I’m going to say. Lie. You must lie. But I’m a hopeless liar. My face is, as Si always says, exactly like an open book.

I blush, I stammer, and I find it completely impossible to look the other person in the eye. Your classic textbook crap liar, so please God, don’t let Lucy ask me, don’t let her elicit my opinion on this.

‘What’s the matter?’ As if I don’t already know.

‘It’s us, I suppose. Josh and I,’ and the smile has well and truly disappeared, which is when I realize that I never see Lucy’s face in repose. She is always so bright, so animated, that seeing her like this makes it look as if all the stuffing has been knocked out of her. Which I suppose it has, if she’s found anything out.

‘Things just aren’t right,’ she continues after a long pause, looking up at me to see if I’m still listening.

‘I know that things have changed, what with me working here, and Josh suddenly having this really big deal, and that we’re not spending as much time together, but Josh seems to have taken it personally, and the less time he spends at home, the less time he seems to
want
to spend at home.’

‘Have you tried talking to him?’ I say, which is what I always say when I can’t think of anything else. Plus, I learned it from Lucy.

‘Ridiculous, isn’t it? Here I am, having recently done that damn counselling course, and I’m married to a man who completely clams up at the first hint of a problem. The worst thing is that normally I can draw things out of him, but I feel so guilty at not being there, not being at home any more, I seem to have lost the ability to communicate as well.’

‘Oh, Lucy,’ I say sadly, rubbing her arm to comfort her.

‘And I know this sounds ridiculous, but if I didn’t know better I’d think he was up to something.’

I can’t stop my sharp intake of breath, but luckily Lucy’s looking at the table and she neither hears nor sees.

‘Late nights practically every night, incommunicado because he’s locked in meetings. God,’ and she gives a rueful smile. ‘They’re supposed to be the classic signs of an affair, aren’t they?’

‘
Do
you think he’s having an affair?’ I ask, in what I hope is a nonchalant manner.

‘Josh? Absolutely not,’ and she starts laughing. ‘But don’t think I haven’t thought about it. It’s just absolutely not up his street, although God knows I wouldn’t blame him, given the state of our sex life. I don’t even remember the last time we had sex, and Cath, this is so awful, but I’m just too blasted tired.

‘You know,’ she says, looking up at me, ‘often during the day I feel really rather sexy. I’ll read something or think about something, and I’ll think, how lucky I am to be going home to a man that I still really fancy, and maybe tonight we’ll make love and I spend the rest of the day looking forward to it.’

‘And?’

‘And then by the time I’ve got home and spent some time with Max, and had something to eat and jumped into a hot bath, I’m so exhausted I can hardly lift my feet, and it’s all I can do to actually stand up and walk from the bathroom to the bedroom, fling back the duvet and climb into bed. That uses up any surplus energy I might have had, and then that’s it. I’m fast asleep as soon as my head touches the pillow.’

‘Lucy, if it’s any consolation, it’s exactly the same for me. It is exhausting, running our own business, and I could seriously do with a holiday, but don’t the benefits outweigh the negatives?’

‘In your case, my darling, yes, because, and Cath, don’t take this the wrong way, but because you haven’t got a family, but in my case, I just don’t know any more.’ She sighs deeply. ‘I didn’t mean that. Of course the benefits outweigh the negatives, I suppose it’s just a question of finding the right balance.’

There’s a silence for a while and I try to lighten the tone. ‘Well, they always say that you stop having sex when you get married. You’re just proving the rule.’

‘But Josh and I always had the most marvellous sex life. Oh, Cath, I’m not embarrassing you, am I? Do you mind me talking to you like this? It’s just that I have to talk to someone or I’m simply going to explode. Or implode,’ she says sadly, ‘which is infinitely worse,’ and she smiles.

‘It’s fine. I don’t mind at all. I just wish I knew what to say.’

‘Josh and I always used to say how lucky we were that our sex life was still fantastic, but now…’

‘Did you mean what you said about not blaming him if he were to have an affair, then?’

‘No,’ she sighs. ‘Of course I didn’t mean that. I’d be devastated if he were having an affair. It would be horrific. But trust me, Cath, I know I feel like I’m going crazy, but I honestly don’t believe he would do that. I think, I hope, it’s just a phase we’re going through.’

‘All marriages have their ups and downs,’ I state sagely, praying that this is just a phase, that soon this will be over and Portia will have moved on.

‘I know,’ she says sadly. ‘It’s just that we’ve never hit a down like this before, and, although I know we’ll come out of it, it’s pretty bloody miserable when you’re stuck in it.’

‘What about pulling a big seduction number?’ I say suddenly, as Lucy looks puzzled. ‘You know, sexy underwear, stockings, the whole works. I always read those articles about women putting the sex back into their sex lives, so why shouldn’t you try it?’

‘You’re not serious?’ Lucy starts to laugh. ‘I’d look like a trussed-up chicken in one of those outfits.’

‘You wouldn’t.’ I start liking this idea more and more. ‘You’d look gorgeous. How about if Si and I took you on a shopping expedition? If nothing else we’d have a laugh, and God knows we all need a laugh right now.’

‘I’d feel ridiculous,’ Lucy laughs, pretending to be embarrassed, but I can tell her resistance is wearing thin. ‘Anyway, what on earth do you suppose I’d buy?’

‘I don’t know,’ I chuckle, ‘possibly a little French maid’s outfit? Or how about a nurse’s uniform, that always seems to do it.’

‘God no!’ Lucy starts to giggle. ‘How impossibly naff.’

‘But sexy,’ I wink, and the pair of us snort our coffee out through our noses.

‘Don’t even think about it,’ Si says, when I inform him of our plan.

‘What? You don’t think it’s a good idea?’ I’m staggered at his disapproval.

‘Sweets, I think it’s a wonderful idea. I think that, at the very least, it will be fun for Lucy and that’s a bit of an accomplishment right now.’

‘So don’t even think about what?’

‘Ann Summers. I wouldn’t let you near the place. If we’re going to do it, we’re going to do it right, and the only place to go is Agent Provocateur.’

‘Oooh,’ I squeal, suddenly feeling like a little girl. ‘Is that the place that sells those fluffy marabou mules? The slippers that no good housewife should be without?’

‘Those plus a million other gorgeously sexy bits and pieces.’

‘Let’s go,’ I say greedily. ‘Today? Tomorrow? I want those slippers and I want them now.’

‘Well, well… Who would have thought our Cath was a Brigitte Bardot in the making.’

‘Not bloody likely,’ I laugh. ‘I’ve just dreamt of those slippers ever since I was about five years old. Can we go soon? Pleeeeeeeeeease? Pleeeeeeeease?’

‘Only if you promise to buy me a leopard-skin thong.’

‘It’s a done deal.’

Si lets out a long sigh. ‘On a more serious note, Cath, do you actually think this might work?’

‘I don’t know, but I’m not letting this marriage collapse without a fight.’

‘I know,’ he says softly. ‘I feel the same way. Anyway, back to the real world, have you phoned the gorgeous James yet to thank him and apologize for being so spacey at the end of the evening?’

‘Oh God,’ I groan. ‘I feel so awful about that, shit… call waiting, can you hang on?’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll talk to you later,’ and he blows me a kiss and is gone. I press the appropriate buttons and say hello.

‘Cath?’

Well, speak of the devil. It’s James. ‘I was worried about you, and I just wanted to phone to see if you were okay. Are you feeling better?’

‘James, you’re making me feel so guilty. All week I’ve meant to call you and thank you for a lovely evening, but I’ve been so busy I haven’t had a chance.’

‘It can’t have been that lovely,’ James says, ‘not at the end, anyway.’

‘Well, a bit traumatic, but the beginning was perfect, and had we not seen, well, you know. Had that not happened, the whole evening would have been perfect.’

‘That’s sweet of you to say so,’ James says, and then we both sit there for a while as I wonder whether he’s going to ask me out again, and actually hoping that he will, because I want to give this another chance, I want us to have an evening that really is perfect, from beginning to end.

But Cath the inexperienced idiot can’t say that of course, so I just sit there in silence waiting, praying, for him to ask, and after a while he just says that he’s glad I’m okay and that I should take care, and I put the phone down, suddenly feeling a deep emptiness.

Which is ridiculous, really. I mean, I hardly know him. It was one evening. There’s nothing physical, no physical attraction, but I have to say I was looking forward to getting to know him better.

And even I’m amazed at how quickly I’ve managed to blow it this time. Oh well, there’s only one thing for it. Eight slices of bread and half a packet of chocolate Hobnobs.