‘HIYA!!! I let myself in, hope you don’t mind.’ The living room door crashed back on its hinges. ‘Oh! Are you doing your mindfulness meditation bollocks? Why are you doing it at the top of the stairs? Do you need me to shut up? It’s all right. You won’t even know I’m here.’
Verity opened her eyes all the better to glare at her sister. As ever, it was like looking at herself through an extremely flattering Instagram filter. Our Vicar and Our Vicar’s wife, as Verity’s parents were usually known, had the good fortune to be blessed with five daughters. Con, the eldest, Merry, then Verity and, bringing up the rear, were twins, Immy and Chatty. Unlike their sisters who had inherited the lean athleticism of their father’s side of the family, Merry and Verity both favoured their mother. They were decidedly shorter but ‘slender’ as Merry would have it, though Verity thought ‘scrawny’ was more accurate. Though their Great Aunt Helen never failed to remind them that the women on their mother’s side all ran to fat in later years.
They also both had indeterminate hair that was neither straight nor curly but any point in between depending on the weather, and which tended towards mousy in winter and not quite so mousy in summer. They had wide-set brown eyes under delicately arched brows, but Merry looked softer and sweeter while Verity already had frown lines on her forehead. Certainly, Merry had sucked every last drop of confidence and self-belief out of the gene pool, leaving none for Verity, though the gene pool had replenished itself in time for the arrival of Immy and Chatty. Still, that didn’t mean that Verity was going to go down without a fight.
‘I gave you a key, against my better judgement, to be used only in an emergency.’
Merry glared back at her. ‘Dougie’s pulled the evening shift this weekend and I was bored.’
As far as Verity’s sisters were concerned, being bored was a state of emergency. Verity shook her head and sighed.
‘Don’t sigh at me, Very!’ Merry dogged Verity’s heels at the same time as Strumpet almost tripped her over as she headed for the kitchen. ‘You have the most passive aggressive sighs of anyone I’ve ever heard,’ she added as Verity unloaded her fish, chips and mushy peas onto a plate, grabbed knife, fork and glass then tucked a bottle of red wine under her arm. ‘That’s an awfully big portion. Can I have some?’
‘No! I’m going into the living room. I’m shutting the door and you’re not to bother me for thirty whole minutes. Let’s synchronise watches.’
Merry looked at her watch and muttered the time out loud but with bad grace and a pout that Verity ignored. She was immune to pouts. ‘What am I meant to do while you’re eating dinner and refusing to give me any even though I haven’t eaten yet?’
‘You can draw on your reserves of inner strength,’ Verity said without any sympathy. ‘You must have some.’
Then she shut the lounge door in Merry’s sulky face and Strumpet’s outraged one, deposited her plate on the coffee table and collapsed on the sofa. It was a very comfortable sofa, in a rather garish floral print. Verity stretched out and even though her fish and chips would soon be cold, she shut her eyes and tuned out everything, even the sound of Strumpet yowling from the other side of the door.
The door which suddenly swung open and, a second later, Strumpet landed on Verity’s chest, knocking the wind out of her. Merry stuck her head in.
‘Can I have some of the cheese in the fridge?’ she asked plaintively.
‘Yes!’ Verity replied through gritted teeth. ‘Take this cat with you.’
The next interruption came after Verity had managed twenty deep breaths. ‘Sorry, it’s just you took the whole bottle with you and I wondered if I could have some wine.’
The door closed behind Merry and Verity’s bottle of wine, only to be opened again immediately.
‘Sorry! It’s just I have cheese and wine and now I need crackers. Do you have crackers?’
Verity kicked her legs out in pure exasperation. ‘“Have a little compassion on my nerves. You tear them to pieces.”’ She swung herself into an upright position. ‘You might as well come in. That was your plan all along.’
‘“I have the highest respect for your nerves, they are my old friends,”’ Merry said, quoting Pride and Prejudice right back at Verity. ‘Can I nick some of your chips?’
Verity gave in to the inevitable. ‘Knock yourself out. Also, I have some sad news.’
Merry turned to her sister with a mouth full of lukewarm chips. ‘Oh?’
‘I’ve had to kill off Peter Hardy. Or rather Posy and Nina caught me cheating on him.’
Verity would have preferred to mull on her predicament in silence but that wasn’t going to be an option so she quickly hit the highlights for her sister.
‘Really, it’s all their fault,’ Verity mused unhappily after she’d finished blaming Posy and Nina for forcing her into the path of another man.
‘But, Very, your fake boyfriend was only meant to stick around long enough to get you through the Christmas party season,’ Merry reminded her.
It was Verity’s turn to pout. ‘Shouldn’t a fake boyfriend be for life, not just for Christmas?’
‘How would that even work? Would you have had fake children too at some point? Maybe even a fake dog?’
‘Not a fake dog. Strumpet prefers to be an only child,’ Verity said as they heard the shop door suddenly slam shut, then the sound of footsteps growing louder as someone thundered up the stairs until Nina appeared in the living room doorway.
‘Oh. My. God!’ she announced by way of greeting. ‘Have you met him, Merry? Have you met the gorgeous piece of posh totty that your sister has been seeing when she was meant to be in love with Peter Hardy, oceanographer?’
‘I haven’t!’ Merry said gleefully. She waved a dismissive hand. ‘Anyway, Peter Hardy’s been on the outs for ages. So, this other guy – Very’s kept him all to herself. Is he fit?’
‘Not just fit, but foxy too. And he’s got one of those voices, like Benedict Cumberbatch or Tom Hiddleston. You know? Knicker-dropping voices,’ Nina said, pulling out her phone. ‘I managed to get a picture of him. It’s a bit blurry though.’
‘Lemme see!’ Merry practically climbed over her sister to get to Nina’s phone. ‘Such a pity that the back of your head is in the way, Very. You might have thought to shift to one side.’
‘I’ll be sure to remember that next time,’ Verity said. She munched ruminatively on a now cold chip.
‘So, tell me everything,’ Nina demanded, plonking herself down on the sofa so Verity was now sandwiched between her flatmate and her sister. ‘How did you meet? He must have approached you. I mean, you’re not the approaching type. Did you give him your dead-eyed stare when he first came up to you?’
‘I might start using that dead-eyed stare myself,’ Merry piped up, nudging Verity and grinning like this was actual fun. ‘It’s ensnared Peter Hardy, oceanographer, and now this other guy. What’s his name again?’
‘Johnny,’ Nina replied. ‘I don’t normally go for posh boys but for him, I’d make an exception.’
‘I love a posh boy,’ Merry said. ‘Dougie’s actually quite posh though he tries to pretend that he isn’t. Just cause he drops his aitches doesn’t cancel out the fact that he went to St Paul’s and belonged to the army cadet corps.’
‘I went out with a squaddie once,’ Nina said as Verity levered herself up off the sofa: her presence wasn’t needed any longer. Especially as Nina was now over-sharing about her former squaddie beau and a trick he used to perform involving his erect penis and half a pint of lager and Merry was squealing in horrified delight.
She squeezed past the boxes and bags in the hall, still waiting to be unpacked, to get to her room. It had been Posy’s old room, although when it had been Posy’s room every surface had been covered in piles of clothes and books. Verity loved Posy dearly but, as Sebastian had once rightly pointed out, she was a total slattern. Now with Posy’s goods and chattels mostly off the premises (though Verity had discovered half a dozen single socks, se
veral dog-eared romance novels and a half-eaten Bounty bar so ancient that it had calcified under the bed), and with most of Verity’s belongings yet to be unpacked, the room was empty but still welcoming.
There was a large bay window that looked out onto the courtyard, and shelves set into the alcoves on either side of the beautiful Edwardian tiled fireplace, just waiting for Verity to arrange her books and keepsakes on them. Verity had a huge armchair that she and Merry had found in a skip on the Essex Road and Verity had spent money that she didn’t have getting it reupholstered in inky blue velvet. It was her reading chair. Her sanctuary chair. Her snuggle-up-under-a-blanket-and-let-the-world-forget-her chair.
Verity retrieved the patchwork blanket that had been knitted by her great grandmother and curled up in her chair. Despite all that had happened that evening, unbelievably it was still only nine thirty. It was late June, the days at their haziest, their longest, and the sky outside her windows was still light. If she strained her ears, Verity could hear squeals and giggles coming from the living room and the sound of voices raised in argument in the courtyard down below.
So Verity chose not to strain her ears. Tuned out the noise, the static. Hugged her knees to her chest and all was silent. Finally, Verity could hear herself think, but she chose not to think too, because when she did, all she could think about was a handsome man with greeny blue eyes seated across from her, looking at her, maybe even laughing at her.
Nothing good could ever come from a man like that.
4
‘And what am I to do on the occasion? – It seems an hopeless business.’
Even without having to tend to a fake boyfriend any more, Verity found that she hardly had a moment to spare the next few days.
In the three short weeks since Bookends had become Happy Ever After, the shop had gone from deserted to heaving with customers hellbent on buying books. Some of it was the usual summer upturn and some of it was because their romantic rebranding had been featured in the Guardian, The Bookseller, countless book blogs, and Posy had even appeared on BBC News South East.
The constant sound of the till opening with the triumphant ping it always gave was music to Verity’s ears. Cashing up every night was no longer a tedious chore but a source of joy and wonder. The only thing that Verity didn’t like about becoming a destination bookshop was the endless chatter of the romance-novel-buying public and their frequent cries of ‘Do you work here?’ whenever Verity ventured onto the shop floor. It was a fair question when Verity was wearing the now obligatory staff uniform of grey T-shirt with the pink Happy Ever After logo on it.
‘I’m admin,’ Verity would mutter, stiffening in case any customer dared to touch her. There had been the time that an old lady with a grip of steel had yanked Verity over to the counter and demanded that she phone E.L. James to tell her to get a move on with her next book.
And Verity was admin, though Lavinia had appointed her shop manager a year ago as Verity was the only member of staff responsible enough to be trusted with the petty cash. Behind a door marked ‘private’, she ordered stock. Inputted stock. Chased up stock. Dealt with the orders that came in through the shop’s new and improved website, orders which had increased in the last few weeks and needed to be fulfilled before noon and five p.m. each day to catch the post.
But even from the seclusion of her office and with several anterooms full of books supposedly muffling the noise, Verity could still hear the constant banging and drilling coming from the tearoom, which was being restored back to its former glory. She also had to deal with Greg, and occasionally Dave, the two workmen, continually popping in to ask for money so they could nip down to the builder’s yard or to hand her receipts from the builders’ yard or to complain about Mattie, who had taken over the tearoom.
Verity took a while to warm to strangers but even though their acquaintance had been a short one, she already liked Mattie a lot. Especially as Mattie was busy testing recipes and using the Happy Ever After staff as human guinea pigs for a mouth-watering, never-ending supply of cakes, tarts, biscuits, cookies, breads, shortbreads, sweet rolls, savoury rolls and something Mattie called a Muffnut, which was a muffin/doughnut hybrid. Despite its appalling name, it was slathered in butterscotch icing and was so delicious that Verity had almost cried when Nina had pinched the last one.
But it wasn’t her way with a mixing bowl and a handful of ingredients that had won Verity’s respect but the fact that Mattie was a woman of few words. Unlike certain people Verity knew, who took silence as a personal affront, Mattie only spoke when she had something to say, which was why Verity had offered Mattie a desk in the back office for when she was working on tearoom admin: a privilege that very few of the staff had earned. Only Posy and that was because technically she was the boss, and not so technically, she paid Verity’s wages.
But not even Posy could make Verity willingly deal with the book-buying public, either in person or on the phone. ‘Emailing. I’m great at emailing,’ Verity would remind Posy countless times a day. ‘There is nothing in my job description that says I should answer the phone or make phone calls.’
Lavinia had never given any of the staff job descriptions; she believed they’d naturally gravitate toward the tasks that suited them best. But from the mutinous look on Posy’s face whenever Verity shied away from the ringing shop phone or a customer desperate for help, she was thinking of issuing job descriptions for all the staff.
There was no hiding though when Emma, sister of Merry’s boyfriend, Dougie, hunted her down to demand that Verity respond to the invitation to Emma’s thirtieth-birthday-slash-housewarming party that she’d mailed out in May. Emma insisted that she was there to support Happy Ever After but it felt a lot like being hunted down.
‘Yes or no, Very?’ Emma shouted over the counter as she paid for the new Mhairi McFarlane novel and a Reader, I Married Him T-shirt, which she said she was considering wearing as a hint so that her boyfriend Sean might propose. ‘And you are bringing Peter Hardy, oceanographer, aren’t you? Although Merry said you’d dumped him for being a marine-life bore.’
‘I did no such thing!’ Verity gasped indignantly. Then she realised that she no longer had to come up with excuses as to why Peter Hardy was absent yet again. ‘Although we did agree to split up. It was very amicable.’
‘So, I’ll put you down as a single, then.’ Emma smiled brightly. ‘No need to look so glum. There’ll be loads of spare men. I’ll make sure to send over a steady supply of them.’
‘Oh my God,’ Verity said aghast. ‘It’s like you don’t even know me. Promise me you won’t do that.’
Emma closed her purse with a triumphant snap. ‘Good! So you are coming, then. And if things change and you get back with the mysterious Peter, then you’re welcome to bring him along. Such a shame about you two.’
‘Well, these things happen,’ Verity said with a heartfelt sigh. She gestured at the office behind her. ‘Work. I must do some work now.’ Then she remembered her manners. ‘But I’m super excited about your party.’
‘Let’s not exaggerate, Very,’ Emma said. ‘I’ve known you five years and I’ve never seen you super excited about anything.’
‘Moderately excited,’ Verity amended.
‘You should be,’ Emma told her with a glint in her eye. ‘We’re hiring a karaoke machine. Participation is mandatory.’
Then she left, her words having struck fear in Verity’s heart so she was rooted to the spot, an anguished expression on her face. ‘Such a pity that you dumped Peter Hardy, oceanographer,’ Nina commented as she bagged up the next customer’s books. ‘You’ll have to go on your own.’
‘Though Peter Hardy, oceanographer, was so often away sailing the world’s oceans that he probably wouldn’t have been around to plus one you anyway,’ said Tom, part-time Happy Ever After employee and part-time PhD student, with the faintest of derisory snorts. Verity had always had a suspicion that Tom didn’t believe in her fake boyfriend.
‘I don’t see w
hy I should have to go to all these things. Engagement parties and birthdays and housewarming dos,’ Verity grumbled, folding her arms and letting her chin rest on her chest.
‘Yes, how horrible of your friends to want to share their significant life moments with you,’ Posy said, coming in from the little kitchen off the office with a tray of tea. ‘I’m so sorry that I insisted that you come to my wedding and the small but intimate party for close friends and family that we had the evening before.’
‘I didn’t mean it like that. I love my friends. I try to be a good friend.’ Verity frowned as she contemplated how she performed in the friend stakes. She wasn’t very good at hugs or effusive advice or anything that involved her friends in one big, shrieking, drunken shouting-over-the-top-of-each-other pile but one-on-one she was great. Golden. A good listener, there with practical help for any pal recently broken up, sacked or evicted, and though she would never come close to Mattie’s baking prowess (she’d just wandered into the shop with a plate of chilli cheese straws), Verity had a bread machine and many a friend in crisis had been comforted by her banana chocolate chip bread. ‘I just find it hard to socialise en masse. That doesn’t make me a bad person, does it?’
‘Of course it doesn’t,’ Nina assured her. ‘Anyway, can’t you take your new bloke, Johnny, along?’
‘No! It’s too soon,’ Verity said quickly. Then she realised that she was doing it again – lying about having a boyfriend and she’d sworn that she wasn’t going to do that any more. ‘Anyway, he’s not my new bloke. He’s not my anything.’
Tom smiled, though his smile was second cousin to a smirk. ‘Johnny? Who’s Johnny? I can’t keep track of all of Very’s boyfriends. Is this one an oceanographer too?’
It was one of those rare moments when there was no one left waiting to pay and none of the shoppers browsing the shelves had any enquiries or books that needed to be looked up on the system. Damn them! Nina, Posy and Mattie, who was still there with her delicious cheese straws, all turned to Verity with expressions that could be described as extremely curious. ‘Yeah, Very, what does he do?’
True Love at the Lonely Hearts Bookshop Page 3