‘Me? Joke? I never joke,’ Verity did indeed joke and, with a squawk of faked outrage, Nina turned on her heel and walked out of the room.
‘Come on! We’ve got a party to attend,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘There’s two glasses of cold Prosecco with our names all over them.’
Verity tugged at the skirt of her dress: would it do? Would she do? ‘You go down,’ she told Nina. ‘I’m right behind you.’
It took another half hour and a text each from Posy, Nina, Mattie and Tom before Verity had psyched herself up enough to venture down the stairs and face her real-life fake boyfriend. Well, that and Posy’s threat to fire her, though Verity knew full well it was an empty threat – she was the only person who knew how the stock system worked and even then it was a very vague kind of knowing.
Strumpet was at the bottom of the stairs, alternately hurling himself at the door that separated the flat from the shop and yowling furiously because food was being eaten and he wanted in.
It was an epic battle, woman versus cat, but eventually Verity made it through the door, her dress covered in cat fur, Strumpet’s angry and betrayed face seared into her memory.
They’d locked the doors that connected the shop to the tearoom so Verity had to step outside into the courtyard, which was positively teeming with people. Favourite customers, book bloggers, food bloggers, friends, friends of friends and yet Verity immediately spotted Johnny. Not just because he was taller than about ninety-eight per cent of the other guests (only Posy’s husband Sebastian was taller) but because he was deep in conversation with Nina.
That couldn’t be good.
Verity forgot her plan to skulk and hurried over in time to hear Nina ask: ‘So, how did you two meet? Very plays her cards very close to her chest, she never tells us anything.’
‘I tell you so many things,’ Verity protested but now wasn’t the time or the place. ‘Do I need to make formal introductions or did you just launch straight into the interrogation?’
Nina put a hand to her heart as if she were mortally offended. ‘I got Johnny a drink and a cheese straw then I launched into the interrogation. I wasn’t raised by wolves, Very.’
‘Great cheese straws,’ Johnny said, so Verity had to acknowledge him, look at him, instead of focussing on Nina. ‘Hello,’ he added and he kissed Verity on the cheek so she got a lovely whiff of his aftershave, which made her think of expensive soap and warm, folded laundry. He smelt clean, fresh and ever so slightly lemony. It suited him, matched the clean, elegant set of his face as he smiled down at her. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt that might have started out life as black but was faded to grey, its white logo now indecipherable. And he had nice arms. Not ripped. Not ‘sun’s out, guns out’ as they said to Tom when he slipped off his cardigan in deference to the fact that it was late June and the shop had no air con. But Johnny definitely had muscles, lean muscles, like he had a gym membership and wasn’t afraid to use it.
She had to stop staring. ‘Shall I get some more cheese straws?’ she gulped, half-turning to hide what felt suspiciously like a blush in order to make for the kitchen.
Nina yanked her back. ‘You’ll do no such thing. Not until you guys tell me how you met.’
There was a moment of silence – Verity was absolutely certain that her cheeks must be scarlet by now. It seemed to last for several millennia as Johnny looked at Verity and she looked back at him and held her face very still so she didn’t grimace. ‘Er, it’s quite a funny story really, isn’t it? How we met.’
‘Yeah, one to tell the grandchildren about,’ Johnny said casually. ‘I was waiting for someone in a restaurant but they stood me up and Verity was waiting for the legendary Peter Hardy, who’d stood her up too.’
‘Not Peter Hardy, oceanographer?’ Nina gasped indignantly. ‘He sounded too nice to stand anyone up!’
‘And there was a misunderstanding and the restaurant thought we were waiting for each other and so here we are!’ Johnny put his arm round Verity who tried not to stiffen.
‘Yes, here we are,’ she echoed with a pointed look at Nina. ‘Nina, didn’t Posy ask you to keep an eye on Sam and Pants? Because they’re currently having a competition to see how many macarons they can cram into their mouths in one go.’
‘Urgh, boys! I expected better from Pants!’ Nina exclaimed and she tottered away to tell off Sam, Posy’s fifteen-year-old brother, and his best friend Pants.
Which left Verity alone with Johnny. Technically they weren’t alone, there had to be over a hundred people in the courtyard, but they were standing off to the side and it felt oddly intimate.
‘You look very nice,’ Johnny said after a small pause.
‘Thank you,’ Verity said stiffly. ‘You too. I like your, erm, T-shirt.’ She stared at the ground and stifled a heartfelt sigh. ‘Erm, more cheese straws? And let me get you a Prosecco.’ If they were eating and drinking they wouldn’t have to talk to each other.
‘Sounds like a plan,’ Johnny agreed and he followed her through the crowd to the tearoom so they could load up on supplies.
Their progress was slow as a steady stream of people kept stopping Verity in her tracks, their eyes wide like they couldn’t believe that she was with a man. Then they’d goggle at Johnny, who’d smile equably though Verity was sure that he was now regretting the whole imaginary boyfriend scheme. ‘So, is this Peter Hardy, oceanographer?’ Verity’s waylayers would all ask.
‘No, I’m Johnny, I’m an architect,’ Johnny said every time until finally they were Prosecco-ed up and each had a plate laden high with delicious baked goods just as Posy swung a metal ladle at the new tea urn to get everyone’s attention and perforate a few eardrums while she was at it. Then she nudged Mattie forward.
‘You have to say a few words,’ she hissed in a loud voice. ‘Welcome people, your tearoom mission statement, introduce our special guests, blah blah.’
‘Don’t worry if it’s not as good as Morland’s speech of a few weeks ago,’ Sebastian added kindly, from over Posy’s shoulder. ‘I mean, it won’t be, but that’s not your fault.’
Posy and Sebastian were still in the first flush of married love where they seemed to think the other one was the reason that the sun shone and flowers grew and life was generally beautiful. Somehow Sebastian managed to convey all this and still be rude to everyone who wasn’t Posy.
Which was why Mattie rolled her eyes, even as she took off her apron. ‘Thank you, everyone, for coming to our opening. I’ve dreamed of this moment, of standing in my own café, since as long as I can remember and even though it’s happening right at this very moment, it still feels like a dream,’ she said.
She didn’t get any further than that because her French mother, who they’d all been introduced to earlier, an older but still equally chic version of Mattie, promptly burst into tears. ‘It’s just that I’m so proud of you,’ she sobbed as Mattie’s brother, Jacques, handed her a tissue. He had a whole box with him as if he’d anticipated that they might be needed. Verity glanced sideways at Johnny but he was texting, eyes intent on his phone screen, and was missing all the drama.
Once Mattie’s mother’s sobs had quietened down to the occasional hiccup, Mattie continued. ‘I went to Paris to learn patisserie and fall in love – though learning patisserie was a much happier experience than falling in love,’ she said darkly as the assembled company stared down at their glasses. ‘Anyway, here I am and here you are, at the grand opening of The Tearoom at Happy Ever After and now I’d just like to welcome our special guests to declare us officially open.’
‘Who is the special guest?’ Johnny suddenly whispered in Verity’s ear. His breath tickled, not in an unpleasant way.
‘It’s actually two special guests,’ Verity whispered back, shifting slightly so that he didn’t have to lean in quite so closely. ‘A woman who won Great British Bake Off a couple of years ago and her mother who happens to be a romantic novelist. Quite convenient really.’
‘Why is it convenient that
her mother’s a romantic novelist?’ Johnny wanted to know but Very’s reply was drowned out by a polite round of applause as the guests cut a big red ribbon that had been hurriedly stretched over the tearoom doors. These then burst open to reveal Little Sophie, their Saturday girl, and Sam, carrying a massive croquembouche between them. Everyone ‘ooh’ed and ‘ah’ed as they caught sight of the high tower of profiteroles welded together with salted caramel and adorned with sparklers and the clapping got distinctly more enthusiastic.
Unfortunately the dramatic impact was rather lost on the staff of Happy Ever After. They’d been required to taste-test so many different flavoured crème patisseries (in the end Mattie had gone with a hazelnut praline) that Verity and Tom had vowed to each other that they would never eat another profiterole as long as they lived.
‘Do you want some?’ she asked Johnny as plates of profiteroles began to be passed around.
He shook his head. ‘Actually, I haven’t got that much of a sweet tooth. If it were a cheese tower, I’d be mowing down anyone who got in my way. What was that you were saying about romantic novels?’
‘What?’ Verity scrolled back to their conversation BC (before croquembouche). ‘The bookshop. We specialise in romantic fiction.’
Johnny didn’t pull an agonised face like he was scared of getting romantic fiction cooties, like Dougie, Merry’s boyfriend did, every time Verity talked about work. He jerked his head in the direction of the glass doors through which shelves of books could be glimpsed. ‘The whole shop? Really?’
‘I’ll give you the guided tour, if you like.’ Verity wasn’t just offering to be polite. More and more people were pouring into the tearoom on a hunt for profiteroles and it was inevitable that soon Verity’s personal space bubble would become pierced in all directions. She and Johnny inched closer to the doors that led to the now-closed shop, which she unlocked so they could slip through undetected.
Verity took Johnny through the deserted rooms and explained how Happy Ever After had been transformed over the last couple of months.
They ended up sitting on opposite sofas in the main room as Johnny looked around with interest. ‘I’m getting a very strong sense of déjà vu,’ he said, as his eyes rested on the rolling ladder. ‘What did the shop used to be called?’
‘Bookends,’ Verity said and Johnny’s face lit up with a smile. Verity smiled back because there was something about this version of Johnny’s smile, how welcoming it was, how it pulled you into its orbit, which automatically made her want to smile too. But then, like the sun slipping down behind the London rooftops, his smile faded.
‘I’ve been here before,’ he said. ‘Lots of times before.’
‘When it was Bookends?’ Verity dared to ask because it seemed as if the subject suddenly had a Keep Out notice pinned on it and she liked to be as respectful of other people’s boundaries as she hoped they would be of hers.
‘We had a spelling test at school every Friday and if I got all my answers right, then my mother would bring me here to choose a book then we’d visit the tearoom for a cake. I had a much sweeter tooth back then,’ he said, eyes faraway as if he wasn’t seeing Happy Ever After but the shop as it had been, which in the day had had a huge children’s section.
‘I used to get a gold star if I got all my spellings right,’ Verity offered because Johnny had shared something personal and she found that she wanted to do the same. ‘Once I’d collected ten gold stars, I was given fifty pence to spend on penny sweets in the newsagent.’
‘Fifty pence to spend on penny sweets was untold riches when we were kids, wasn’t it?’ Johnny asked with a grin, his mood lightening again, but Verity shook her head.
‘It really wasn’t. Not when you have sisters,’ Verity remembered sadly. Her sisters, who never, ever got ten gold stars, would always want in on Verity’s fifty pence mix up and would hang over the sweet display in the local newsagent and argue.
Johnny laughed when Verity told him that the newsagent got so fed up he’d stuck a sign on the door. ‘Only two Love sisters allowed in the shop at any one time.’
This wasn’t as bad as she remembered it being. Talking to a man. Dating. Not that they were dating. Or were even friends, but it wasn’t as awful as she’d imagined it to be.
‘What books did you like when you were a kid?’ Verity asked Johnny and he admitted to an obsession with Biggles. ‘There was this guy who used to work here who’d track down out-of-print Biggles novels for me. His wife used to run the café. She made the most amazing flapjacks.’
‘I think you must mean my mum and dad.’ Verity’s heart jack-knifed in her chest when she heard Posy’s voice from the doorway and then she thought she might burst into tears. ‘My parents used to run the bookshop and the café.’
‘Really? Cause I’m going back nearly thirty years,’ Johnny said doubtfully, twisting round to smile at Posy.
‘Mum and Dad took over the shop twenty-five years ago and my mother made the best flapjacks in the world, so it had to be them,’ Posy said.
‘Well, they must be very proud of everything you’ve accomplished,’ Johnny said, which was absolutely the right and kindest thing to say in the circumstances. Verity had been worried about him coming here – to her work, her home, to meet her friends – but he fitted in like he really was a new boyfriend on his best behaviour.
Except he’d just talked about Posy’s parents in the present tense and Sebastian, who’d come up behind Posy because they couldn’t bear to be a minute apart from each other, brushed his hand against Posy’s cheek. It was a tiny, tender gesture that made Verity’s heart jack-knife again. She also couldn’t believe that Sebastian Thorndyke, of all people, was capable of such tenderness. ‘You all right, Morland?’ he asked.
Posy nodded. ‘I’m fine, honestly.’ She smiled bravely at Johnny. ‘I hope that they would be proud of me but, you see, they died nearly eight years ago.’
Johnny’s intake of breath was swift. ‘I’m sorry …’ he tailed off, took another deep breath. ‘My mother died ten years ago, when I was twenty-five … I would hope that she’s proud of me too. You know, she loved this shop. It was one of her favourite places.’
‘Thank you,’ Posy said and then nobody knew what to say; even Sebastian felt moved enough to keep quiet. Johnny glanced over at their new-releases shelves long enough for Posy to give Verity a thumbs up and mouth, ‘I love him!’ Then Johnny turned his attention back to them and Posy smiled brightly. ‘No lurking in here. This is meant to be a party. So, let’s get back to partying.’
Of course, the first person Verity saw as they stepped out into the courtyard was Merry, who’d just arrived with Dougie. Like a heat-seeking missile, she immediately homed in on where Verity was now trying to hide Johnny behind a tree, dragging Dougie over with her.
‘There you are!’ she called out, but she had eyes only for Johnny. Or one eye because she stood there violently winking at Johnny so one side of her face was completely contorted.
‘This is my sister, Merry,’ Verity said. ‘Please ignore her weird, disfiguring facial tic. And this is Dougie, her boyfriend.’ Verity waggled her fingers at Dougie, who waggled his fingers back. He’d known Verity long enough now to understand that a finger waggle was far more acceptable than a hug. ‘This is Johnny.’
‘I know who he is!’ Merry pointed at her eye. ‘I don’t have a weird facial tic. I was winking! To let Johnny know that I’m in on the scam, but don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. Very, I need cake, I’m incredibly hungover. Dougie, alcohol, go and find some. Johnny, you come with me.’
Then Merry yanked a bemused-looking Johnny over to one of the benches that had just become vacant and there was nothing that Verity could do but break the land speed record to get cake and bring it back to her sister who by then was happily regaling Johnny with tales of Love family life.
‘There was no room to move when all of us were at home at the same time and Our Vicar and Our Vicar’s wife said that TV would rot our young mi
nds, which is ironic because now they’re both completely addicted to Cash in the Attic, and so we had to make our own fun. Mostly we pretended to be the Mitford sisters, though we all used to fight to get to be Unity. Not because we were Nazis but if it was your turn to be Unity, you got to shoot yourself in the head, then lumber about like a lunatic. We also used to play Pride and Prejudice. Did you know that Very has the entire book memorised? She has a quote good to go for every occasion. So, what about you, then? Do you have any siblings? Where do you live? It’s so weird that you’re single. I mean, you’re ridiculously good-looking. There’s plenty of women who wouldn’t kick you out of bed for eating a cracker, not that you want to be getting ideas about my sister, because hmmmppffff—’
The only effective way to silence Merry was to shove a large piece of cake at her mouth. Verity couldn’t even bring herself to say anything. There were no words. It was left to Dougie to remonstrate because sometimes – admittedly not very often – Merry did listen to Dougie.
‘Merry, stop sticking your nose into other people’s business.’
Merry managed to swallow the piece of raspberry meringue layer cake. ‘Very isn’t other people!’
‘I am people,’ Verity pointed out. ‘And I’m your family, so you should be more respectful of my—’
‘Family shamily!’
Dougie rolled his eyes. ‘That doesn’t even make sense, Merry.’
Johnny didn’t need to be witness to this familiar old squabble. Verity gingerly tugged at his T-shirt, both of them tensing as her knuckles made contact with what felt like quite taut musculature under the soft brushed cotton, and led him away.
‘Isn’t this a little rude?’ he said. ‘I’ve barely said two words to your sister.’
‘Merry is genetically predisposed not to respond to hints or gentle coaxing.’ Verity sighed. ‘Sometimes rudeness is the only way to go.’ They were leaving the courtyard now, turning into Rochester Street where Verity stopped. ‘I’m sorry about your mother,’ she said. ‘She sounds lovely.’
True Love at the Lonely Hearts Bookshop Page 6