True Love at the Lonely Hearts Bookshop

by Annie Darling

  Though she didn’t do tactile, Verity was relieved when Johnny offered her his arm. It was very gallant, like something out of one of Posy’s regency romances.

  ‘I love walking through London at night. You notice all sorts of details that pass you by when the streets are busy,’ Johnny said and he pointed up at the building they were passing, a row of shops with flats above them. ‘See the datestone up there? It tells you the year the building was erected and who the builder was.’

  Johnny made the London of long ago come alive. He showed Verity a plaque on the wall of an anonymous block of council flats commemorating Mary Wollstonecraft, an eighteenth-century writer, feminist and mother of Mary Shelley, author of Frankenstein, who’d lived in a house on the site. When they crossed Euston Road, he told her about the Euston Arch, which had stood at the entrance to the old Euston station. It was long gone now but Johnny’s parents, then newly qualified architects, and a group of their friends, had climbed the scaffolding surrounding the arch before it was demolished in the sixties and hung a huge ‘Save The Arch’ banner.

  ‘There’s a campaign to rebuild the Arch, especially now they’ve recovered a lot of the original stone,’ Johnny explained. ‘My father is quite beside himself.’

  ‘If ever Our Vicar and Our Vicar’s Wife come to visit, you’ll have to give them a guided tour. They love this kind of stuff,’ Verity said and then she realised that she’d just invited Johnny to meet her parents. Like, they were actually dating. Even if they were actually dating, it was far, far too soon to talk about meeting parents. Like having sex, there was probably some industry-standard period of time before parents were met: three months of exclusive dating and one minibreak. ‘Before you read anything into that perfectly innocent remark, FYI, I’m not getting notions.’

  ‘Good to know,’ Johnny said with an easy grin, then his phone, which miraculously had stayed silent for the last two hours, beeped imperiously. He took it out of the back pocket of his jeans, glanced at the screen and his face, which had been animated and very smiley, even when Verity was suggesting that he might like to meet her parents, became still, tense, as if he were fighting not to betray his emotions.

  It really wasn’t any of Verity’s business, except if they were having this arrangement, which apparently they were, then it kind of was. ‘Is that your, er, friend?’ She tried to sound casual but her voice broke on the last syllable.

  ‘What?’ Johnny blinked and the spell was broken. ‘Yes.’

  ‘So, what does she think of you having a fake girlfriend?’ Verity had obviously spent too much time Skyping her sisters lately because deeply personal questions were much more their style. ‘Does she mind?’

  ‘She’s not really in a position to mind, is she? What with her being married,’ Johnny said a little sadly. ‘Anyway, we both agreed at the start of the summer that it was best to give each other some space.’

  Verity didn’t think phoning and messaging someone all the time, especially when he was at social gatherings, really counted as giving Johnny some space but she refrained from mentioning it. After all her motto in life was ‘What Would Elizabeth Bennet Do?’ Not ‘What Would One of My Incredibly Tactless Sisters Do?’ So she just said, ‘Oh, is that so?’

  ‘That’s the idea. I haven’t seen her in weeks. We were actually meant to be meeting that night you gatecrashed my table in that Italian, but she stood me up. No, that’s not fair. She said that we needed to take some time away from each other to decide what we both really wanted, though she could have told me that before I’d booked a table and waited for the best part of an hour.’

  The impression Verity was gaining of this other woman wasn’t entirely a favourable one.

  ‘You being stood up worked out quite well for me, I suppose.’ Verity shot Johnny a sideways look. ‘Though you could have just played along and pretended to be Peter Hardy and made life a lot easier for the both of us.’

  ‘I could have,’ Johnny agreed. ‘But then we’d never have become friends.’

  Verity rarely made friends solely on her own merits. Yes, Posy and Nina and Tom were her friends, but that was a very lovely by-product of working together so they were forewarned of Verity’s odd little ways. Then there were her sisters’ friends who became Verity’s friends by default (befriend a Love sister, and you got another one as part of the deal, like a free gift with purchase). Again, by the time Verity had achieved friend status in her own right, they all knew what they were getting into.

  They were skirting the edge of Russell Square now; Happy Ever After was a brisk five minutes’ walk away. ‘Are we friends though?’ Verity wondered aloud. ‘I’m not sure what we are but tonight was the first time I can remember that none of my other friends took me to one side and said that they knew this great guy they wanted to set me up with. So I guess our fake relationship scam did have its benefits.’

  ‘And since you’ve managed not to get any notions, I think we can happily call it a success,’ Johnny said and for the life of her Verity couldn’t tell if he were joking or not. ‘Unless you are secretly in love with me.’

  ‘Nope, still not in love with you,’ Verity confirmed. ‘Sorry to disappoint.’

  ‘I’m sure I’ll recover,’ Johnny said with the hint of a smile. ‘So … would it really be that much of an ordeal if we spent the rest of the summer attending assorted functions simply as friends, because I do genuinely consider you a friend now, who our other friends think are dating?’

  Verity thought for a moment. She had already been to an open-house brunch and a birthday, which had necessitated an overnight stay. She’d met everybody. She’d faced her fears, confronted her demons and the world was still turning. ‘It’s not our fault if they’ve got the wrong end of the stick,’ she decided eventually. ‘So it hardly counts as fibbing.’

  ‘Oh good,’ Johnny said smoothly. ‘Because there’s a wedding next weekend and when Carlotta heard I was seeing someone, she insisted that the seating arrangements weren’t locked down yet and that I could bring you.’ Johnny shot Verity another cool smile as if he were daring her to back out. ‘I tried to tell her no, but she wouldn’t hear of it.’

  In truth, it did sting a little. Was that the reason Johnny had so readily agreed to meet her tonight? Because he wanted her on wedding duty next weekend? But then Verity couldn’t have it both ways. She’d ghosted Johnny all week, then been happy that he’d had no other plans for a Saturday night so he could be a foil for her own singledom.

  Anyway, friends did favours for their friends.

  ‘A wedding?’ Verity queried and she tried not to sound too Dowager Countess Grantham about it. ‘Another overnight stay?’

  ‘It’s in Kensington so I was planning to get a taxi home but I’m sure we can find a hotel nearby if you really want to make a night out of it,’ Johnny said dryly. ‘You in, then?’

  For the life of her, and she really did try, neither Verity, nor Elizabeth Bennet, could think of a good reason not to.

  13

  ‘She is a selfish, hypocritical woman, and I have no opinion of her.’

  As any couple might hope if they’d booked their wedding for a Saturday in mid-July, the day dawned golden, the sky a flawless blue, which boded well for the obligatory photos outside the church.

  It didn’t really bode that well that Con’s wedding was booked for the end of September when the weather might be sunny or there could be rain and gales. Con had asked Our Vicar to put a special plea in with God, but Verity doubted that would work. Not after all the times that Con had forsaken God or taken his name in vain, as Verity explained to Johnny as they squeezed onto a Central Line tube train – there was a citywide cycling event and getting across London by cab in a timely fashion was never going to happen. So they were armpit to armpit with all the other strap-hanging tourists and shoppers who gave them odd looks because Johnny was in tailcoat and fancy waistcoat with a yellow rose in his buttonhole.

  It was a huge point in Johnny’s favour that when Veri
ty had asked the dress code for the wedding he hadn’t said something vague and mannish like, ‘Oh, just wear something nice.’ ‘I’ll ask one of the ladies,’ he’d said and true to his word, he’d reported back an hour later that Verity needed to wear ‘daytime formal and some kind of headgear. Not necessarily a hat.’

  Verity had sought help from Con who’d read nothing but bridal magazines for the last six months, and Posy who gave Verity first dibs on all the dresses that their beloved late boss Lavinia had amassed over the last seventy years.

  Verity was wearing her favourite pick: a fifties dress with boat neck, cap sleeves, nipped-in waist and full skirt, which had smudgy sprigs of red, orange and pink blooms on a black background. It was very comforting to wear a frock that Lavinia had worn, so it felt that in some small way Verity was carrying Lavinia with her, could hear her voice saying gently, ‘Courage, my dear’ as Lavinia always had when Verity was having a meltdown at work.

  Also requisitioned from the depths of Lavinia’s wardrobe was a fascinator – a wide black velvet band with a frivolous piece of black spot netting attached to it – and on her feet, half price in the Office sale, were black suede peep-toe shoes, which were going to kill Verity very slowly and very painfully for the rest of the day.

  Nina had given a long, low whistle when Verity had walked through the shop that morning and even Tom had paused with his usual breakfast panini halfway to his mouth, which was practically an ogle as far as Tom was concerned. Then as Verity had been tottering up Rochester Street she’d bumped into Sebastian Thorndyke who hadn’t bothered to hide his bug-eyed surprise. ‘Good God, who’d have thought that the vicar’s daughter could scrub up all right?’ he’d exclaimed. Verity had decided that it was best to take that as a compliment and it was actually quite … nice to get all dressed up and realise that for once she looked like a version of herself she’d only ever seen in her wildest, most optimistic dreams.

  When they reached St Mary Abbots Church in Kensington, Verity didn’t feel as if she was sticking out like a sore, socially awkward, shabbily dressed thumb. Anyone looking at her and Johnny, her arm in his, because that was appropriate touching now they were officially masquerading as a couple, wouldn’t have thought that they looked out of place together.

  Today was going to be a good day, Verity decided very uncharacteristically, as she caught Wallis’s eye and waved. Then she turned to Johnny. ‘Remember, I’m under pain of death to make sure I get one of everything: order of service, menu, placecards.’

  Johnny stopped at a pew that was half the way down on the groom’s side and ushered Verity in. ‘I’m no expert in these matters but if your sister’s getting married in September shouldn’t she have already ordered her stationery?’

  ‘You’d think, wouldn’t you?’

  Johnny gasped like he was shocked to the very core of his being. ‘Are you saying she hasn’t even sent out invitations?’

  Where to even begin? Verity started by rolling her eyes. ‘She’s emailed out a Save the Date and then Chatty, she has an art degree, was meant to be designing the invitations but Con is a very infuriating mix of incredibly bossy and incredibly indecisive.’

  ‘And her fiancé, what does he think about all this?’

  Alex had already said, on more than one occasion, that he’d be quite happy to rock up to the church in his best trousers and nicest shirt then retire to the local pub. ‘He thinks that the secret to having a long, happy life together with Con is to just stay out of it.’ Verity looked around the church.

  ‘I can’t decide if that’s good or bad advice,’ Johnny said. Then he smiled, called out ‘Hello’ to a woman who was frantically waving at him from the other side of the aisle. ‘I have absolutely no idea who that is. Oh! Look at that hat at your four o’clock. It looks like she’s got a lilac jellyfish on her head.’

  They spent a very productive ten minutes commenting on the hats on display and wondering whether the best man, who was red-faced and glistening, was going to pass out, until a triumphant chord suddenly rang out on the church organ and nearly gave Verity a heart attack. They stood up and turned as what civilians called ‘Here Comes the Bride’ (and what Verity called ‘The Bridal Chorus’ by Richard Wagner) soundtracked the bride walking down the aisle with her beaming papa.

  The bride (‘Carlotta, Spanish father, English mother, works for the Arts Council’) was a vision in a strapless white lace, fit and flare dress and a lace-edged veil held in place with a small tiara. The groom, Rich (had gone to Cambridge with Johnny, a wine merchant), glanced back at his bride to be, rocked back on his heels then actually wiped away a tear.

  Verity was meant to be making notes on the hymns and the chosen readings (a poem by Pablo Neruda and a moving recital of ‘We’ve Only Just Begun’ by The Carpenters read by an actor friend of the couple that had quite a few people sobbing).

  Although, as a vicar’s daughter, Verity had attended more weddings than Elizabeth Taylor and Cheryl Cole put together, she was unexpectedly moved by the intimacy of the moment. Of both Carlotta and Rich, two strangers to Verity, choking back tears as they recited their vows, their hands clasped tightly together. Verity was struck anew by the solemnity, the promise, the commitment of the words, which she’d heard so many times before.

  To have and to hold

  From this day forward;

  For better, for worse,

  For richer, for poorer,

  In sickness and in health,

  To love and to cherish,

  Till death us do part.

  They meant something beautiful; something that had nothing to do with signature wedding colours or matching bridesmaid dresses.

  Getting married meant pledging to spend the rest of your life with someone, to try to be the best person you could be for that someone.

  ‘Here, I came prepared,’ Johnny whispered in her ear as he handed Verity a handkerchief. ‘It’s all right. It’s quite clean. My father always told me to take a spare hankie to a wedding in case of tears.’

  ‘I’m not crying,’ Verity whispered. She blinked and that was enough to dislodge the one tear that had apparently been clinging to the bottom lashes of her left eye. She managed to catch it with Johnny’s spare hankie before it did any damage to her make-up. ‘Oh God, I can’t believe I’m crying at two complete strangers’ wedding.’

  ‘If it’s any consolation, I brought an extra spare hankie for myself.’ Johnny leaned even closer so that Verity got a delicious whiff of the clean, crisp aftershave he wore. ‘Don’t tell anyone, I’m a bit of a weeper too.’

  Verity gave him a look. Not what Posy called her patented dead-eyed stare, but a close cousin to it. Johnny winked at her and she softened.

  ‘Your secret’s safe with me,’ she said and didn’t even try to hide her smile.

  He smiled too and their eyes met again so that now Verity felt as if she were experiencing another private, intimate moment, between her and this man that she was sort of friends with.

  ‘I therefore proclaim that they are husband and wife,’ the vicar proclaimed in a jubilant voice. ‘Those whom God has joined together let no one put them asunder!’

  Afterwards there were official photos taken outside the church. Johnny was called upon to herd people into position and Verity was quite happy to watch him herd, always with a ready smile and a joke. He even had a hug for the two smallest pageboys who had disgraced themselves while the register was being signed and a woman sang ‘You Were Meant For Me’ from Singin’ in the Rain, by pummelling each other until the Maid Of Honour had hauled them apart.

  Every now and again, Johnny would look round to check that Verity was where he’d left her, which was leaning against a handy wall to take the pressure off her already aching feet as she texted Con. Her oldest sister had sent her seven increasingly frantic messages while Verity’s phone had been turned off during the service.

  Signature colours are mint green and silver. Bouquet mostly pale green succulents with some white roses, tied with
silver ribbon. Sending you pics. Stop bothering me. Vxxx

  She’d just finished sending her text to Con with pictures attached of the ribbons swathing the end of each pew, the bridesmaids’ dresses and the order of service, when Johnny returned to her side with two people, a man and woman, in tow.

  ‘Verity! Sorry to neglect you,’ he said and the herding must have been more strenuous than it had looked because he sounded breathless and had a hectic flush dotting his cheekbones. ‘I want to introduce you to two very old friends of mine. This is Harry and Marissa.’

  Verity immediately straightened up from her slouched position as if she’d just been called in to see the headmaster.

  ‘Not so much of the very old,’ the man said, stepping forward. He was fair-haired, not as tall as Johnny, in fact very slight of build, but he had a way about him, a presence that drew the eye and Verity’s attention. Or it could just be that there seemed to be a tension between the two men, which made the air crackle around them. Or so Verity imagined. ‘Nice to meet you, Verity. What on earth are you doing with a rogue like Johnny?’

  ‘I’ve never met anyone less like a rogue than Johnny,’ Verity said stoutly, because she knew rogues – all of Nina’s boyfriends past and present could be described thus – and Johnny, even though he was in love with another man’s wife, didn’t come close to roguedom. ‘And we’re just hanging out, aren’t we?’

  ‘We are,’ Johnny agreed. ‘And this is Marissa.’ He gestured at the woman who’d been standing behind Harry. ‘She’s been dying to meet you.’

  The air stopped crackling and disappeared altogether; suddenly sucked out of the day, like a huge storm was brewing, pressure mounting, everything in the atmosphere coming to boiling point.

  Standing in front of Verity was a tiny ethereal blonde woman. She was as beautiful as any woman Verity had ever seen. In fact, she looked positively angelic with wide green eyes, a tiny snub nose and the perfect rosebud lips of a Disney cartoon princess. It wasn’t a huge stretch to imagine that tiny woodland animals helped her dress each morning.