True Love at the Lonely Hearts Bookshop

by Annie Darling

  Verity, blinded by so much beauty, smiled shyly at Marissa. Her smile wasn’t returned. Marissa’s eyes swept over Verity in a swift assessment, ending at her feet where Verity’s toes were curling nervously. ‘Oh, you mustn’t mind Johnny, he does exaggerate,’ Marissa said crisply to Verity, who found she couldn’t look the other woman in the eye. She glanced over at Johnny for some assurance but he and Harry were deep in conversation and paying the two women no attention. ‘I just happened to remark that wherever I seemed to look, all I could see was your dress. Those flowers are very … bright, aren’t they? Who’s it by?’

  Verity didn’t have any dresses by anyone. She had dresses that she’d bought from well-known high street chains or charity shops, not from some fancy designer with a minimalist boutique in Mayfair. Except this dress. Once again, Lavinia came to the rescue.

  ‘It’s vintage,’ Verity tried to say in an off-hand way like she was the sort of woman who found amazing vintage pieces in her local Oxfam. ‘It belonged to a very dear friend of mine who—’

  ‘Oh! It’s second hand! Well, it’s still very charming,’ Marissa said in her lovely modulated voice and now instead of being pleased with her outfit, with how she looked, Verity was crushed to be wearing a garish, gaudy dress, which probably stank of mothballs. ‘Anyway, it’s very nice to meet you, Veronica.’

  ‘It’s Verity.’ Verity knew that her handshake was as limp as a first-time marathon runner hobbling over the finishing line but that was how she felt. When the handshake was over, Marissa gave the faintest grimace and flexed her fingers, as if Verity’s hand had been sweaty, which Verity was pretty sure it hadn’t been. ‘Nice to meet you too.’

  ‘I’m sure it is.’ Marissa’s gaze rested beyond Verity as if she was desperate to find someone else to talk to. ‘Oh! There’s James and Emily. Harry, we really must go and say hello to them.’

  And off she went in her pristine white dress, though anyone with even a modicum of good manners knew that you didn’t wear white to a wedding unless you were the bride.

  ‘Guess I’d better go after the old ball and chain,’ Harry muttered and followed his wife so that only Johnny was left behind to smile apologetically at Verity.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, though it wasn’t his fault that his very old friend Marissa was so thoroughly unpleasant.

  ‘Is she always like—’

  ‘I didn’t know it would take me ages to find the mother of the bride,’ Johnny continued because his apology had nothing to do with Marissa. ‘Were you on your own for ages?’

  ‘It was fine. I had a lot of urgent texts from Con that I had to reply to. Honestly, it’s all cool,’ Verity assured him though emotionally she’d downgraded from limp marathon runner to deflated balloon because people being rude to her, and especially for no good reason, counted as a confrontation and Verity didn’t deal with confrontations well. Also, her feet were officially killing her and she now hated what she was wearing with a deep and fiery passion.

  ‘Good. And by the way, I never said before but you look great. Your dress reminds me of those Dutch flower paintings,’ Johnny said, because sometimes he knew exactly the right thing to say at the right moment.

  Verity smiled and as the corners of her mouth lifted so did her mood. ‘I thought that too!’

  Her spirits remained buoyant during the fifteen-minute walk along Kensington High Street to the restaurant within the grounds of Holland Park, where the reception was being held. It was an odd but triumphant procession; the wedding party, including bride, groom and bridesmaids, mingling with shoppers and accompanied by much tooting of car horns and cheers as they tottered towards their destination.

  With grave ceremony Verity was introduced to the two duelling pageboys, Rufus, Johnny’s godson, and his younger brother Otto, and although she would have said she wasn’t good with kids, she didn’t need to do much but hold their hands each time they crossed a road and listen to them bang on in great detail about Doctor Who and say things like ‘Oh, really?’ and ‘I didn’t know you could do stuff like that with a sonic screwdriver’ at regular intervals.

  ‘You were a big hit,’ Johnny told Verity once they’d finally reached the restaurant and were milling about in the garden as more photos were taken and, thankfully, waiters were circulating with laden drinks trays. ‘And those two are a tough crowd.’

  ‘I’ve faced worse,’ Verity said and reflexively she scanned the crowd for an elfin blonde in a white dress because she wanted to keep as much distance between her and Marissa as possible.

  She even nervously peered around corners on her way to the loo but once she reached her destination, Verity was more focussed on easing her feet out of her peep-toed instruments of torture. She put on her ballet flats then came barrelling out of the washroom into the powder area only to find Marissa holding forth amid a small group of women.

  ‘We left early in the end. It was full of the most awful people. It’s official: the bridge and tunnel crowd have completely ruined Dubai,’ Marissa was saying. ‘Harry calls it Brentwood with a desert.’

  Verity tried to make herself look as small and inconspicuous as possible as she squeezed past them but was stopped by a hand on her arm. The hand belonged to Elsa, who she’d met at Lawrence’s fortieth birthday party.

  ‘Hello, sweetie,’ Elsa said warmly, pulling Verity into the circle. ‘Love your dress. Do you know everyone?’

  Verity didn’t know any of the other women except … Marissa who stared blankly at Verity as if she’d never seen her before in her life.

  Not everyone’s good with names. Or faces, Verity told herself. ‘We met earlier outside the church,’ Verity reminded Marissa, whose beautiful features remained impassive. ‘I’m Verity.’

  ‘Oh, did we? I don’t remember. But anyway, nice to meet you, Vera.’ She turned back to the group with a skilful, elegant shrug of the shoulder that somehow managed to completely cut Verity out of the circle. ‘Now, where were we?’

  As Verity left the restroom she wasn’t channelling Elizabeth Bennet but her mother, Mrs Bennet, as she muttered furiously under her breath, ‘She is a selfish, hypocritical woman and I have no opinion of her.’

  Which was a lie because Verity had quite a few opinions about Marissa and none of them good ones.

  Johnny was waiting for Verity with another glass of champagne and the news that they’d been asked to take their seats.

  ‘Not on the singles’ table either,’ he said as he led her across the dancefloor. ‘We’re on the fun party table of couples who don’t have kids.’

  Verity wasn’t a fun party table kind of girl but when they got to their table, there were only two other people seated so far, so she could ease herself into the fun gently. Jeremy and Martin were two beautifully chiselled men who were getting married themselves in a couple of weeks. After all those sessions with her sisters via Skype, Verity had become an expert in centrepieces, party favours and all other aspects of wedding planning.

  ‘What is the deal with bunting?’ Johnny asked as he tried to follow the conversation. ‘Is it necessary?’

  ‘It’s mandatory if you’re having a rustic country wedding,’ Jeremy said. ‘Is your sister doing mason jars?’

  ‘Still undecided,’ Verity said with a weary sigh. ‘We’ve been collecting vintage teacups from charity shops in case she wants to go with that option instead.’

  More of their tablemates arrived, the fun couples without kids, and it was a flurry of ‘Pleased to meet you’ and ‘Bride or groom?’ as people looked for their names on the placecards. But it wasn’t until the waiters had just begun to bring round the starters of pancetta-wrapped, pan-seared scallops on a pea puree that the last two guests slid into their seats next to Verity. Harry and Marissa.

  ‘You’ve finally been upgraded from the singles’ table, then, Johnny,’ Harry said with a grin. ‘Congratulations.’

  ‘I owe it all to my lovely Verity,’ Johnny said and he put his arm around Verity to pull her in and kiss her cheek.
It was unexpected and decidedly unwelcome to be pressed against Johnny’s side, so she could feel the heat and muscle of him, smell the crisp zing of his aftershave. Still, it would have been rude to squirm away, so Verity stayed exactly where she was, until Johnny freed her. ‘I never asked before, how was Dubai?’

  ‘Hot. Sandy. Marissa was pleased that we had good phone reception, as you know.’ Harry’s voice had become more challenging and Verity couldn’t understand why, once again, there was a tension suddenly crackling between the two men, which made everyone else at the table stare down at their scallops.

  ‘Oh Harry, don’t be so tiresome,’ Marissa said after a pause so long that Verity’s nails had almost dug holes in her palms. ‘I’m very cross with you, Johnny, by the way. You didn’t even say hello before, just marched us over to meet your little friend.’

  ‘I’m so sorry about my lapse of manners. Hello Marissa,’ Johnny said evenly, looking up from his plate to glance across at Marissa who was wearing a soft smile on her face, which made her look winsome and vulnerable. ‘You’re well?’

  ‘As well as can be expected,’ Marissa agreed and Verity found herself paralysed by the strange atmosphere that had settled around them, though she’d promised Con that she’d take photos of the food.

  With the arrival of Marissa and Harry, all the joy and good vibes of their fun, party-loving table were gone. In their place stilted small talk about how cute the little flower girls had looked and who’d ordered the salmon and who’d ordered the chicken.

  Verity longed to get to her feet, mutter something about powdering her nose and then disappear into the July evening, never to be seen again. She even thought of surreptitiously texting Merry under cover of her napkin so Merry could give her a ring and Verity could pretend there was some dire emergency that required her immediate attention.

  Instead she sat there stricken, playing with her food, until she felt a hand on her thigh. More specifically Verity felt Johnny’s hand on her thigh. Not in an inappropriate, lecherous way but a comforting pat as he leaned in to whisper, ‘I’m sorry. You look as if you aren’t enjoying yourself. Is this hideous?’

  ‘A little bit, everything feels very scratchy and I don’t know why,’ Verity admitted, leaning in even closer to Johnny so a waiter could take her plate. The feeling that she’d quite like him to pull her closer still so she could rest her head on his shoulder was unprecedented but very tempting.

  Johnny brushed Verity’s words away as if they were crumbs. ‘Everything seems fine to me. I’m having a great time but I’m sorry that you’re not.’

  As soon as he said it, Verity realised how she sounded. Whiny and wet blanket-ish. She wriggled round in her chair so she and Johnny were facing each other and she had her back to Harry and Marissa. As she looked up at Johnny, his gaze was fixed on something or someone over her shoulder then his attention was back on Verity and he was frowning and she really needed to get her head back in the fun party-loving game.

  ‘I’m sure I’ll get my second wind soon because there’s lots of good things going on here,’ she insisted and picked up her glass. ‘Free champagne, pudding to come, lots of wedding inspo … that reminds me, we need to take pictures of the top table.’

  Johnny rewarded her with a smile. One of his really good smiles that always made Verity smile back. ‘What’s the camera like on your phone? Could you zoom in from here? Or shall we get up and casually walk in that direction?’

  In the end they zoomed in with the camera on Johnny’s phone, which had more pixels though Verity was never sure exactly what a pixel did, then he sent the pictures to Verity. The whole time Verity couldn’t help but be aware of Marissa’s narrowed eyes and Harry’s careful, considered gaze.

  Then there was the tap of knife on glass and a cough into a microphone and the father of the bride was on his feet to make the first speech.

  Everyone at the table gave a collective sigh of relief, and smiled at the first predictable joke about ‘losing a daughter and gaining a son whose parents have a holiday home in Saint Lucia’.

  Johnny angled his chair nearer to Verity so he could see the top table, which meant that he could share the occasional knowing look with Verity, even clutch his head to make her laugh when the best man’s speech went on for a very dull twenty minutes. There were a couple of times when she felt his attention wander again, as if his mind was far, far away, his eyes not on the groom who was extolling the virtues of his radiant bride, but looking over Verity’s shoulder. The room was full of his friends, his Cambridge buddies, so perhaps he was scanning the room for familiar faces. Perhaps one of the familiar faces belonged to his other woman, the love of his life? As soon as Verity thought it, she felt her heart quicken.

  ‘You all right?’ Johnny asked, because she must have given a start.

  ‘Oh, look! They’re bringing out pudding.’

  They were – a selection of miniature tarts: lemon, strawberry and a salted caramel – then the newly-wedded couple took to the floor for their first dance to ‘Someone To Watch Over Me’ by Cole Porter. Verity took a moment to message Con who’d just demanded a progress report.

  It’s a very stylish, very understated, very expensive wedding. Sorry to rain on your parade but none of us are stylish or understated. Besides can you imagine Great Aunt Helen’s face if you served her scallops on minted pea puree?

  Verity had just clicked send and was trying to catch the eye of the waiter brandishing a coffee pot when Harry said, ‘So, Johnny, are you going to monopolise the gorgeous Verity all evening?’

  Johnny’s jaw tightened. ‘I have rather kept her to myself. Never even did proper introductions earlier. Very, Harry and I were at school together.’

  ‘Really? Is there anyone that you weren’t at school with?’ Verity asked because by now the champagne had taken the edge off her nerves and it did seem as if Johnny had gone to school with pretty much every thirty-somethingish man in London.

  ‘I was a scholarship boy from the wrong side of the tracks,’ Harry explained with a grin. ‘Johnny took me under his wing on my first day before anyone could flush my head down the loo for being a common oik and somehow, despite everything, we’ve been friends ever since.’

  ‘They even went to Cambridge together, which is where I met them and broke up their little bromance, didn’t I?’ Marissa blinked her large blue eyes. ‘I still feel guilty about it.’

  Johnny smiled faintly. ‘You know you’re forgiven, Rissa. It’s impossible to be angry with you for very long.’

  Verity wasn’t entirely sure she agreed but maybe Marissa improved on better acquaintance. Or perhaps she was simply one of those women who preferred the company of men. She certainly seemed to prefer the company of her husband for she batted her eyelashes at him, then nuzzled against him like a sleek, slinky pussy cat demanding attention. Harry kissed the top of Marissa’s head then raised his glass at Verity. ‘So, shall we swap life stories, Verity?’

  Verity couldn’t help but warm to Harry. He’d grown up on an estate in Islington, one of five kids, the first member of his family to get his A-levels, never mind a degree too. After Cambridge, he’d worked as a broker in the City and now had his own venture capital investment firm. Verity was always going to cheer for anyone who succeeded using their own drive and determination. And like Verity, Harry didn’t quite fit into the chi-chi scene at a fancy Holland Park wedding reception either, but Harry made not fitting in feel like a virtue. If Marissa were a Caroline Bingley if ever there was one, then Harry as he asked Verity questions, then listened attentively to her answers, reminded her of the self-made Mr Gardiner, kindly uncle to the Bennet sisters.

  Marissa, on the other hand, was hellbent on making Verity doubt all her lifestyle choices. From being one of five daughters of a vicar and growing up in Grimsby, to working in a bookshop that specialised in romantic fiction and owning a fat cat with boundary issues. Each new revelation that Harry winkled out of Verity was greeted with the arch of one of Marissa’s perfectly
groomed eyebrows and a smirk that made a mockery of her pretty mouth.

  Johnny had his arm around the back of Verity’s chair, his hand brushing her shoulder as if he were staking his claim. He even told Harry sharply to back off when Harry asked Verity with a theatrical wink what her views were on sex outside of marriage, ‘you being a vicar’s daughter and all?’ But eventually, Johnny’s hand stopped brushing against Verity until he removed his arm from the back of her chair altogether. Then, when the couple on Marissa’s other side got up to greet some friends, Johnny unfolded himself from his chair so he could slip into the seat next to her.

  Verity couldn’t catch what they were saying, the band was going full throttle as they played Motown hit after Motown hit, but she could see Marissa’s reaction to Johnny’s words quite clearly. Gone was the blank-eyed, sneering creature of before, replaced by her doe-eyed twin who kept biting her lip and staring hungrily at Johnny as if all she wanted to do for the rest of her life was look at him.

  And Johnny? He was staring right back at her. He swallowed once, like he had a lump in his throat. He looked away. Looked back at Marissa again and they shared a smile. A secret, sad smile and that was when it hit Verity with all the force of a ten-ton truck so she was amazed that she wasn’t thrown across the room but stayed where she was, on her chair, her hands gripping the seat, unable to move.

  14

  ‘There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer of whom I think well.’

  It was Marissa. Marissa was the other woman. The woman that Johnny loved. The woman he couldn’t be with for the very simple but very complicated reason that she was married to his old childhood friend.

  And yet, Marissa was giving every appearance of a woman madly in love too – and not with her husband. No wonder Johnny couldn’t quit loving her when Marissa gazed at him like he was a god.