True Love at the Lonely Hearts Bookshop

by Annie Darling

  ‘You don’t have to go,’ he said with a rueful smile. ‘You already know just how much of a bloody idiot I am. You’re right, of course Mum wouldn’t have wanted you to be alone,’ he added to his father.

  ‘She did make me promise that I wouldn’t become one of those sad old men who lived on baked beans and let their personal hygiene slip.’ William perched nimbly on one of Johnny’s burnished-steel stools. ‘There was even talk of me taking up swing dancing or painting with watercolours so I could meet women. “You’ve loved me so well, that it would be a terrible waste if you never loved again,” Lucinda told me just before she died but it was because I loved her so well that I wasn’t ready to meet anyone else for quite a while.’

  ‘And now?’ Johnny prompted, his fingers still curled around Verity’s wrist so he had to feel how fast her pulse was racing as she was forced to bear witness to a conversation that was nothing to do with her, even if she did have a vested interest in anything that might influence Johnny’s own views of love.

  ‘Now I realise that if you spend too much time living in the past then you miss what’s right in front of you,’ William said, with what seemed to Verity a pointed look at his only son. ‘Now … I’m going down to my basement hovel …’

  ‘Hardly a hovel,’ Johnny protested but he sounded slightly distracted, as if his heart wasn’t in it.

  ‘Why don’t you show Verity round?’ William suggested and Verity, though she pretended she could take or leave a guided tour, was eager to have a good snoop.

  Johnny was mostly silent as he showed Verity the ground-floor rooms, only muttering something about the engineered wooden floors. It wasn’t until he showed Verity the guest bathroom on the first floor, which had a freestanding clawfoot bath that would be absolutely perfect to read in, that he spoke. ‘Why on earth did I expect him to pine after my mother for the rest of his days? That was so unreasonable of me.’

  Pot, meet kettle, thought Verity as she took a deep breath and plonked herself down on the window seat in the bathroom. Despite its sense of uncluttered space, there were lots of spots, cosy nooks, in the house where someone could curl up for an hour or so with a book, or just be alone with their thoughts.

  There was no easy way to say this, Verity thought, as Johnny looked quizzically down at her. ‘Come and sit next to me?’ Unlike Marissa, Verity made it a heartfelt plea rather than a peremptory demand and when Johnny sat down so they were squeezed in tight together, she took his hand. It felt like the right thing to do.

  ‘Suddenly I’m very worried,’ Johnny said in a voice that sounded a lot more amused than it had done a minute before. ‘You’re either breaking up with me or about to tell me you’ve only got three months to live.’

  ‘Neither, except, well, I had a visitor at the shop today.’ Verity patted Johnny’s hand. ‘And that visitor was … Marissa.’

  Verity was a little surprised that there was no ‘dun dun dur!’ spooky music after she uttered the dreaded name. Instead, Johnny stiffened slightly. ‘Oh, really? How is she?’

  ‘Well. She looked well.’

  ‘Good. That’s … good.’

  Johnny’s reaction, while not exactly exuberant, wasn’t at all what Verity had been expecting. Secretly she’d been hoping for a callous indifference because a month of space had finally cured Johnny of his Marissa habit. Or a worst-case scenario, which would be Johnny rushing off into the night to pledge his undying love to his lady fair.

  ‘Anyway it’s been a month. Actually longer than a month so I should give you the phone back as Marissa says that she’s been trying to contact you because – and you’re not to freak out or get upset about this – it’s her and Harry’s tenth wedding anniversary bash this weekend …’

  ‘Oh, it’s this weekend, isn’t it?’ Johnny remarked casually as if he really were over Marissa and had barely given her a moment’s thought over the last few weeks. ‘I saved the date ages ago but never confirmed.’ He smiled the kind of smile you might give to an acquaintance or neighbour you passed in the street – a smile that was impossible for Verity to read. ‘Was she furious?’

  ‘Quite furious.’ Verity couldn’t say any more than that because if she did, she’d be cast as the kind of woman who badmouthed other women in the presence of men. ‘Needs final numbers and dietary requirements for the private chef.’

  Johnny nodded. ‘Marissa. Oh, Marissa.’ He let out a long breath. ‘The very last time I saw my mother smile was when Marissa and I told her that we were engaged. She asked me if I was happy and when I said I was, she said, “Well, all I ever want is for you to be happy. Then I’m happy too.”’

  Verity rested the flat of her hand on Johnny’s back as he hunched over, elbows on his knees. For someone who wasn’t very tactile, she was making great strides in her personal development this evening. ‘You must miss her so much.’ She decided it needed further clarification. ‘Your mother, I mean.’

  ‘So many of my last memories of her are tied up with memories of when Marissa and I were at our best,’ Johnny said, as he leaned in to Verity’s touch. ‘It’s easy to sugarcoat what Marissa and I had, because in reality, we always seemed to be either in a fight or making up from a fight or spoiling for a fight but then when my mother became ill all that stopped.’ Johnny straightened up so he could look at Verity with a troubled expression. ‘Marissa was my rock. Every evening when she’d finished work, she’d come and sit with my mother and give Dad and I a break. She’d wash her hair or paint her nails, little things that made Mum feel in some small way like herself when she hadn’t felt like herself in weeks.’

  It was a side of Marissa that Verity hadn’t seen but then she’d only met the woman twice. But however unpleasant Marissa had been to her, when it really mattered, she’d been there for Johnny, for his mother, and now Verity could understand just how tight were the ties that bound him and Marissa together. ‘No wonder you still love her,’ she said softly, though she wanted to groan and gnash her teeth in frustration.

  ‘I am painfully aware that it seems to most people that I moon after her like a lovesick schoolboy without any encouragement from her but just when I’m at my lowest, when I believe that this whole sorry business should be done, she always manages to pull me back in.’

  Johnny was a hopeless case. Verity wasn’t sure what more she could do for him, but by God, she was still going to try.

  ‘I can’t stand to talk about this any longer,’ Johnny said and he stood and held out his hand to Verity. ‘Come on, I haven’t shown you the second floor, or where the magic happens as I never call it because that would be cheesy.’

  Johnny was right. There was nothing else to say on the sad subject that was he and Marissa and it was time to drop it and lighten the mood. Verity let Johnny pull her to her feet. ‘You’re really not the cheesy type.’

  ‘Though I do love a nice runny Stilton,’ Johnny said, as they climbed up yet another flight of stairs – living here must be quite the aerobic workout – and passed another window seat set into the stairwell.

  There was a guest room, a bathroom, Johnny’s dressing room and then he opened another door onto the master bedroom and en suite. ‘Absolutely no magic goes on in here, just sleeping mostly. You can come in, I promise I won’t seduce you.’ Johnny cocked his head and gave Verity, who was hovering in the doorway, a weary look as if seduction was the very last thing on his mind, which it probably was, considering he loved Marissa and he always would. Then the weary look became more wolfish. ‘Unless you really want me to, that is?’

  Verity could only answer the question in the same spirit in which it had been delivered. It would be madness to do anything else. ‘Not on a full stomach,’ she decided then stepped past a now grinning Johnny and into his room.

  Unlike the light, bright, sunny feel of the rest of the house, his bedroom was cosy despite its enormous size, rich, maybe even a little bit sexy. The walls were covered in an opulent dark grey and silver wallpaper that featured densely coloured trailing vines
with insects and flowers dotted carelessly about. It should have been overpowering but the room’s dimensions were large enough for it to work.

  There were a couple of plush, outsized grey velvet armchairs by the window but mostly the room was dominated by a huge bed, heaped with crisp white pillows, a duvet that billowed like a cloud and a grey waffle-knit blanket draped neatly at the foot. It was far too big for one person, especially if that person didn’t have someone to share it with, not even a pet. Johnny sat down on the bed and patted the space next to him so Verity had no choice but to sit down too.

  The mattress was very firm but with just enough give to it and it was hard not to resist the temptation to bounce.

  ‘I like your house,’ Verity said nervously. ‘I didn’t count a single health and safety violation.’

  ‘I should think not.’ Johnny leaned back on his elbows. ‘So, are you up for it then?’

  ‘I beg your pardon!’ Verity achieved an indignant top note that any Austen heroine would be proud of, even as other feelings overwhelmed her. They made her stomach clench and her mouth suddenly Sahara dry in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant even as she tried to squash those inconvenient feelings down. ‘You just promised not to seduce me!’

  ‘I was talking about this weekend,’ Johnny drawled, not even bothering to hide his smirk. ‘The anniversary party.’

  Verity’s stomach unclenched, her ardour doused as surely as if Johnny had thrown a glass of cold water in her face. ‘You want to go to the anniversary party? Even though you’ve just said that you still love her? How is going to her anniversary party, seeing Marissa and Harry together, going to be an enjoyable experience for you?’ Her voice was so squeaky she was sure that it was only audible to bats.

  ‘I can’t avoid her for ever, can I? And what better way of reminding myself that she’ll never really be mine than by celebrating her wedding anniversary to her husband of ten years? If I can do that, then maybe there’s hope for me after all.’ Johnny gazed up at the ceiling, his expression thoughtful. ‘Life after Marissa. And you’ll be there, won’t you, to stop me falling off the wagon? I wouldn’t have got through this summer without you.’

  ‘I can’t see that I did that much. Just took custody of your phone and, to be honest with you, that wasn’t really any great sacrifice,’ Verity admitted. She thought a bit harder. ‘And the whole fake girlfriend thing, but even that wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Apart from that time you made me dance with you to “Hi Ho Silver Lining”. That was bloody awful.’

  Johnny laughed. ‘It was, wasn’t it? But we have had some fun, haven’t we?’

  This was starting to sound like a post-mortem on their fake relationship. In fact, it was starting to sound a lot like goodbye and though Verity had complained about all the food en croute and public displays of dancing and being expected to be social, in a strange way she’d miss it.

  But not half as much as she’d miss Johnny. In some ways, he was so strong, so sure of himself in a way that Verity never was. Then in other ways, she was pretty sure he’d slide back into his old, bad, Marissa-shaped habits as soon as they’d said their goodbyes. Suddenly she was keen to prolong their experiment. ‘You really want to go to their anniversary party?’ she asked Johnny. ‘Even though it lasts the whole bank holiday weekend, which is longer than a normal weekend?’

  Johnny gave her a sideways look, like he’d been caught with his hand in the biscuit tin. ‘I haven’t been a hundred per cent honest with you. I do actually have an ulterior motive,’ he said hesitantly, then caught sight of Verity’s stricken face. ‘Oh God, it’s nothing bad!’

  Verity had shut her eyes and braced herself as if she’d been expecting a body blow or for Johnny to confess that he was only going so he could persuade Marissa to run off with him. ‘What is it then?’ she asked.

  ‘The house Marissa and Harry have booked. It’s generally considered to be one of the finest examples of a privately owned art deco house in England,’ Johnny said a little wistfully. ‘Ten years ago it was all but derelict until the current owners painstakingly restored it. I’d love to see it.’

  ‘Well, Cornwall is lovely.’ Verity was wavering. The last thing, the very last thing, she wanted to do was spend any more time in Marissa’s company, but … ‘If you’re sure this weekend won’t be too much of an ordeal?’

  ‘There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?’ Johnny sounded quite jaunty about the prospect of being over the woman who’d been the beat of his heart for over half his life. ‘And you’ll be there to keep me on the straight and narrow.’

  And then he wouldn’t need her any more. The thought made Verity feel unbearably sad, though she’d known perfectly well what she’d been getting into. In fact, she hadn’t wanted to get into it in the first place, but now she had, she suspected that losing a real fake boyfriend might hurt almost as much as losing a real boyfriend.

  ‘One last hurrah, then?’ she asked in a voice which was pretty steady, all things considered.

  Johnny reached across to give Verity a gentle push that almost toppled her off the bed. ‘Hardly! We still have Con’s wedding in a few weeks and who knows what else?’ He looped an arm around Verity’s shoulders to tug her close enough that her face was tucked into a comfortable space between Johnny’s neck and shoulder where the smell of him, all crisp cotton and that zingy aftershave and something else that was all Johnny, was at its most intoxicating. She could feel his breath stir her hair. ‘Look at me, Very,’ he said in a tone that she couldn’t refuse.

  Verity raised her head. Johnny was looking at her with … well, in the softening light, shadows creeping in, it looked like tenderness, but it was more probably fondness … or likingness … Something ending in ness anyway.

  ‘I should probably go home quite soon,’ Verity mumbled though she could have quite happily stayed where she was for a good few hours.

  ‘Not yet,’ Johnny insisted and then he was cradling Verity’s face in his hands, his fingers tracing along her cheekbones so she suddenly forgot how to breathe. ‘Very, I don’t know what I’d do without you,’ he said huskily and he leaned in closer so that Verity’s eyes widened and she still couldn’t remember how to breathe and … he was definitely going to kiss … oh, just the top of her head. Then Johnny pulled back so that Verity could see the soft look in his eyes. ‘One last hurrah indeed! You’re not getting rid of me that easily.’

  23

  ‘I was uncomfortable enough. I was very uncomfortable, I may say unhappy.’

  Verity and Johnny left London at lunchtime on Friday for the drive down to almost the very tip of Cornwall.

  It was a drizzly day with ninety per cent humidity, which did terrible things to Verity’s hair, but the further west they drove, the clearer the skies became until there was nothing but blue above them and green fields around them. Though Verity had a hard painful knot in her stomach at the thought of seeing Marissa again – and seeing Johnny with Marissa again – the rhythms of their usual road-trip routine soothed her.

  They listened to 6 Music, or ‘indie hits of yesteryear’ as Johnny called it, and she filled him in on all the latest developments of the #lovesimpsonwedding because Con and Alex now had an official wedding hashtag – apparently all the best weddings had their own official hashtag.

  Then they came off the motorway not long after Taunton so they could have lunch at a pretty little pub that Johnny knew. It wasn’t until they left Devon to be greeted by a ‘Welcome to Cornwall’ sign that the knot returned and Verity grew quieter and quieter.

  The knot had upgraded to a boulder lodged deep in her solar plexus as they came off the dual carriageway again to drive along narrow lanes liberally splattered with roadkill. Verity knew exactly how those woodland animals must have felt when they realised death was imminent.

  All too soon, they were driving through Lower Meryton, a pretty seaside village, then pulling into the car park of the local pub. They’d decided that Verity would liaise with Marissa
over the final details and Verity was under strict instructions to text an unfamiliar mobile number from the pub car park to let them know of their arrival.

  They could see their destination about two hundred and fifty metres in the distance. A low hill, more of a mound really, with a white house perched atop it, glittering sea all around. Visitors were able to walk to the island at low tide, but it very obviously wasn’t low tide, which was why they were waiting for something that an incoming text message referred to as a ‘sea tractor’.

  ‘I have no idea what that is,’ Verity said to Johnny as he took their cases out of the car.

  He straightened and stretched, then looked out to sea. ‘That’s what it is.’

  ‘Dear Lord,’ Verity said faintly.

  A strange contraption was lumbering towards them. It looked like the chassis of an open-top lorry, a row of seats along either side, floating on the water, but as it got closer to shore the vehicle’s lower half – four wheels and a series of supporting metal cantilevered poles – came into view and Verity realised that the water couldn’t be that deep. In fact, she’d rather take her chances and swim to the island if it was all the same.

  ‘It’s perfectly safe,’ Johnny said, picking up their cases. ‘Sea tractors were quite popular in the thirties for scenic tours of waterfront attractions, but I suppose most people use boats nowadays.’

  A set of metal steps had now descended and a man waved at them as they hurried down the slope that led to the beach.

  ‘Jeremy,’ he shouted when they were within shouting distance. ‘You must be Johnny and Victoria.’

  ‘Verity,’ Johnny and Verity said in unison.

  Jeremy, it turned out, owned Wimsey House, their destination, and was a City acquaintance of Harry. Verity clung to her seat, eyes shut, praying to God to deliver her safely over the sea, which had seemed quite calm but now to her delicate sensibilities seemed decidedly choppy, as Jeremy and Johnny happily chatted away about Wimsey House and the renovations that had taken over five years and the best part of two million pounds.