Beth blinked at him and tried to smile. “Just thinking about my dad,” she said, surprising herself; she hadn’t expected to be that open.
“Trying to conjure some of the old man’s powers? What advice did he give you for the trip?” Blake paused, rubbing his square lightly-stubbled jaw. “I was wondering actually... be honest... how much did he help you with your competition entry?”
“I’m sorry?” Out of the window, trees were zipping past them in a blur, and for a second Beth thought she’d been so focussed on the view that she’d mis-heard him.
“I mean, it’s okay. I’m not judging. If my father was a famous writer, I’d have milked him for tips too. Having said that, it’s been a while since your dad published anything. What happened there? I used to read all his stuff and then it just stopped. Did he lose his publishing deal or something?”
Beth swallowed hard and folded her arms across her chest. She could feel herself trying to shrink away from him. It was her own fault; she never should have mentioned her dad in the first place. But then her guilt was replaced by a sense of indignation; how could Blake proclaim to be a fan of her father’s work if he didn’t even know what had happened to him?
“My father died.” She didn’t try to sugar coat it. She just looked Blake right in the eyes and said it, almost daring him to even try to make a joke of it.
Blake blinked quickly. His mouth hung open a little. “I...”
Beth looked away. Tears were coming and she didn’t want him to see.
“Beth, I’m so sorry. I... I had no idea.”
Still not looking at him, she sniffed and looked up at the blue sky above the dome. “It’s fine. You didn’t know. Let’s just enjoy the trip.”
“Seriously, Beth, I...”
“Don’t.” She looked at him this time. “Okay?”
Blake nodded. “Okay.”
Thankfully, it wasn’t long before the concierge told them they were approaching some stunning scenery and Beth had an excuse to stand and move towards the back of the dome. Looking out at the trees and the rivers, she understood exactly what her father had meant – it was all going by too quickly and she couldn’t possibly hope to imprint it into her mind well enough for the memory to last.
Reaching for the birthstone pendant that, as always, hung around her neck, she breathed in deeply and tried to think of how she was going to write about the journey. Beside her, an elderly lady with a large camera was trying to take pictures and muttering about the glare of the sun.
“I know what you mean. I couldn’t get a reflection-less shot, so I’m trying to just remember it now.”
The woman chuckled. “Very wise, my dear.”
Beth looked at the seat the woman had been in. She didn’t appear to be travelling with the man next to her. “I hope you don’t mind me asking,” she said. “Are you travelling alone?”
“Why, yes, dear. It’s a trip for solo travellers. That old fellow is Mike. Nice. But deaf as a post and not much company.”
Beth glanced over her shoulder to where Blake was sitting, looking out of the window and munching on his third cookie. “I don’t suppose you’d like to swap seats...?”
9
For the rest of the journey, Beth enjoyed quiet Mike and his un-intrusive companionship. Up ahead, Doris, the lady she’d swapped with, seemed to be having a lovely time talking Blake’s ear off. Every now and then, Blake looked back and tried to catch her eye. But Beth didn’t reciprocate.
It felt nice. Freeing. To be, relatively speaking, by herself.
Blake’s presence was so... noticeable. He was always looking at her, goading her, trying to press her buttons, making jokey comments that were more like insults than humour. Always smiling, with his ridiculous Hollywood dimples and his ridiculously perfect hair.
And then just when she thought she’d got the measure of him, when she’d decided that he was most definitely a jerk, he’d soften and say something or do something that made her think she was wrong.
It was too much. She didn’t need the distraction. Tomorrow, after their stopover in Kamloops, she’d ask if she could swap seats again and ride with Mike. At least then she could focus on enjoying the Rocky Mountains.
They arrived in Kamloops just as the sun was setting and, much to her annoyance, Blake was right about it being nothing very exciting. By the time they’d disembarked the train and been transferred to the hotel, it was dark outside and there was nowhere to go except the beige characterless bar downstairs.
For a while, Beth tried sitting on her bed and typing. But the words wouldn’t come.
The entire day, she had felt as if she was travelling through a movie set. It was like everything she loved about England, but ten times more beautiful. Trees, blue skies, rivers, lakes, and more shades of green than she even knew existed. But she had no idea how to even begin describing it all.
Eventually, having typed precisely nothing, she gave up and went to the bar. She found a table in the corner, ordered a small glass of white wine, flipped open her iPad, and rested her fingers on the oddly smooth keyboard that had come with the case Harry bought her.
Just as she did, her phone started buzzing. She took it out of her pocket and, right on cue, was greeted by Harry’s smiling face, staring up at her from the screen. It was a selfie they’d taken on her birthday. Harry had thrown her a surprise party with their colleagues from work and, even though Beth hadn’t known who most of them were, it had been a lovely gesture. It was the early hours of the morning at home; he must have stayed up late so he could call her.
She paused. Her thumb lingered over the green pick-up-the-call button. But then it stopped ringing and she sighed and sank back in her chair.
A few minutes later, just as she’d finally opened up a Word document and was attempting to write, Harry called again. This time, Beth muted the call. And then a few minutes after that she muted another.
Letting out a frustrated sigh, she swigged the last of her wine and shook her head at herself.
“Who’s the poor guy?” A deep, smooth, very Canadian voice jolted her out of her self-pity.
Beth looked up. Of course. Blake.
He nodded at Beth’s phone. “You’ve red-buttoned that guy at least three times since you’ve been sitting there.”
Beth turned her phone over so the screen was face-down on the table and shook her head. What made him so sure it was a ‘guy’? It could have been anyone. “It’s no one.” What was she saying? Harry wasn’t no one. “Just my boyfriend.”
“I see.” Blake nodded wisely at her and the corner of his mouth twitched into an amused smile.
“Do you?”
“I’m very astute.”
Beth folded her arms and bit her lower lip. “Really? And what exactly have you ascertained?”
“Well, you said he was no one but then admitted he was your boyfriend. You haven’t mentioned him once since we started this trip. He’s desperate to talk, you’re not. So, using my super-human powers of deduction, I’d say that you’re on the verge of a breakup.”
Beth sat up a little straighter and tapped the corner of her phone up and down on the table. She was not going to rise to the breakup comment, even though it had made her stomach twitch and her hands feel clammy. “So you’ve been standing around watching me for how long, exactly?”
Blake gestured to the chair opposite Beth. “Invite me to sit down, and I’ll tell you.”
“Fine.” Beth folded back her iPad case and flicked the rim of her empty wine glass with her fingernails.
“I’ve been here a while. At the bar. Marvelling at your powers of procrastination.”
“Procrastination?”
“Never have so few words been typed in so many minutes.” He was poking fun at her again - when wasn’t he? But then his expression softened and he said, “Writer’s block?”
Beth sighed and gestured to her wine glass. She was too tired to keep exchanging barbs with him. “I thought this might help.”
“Is it?”
“Want to talk about it?” He held up his hands as if she was about to accuse him of something. “I’ve already submitted my piece for today, so no plagiarism. I swear.”
“Already?” Beth felt her eyebrows tweak upwards and knew her forehead would be showing her frown lines. “How in the world did you write it that quick?” Was he going to mention the train, or her father, or the fact she’d opted to sit beside a complete stranger instead of him?
Blake shrugged. “Practice, I guess. I used to be much slower but now I’m a content-producing machine.”
“Content? That sounds very...”
“Commercial? Un-writerly of me?” Blake wrinkled his nose a little. “Yeah, I know. But my goal is simple – make a living from writing, travel the world. To do that, I need eyeballs on my blog. To get eyeballs on my blog, I need content. Lots of it. So, I learned to write quick.”
“Don’t you worry that what you write will turn out kind of shoddy?”
Blake laughed. “Yeah, but that’s the difference between me and you.”
“There’s only one difference?”
“Okay, the main difference - you’re clearly a perfectionist and I most definitely am not. You’re trying to be a serious writer. But me? I’m just trying to make the big bucks.” Blake leaned forward on his elbows. “The problem is, this competition isn’t really about writing the kind of thing that will win a Pulitzer prize. It’s about writing what people want to read. Nomad want traffic. So, the winner is going to be the one who generates the most.”
Beth sat up a little straighter. “They said it’s based on lots of things...”
“Sure. They said that. But at the end of the day, they want clicks, just like everyone else.”
“Wow.” Beth breathed in sharply through her nose. “Well thanks for the depressing chat...” She stood up, tucking her iPad under her arm.
“Wait,” Blake put his hand on hers, then quickly took it back. “I’m sorry. Don’t go. I want to help. Really.”
“Why would you want to help me?”
“Oh I don’t know... to make up for being a Class-A jerk earlier on?” Blake smiled, but this time it was a small I’m sorry kind of smile. And when Beth still didn’t sit down, he said, “Come on. I’ll get us something to drink.”
“Okay.”
“So, what are you struggling with?” Blake had, to her surprise, returned from the bar with, instead of wine or beer, two enormous whipped-cream-covered mugs of hot-chocolate. And now he was sitting there with his hands wrapped around his mug acting as if they were friends.
“Oh, you know, just the writing part.” Beth sighed, tried to laugh, and didn’t manage it. “The thing is, at home I write on a typewriter. So, with this,” she gestured to her iPad as if it was evil, “I just can’t make the words flow.”
Blake paused mid sip of hot chocolate. “You write on a typewriter?”
Beth felt her cheeks flush. She tucked her hair behind her ear and started to pick the miniature marshmallows out of her drink and spoon them, one by one, into her mouth.
“How? I mean, how’d you get your articles from the typewriter to your computer?”
“I do a first draft on the typewriter and then I retype them on my laptop, tidy them up and upload them to my blog.”
“That’s...”
“I know. Long-winded. A waste of time. Ridiculous...”
“Actually,” Blake put his drink down. “I was going to say ‘awesome’.”
Beth frowned. “Awesome?”
“Yeah. Typewriters are cool. Very retro. And it’s a nice way to separate the writing from the editing.”
“I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me or not...”
“I’m not. I swear.”
She frowned and felt herself relax a little.
“So I can see why you’d be struggling. I’m guessing the typewriter wasn’t suitcase-friendly?”
“Not exactly.”
“Hmm.” Blake sat back and rubbed his lightly stubbled chin with his thumb and forefinger. “I’ve got it.” He raised his hand to stop her talking and waved at the iPad. “May I?” He was being more polite this time, and Beth pushed it across the table to him. Blake flipped it open, typed something, then said, “Password?”
“I’m not telling you my password!”
“Right. Very sensible. Okay, type it in but don’t look.”
“Seriously?”
“Don’t look,” he repeated, swivelling the iPad towards her but shielding the screen so that all she could see was the keyboard. “Great. Do you have earphones with you?”
Beth reached into her bag and pulled out her wireless ear buds.
“Put them in...” Blake stood up, putting the iPad back in front of her and opening up a blank Word document. “Okay, now type...”
“What do I–?”
“Anything.”
Beth wiggled her fingers above the keyboard, then gingerly typed, Hello Blake. How are you?
As the letters appeared on the screen, each one was accompanied by a satisfying clunk sound in her earbuds. The kind of clunk her typewriter made. The kind of clunk that reminded her of her father typing away into the night.
She looked up at Blake and grinned. “How did you...?”
“Just an app. Not quite the same as the real thing, but...”
“It’s perfect. Thank you.”
Blake shrugged, as if it was nothing, and slurped his hot chocolate. It left a moustache of whipped cream on his upper lip and Beth instinctively reached out to wipe it with her thumb. Stopping herself before she touched him, she took her hand back and gestured to her own lips instead. “You have, um... cream...”
Blake wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, going a little cross-eyed as he tried to make sure he’d got it all. “Thanks.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Beth tapped her fingernails on the side of her mug, then said quietly. “I’m sorry about earlier. There’s no reason why you should have known about my dad. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did.”
Blake, suddenly looking quite solemn, shook his head. “No. Please don’t apologise. I was an idiot. I was trying to be clever, or funny, or something... I don’t know. I was out of order suggesting he’d helped with your entry. I don’t know why I said it. And I’m sorry I didn’t know. I should have known. I’m genuinely a fan... it just never occurred to me...” For perhaps the first time since they’d met, he was waffling, and Beth could tell he was genuinely sorry for what he’d said.
“It’s alright, Blake, really.”
Blake cleared his throat and swallowed hard. “How did he... what happened?” he said, softly. His eyes were inviting her to say what was on her mind, and in her heart, but she couldn’t. Maybe because she’d only just started to think of him as anything other than rude and annoying. Or maybe because if she started to talk about her dad, she’d never stop.
“Do you mind if we don’t talk about it? It’s just that I’m trying to focus on kicking your butt.” She laughed, trying to lighten the mood. “I don’t want to be distracted.”
Blake bit his lower lip and his mouth spread into a smile. “Is that why you left me with Grandma Doris and went to sit with Old Man Mike? Because he’s less distracting?”
“Oh absolutely. Your striking good looks are just too much to handle.”
Blake held her gaze for a moment.
“Well. I should go try out this app.” Beth gestured towards the lobby. “Back in my oh-so-swanky hotel room.”
“You should. And I should get some beauty sleep.”
In the elevator, side-by-side, alone, Beth looked straight ahead at the brushed-metal doors and found herself saying, “We’re not breaking up, you know. We’re good. Me and Harry.” She looked sideways at Blake. His expression didn’t change.
“Okay.”
“He just doesn’t really get the whole travel thing. That’s all.”
“He doesn’t like travelling?”
“He just wants us to be secure. You know... to settle down.”
“I see. And is that what you want?”
No one had ever asked her that before. Not Harry. Not Jo. Not her mum. No one. “I...” Beth bit her lip. “Harry’s been really good to me. We’ve been through a lot together and–”
“That wasn’t the question.” Suddenly, the elevator felt very small and their bodies felt too close.
Beth tugged at the hem of her sweater. But before she could reply, they reached Blake’s floor and the doors pinged open.
“Goodnight Beth.” He stepped past her, his hand brushing accidentally against hers.
“Goodnight.”
The doors were sliding slowly closed when Blake turned to look at her. “Just so I know,” he said, “will I be travelling with Doris again tomorrow?”
Through the now-almost-closed doors, Beth shrugged. “We’ll see...”
10
Back in her hotel room, Beth sat on the edge of the bed and put her head in her hands. All she could think about was Harry. But not in a good way.
Were they really on the verge of breaking up? Was that why she was avoiding his calls?
Jo had been trying to persuade her for months that she and Harry weren’t ‘meant to be’, but Beth had always shrugged it off. Right from the start of their relationship, Jo had been hostile towards Harry because he was their boss. And because when Beth and Harry started dating it meant Jo didn’t have anyone to go speed dating with anymore.
Beth had never taken it seriously. In fact, if anything, Jo’s comments had always cemented the idea in Beth’s mind that she should be loyal to Harry, stick up for him, make it work. Because he was a good man. But the fact that Blake – who she’d known just a few days – had picked up that there was something wrong, had made her wonder whether maybe she should start listening to Jo, and to herself.
Beth took out her notebook and flipped to a page in the back. When in doubt, make a list. That was her mum’s motto. So, Beth created two columns.
The True Love Travels Series Box Set Page 19