Libby was torn between admiring Noah for haggling and feeling fear well up in her that she was about to lose these pieces altogether.
‘I’m not denying their quality – but, you know, I’ve done my research and I’ve seen similar pieces priced more competitively. I’m not looking to rip you off – you know, just pay a fair price.’
Stella looked uncomfortable. Libby stood, her face blazing.
‘I think it’s a fair price,’ Stella said, crossing her arms. The two were facing each other in a vintage furniture stand-off. Libby could not take her eyes off them.
‘I’d say half of that would still be a fair price,’ Noah replied, still smiling but jaw set.
‘There is no way I’d be able to accept anywhere near that,’ Stella hissed, her smile now as false as the eyelashes she was wearing. Libby waited for her to tell Noah she had already offered her very best price and that he and she could take it or leave it – in which case she hoped Noah would accept the price and perhaps help her to make savings elsewhere by employing his best negotiation skills with the other vendors.
Noah remained silent.
Stella cracked. ‘Look, £1,300. And you are robbing me. But I like your girlfriend.’
‘So do I,’ Noah grinned. ‘But I was thinking more £1,000.’
‘£1,200, they’re yours.’
‘£1,100?’ Noah asked.
‘£1,150 and it’s a deal.’
‘It’s a deal then!’ Noah said and Libby felt her heart flip-flop – and flip-flop all the more when Noah spun her round to him and planted the quickest of kisses square on her lips. ‘We did it, honey,’ he said with a wink – leaving Libby speechless and, to her surprise, a little breathless too.
When they walked away five minutes later – deal done and plans made to pick up the pieces when they were finished with their shopping – Libby felt her head spin. Was it the fear at almost having massively overspent? Was it the joy at getting the deal done? Was it the way her breath had caught when Noah’s lips had brushed against hers? She feared it was the latter – especially as she felt acutely aware of her lips after. It was like they were bruised – even from that most fleeting of touches. She felt as if they were bee-stung, pouting, and had to fight the urge to gently prod at them with her fingertips just to make sure they weren’t swollen.
Was it that he was that good a kisser that even something that was little more than a peck could make her weak at the knees? Or was it, she wondered, more like she was having an allergic reaction to him? That would also explain the knee weakness, the slight breathlessness and the feeling that her lips were forming into a permanent pout.
And, oh God, what about Jo? Jo, who had gone above and beyond to help her out. And Ant, who didn’t yet know that they were breaking up. She knew the kiss meant nothing. Not really. Certainly not to Noah, but still, she felt wretched all the same.
Noah held her hand as they walked away, but as soon as they were a safe distance from Stella, Libby pulled her hand away and shoved it into her jeans pocket so he wouldn’t be able to grab hold of it again.
‘That was fun,’ he laughed, ‘but I did tell you to be careful. These people know a newbie when they see one. They’ll bump the price up quick as anything.’
‘I thought it was a fair price,’ Libby lied. ‘I’d done some research and it wasn’t that far off the mark on prices I saw similar pieces going for.’ She knew her lie was see-through, but she couldn’t stop herself. She wanted to distance herself from him and the confusing feelings that had swamped her with that stupid pretend kiss.
Noah stopped and looked at her, raised his eyebrow, and smiled. A slow, shy smile. He was quite handsome, she realised. Not perfect. Not groomed like Ant. A little rough around the edges. Hair just a fraction too long, but he wore it well. Dark, with the slightest wave to it. Tanned and toned arms. A plain white T-shirt, jeans and Vans. Cool but not trying too hard. His face had that slightly weather-beaten look to it. She wanted to know more about him, she realised, then pushed the thought away. This was absolutely not the time to be having any kind of lustful thoughts about her neighbour. No good would, or could, come of it. Ever.
‘Really, Libby?’ Noah asked and she could see that he saw right through her and suddenly it made her very nervous. Nervous enough to clam up and shut down whatever madness had overcome her.
‘The shelving units,’ she said, not breaking his gaze. ‘Tell me about those.’
‘Oh, that’s the icing on the cake. Keith, who I’ll introduce you to, has just closed his bookshop in Bangor. He has a job lot of shelves – that he just wants sold. He has a couple of interested parties, but, as it happens, I was able to talk him into offloading them to this bookseller I know – if she wants them, of course. And all for a knock-down price, some dinner and drinks in the pub next time he’s in Derry and a book token or two.’
‘When you say “knock-down price”?’ Libby asked.
‘Two hundred pounds. And when you see them, you’ll snap the hand off him.’ Noah looked so incredibly proud of himself, and so he should be. He had just saved Libby a small fortune.
She kept her hands in her pockets this time though. No hugs, or pretend kisses or over exuberance. She simply said. ‘Let’s go and look at them, then.’
She could hardly believe her luck when she saw them. A set of four oak shelving units, which she already knew would look amazing along the back wall of the shop. They would fit in well with the rest of her design scheme and there’s no doubt she would be saving a fortune. It seemed almost criminal to offer the asking price.
‘Your pal there was telling me your story,’ Keith said. ‘About your grandfather and this shop being a part of his dream. I can’t think of a better home for these shelves in that case,’ he said. ‘We were heartbroken to have to close our bookshop. This will make it feel a little more bearable.’
It was Keith who Libby hugged, and when she escaped to the loo shortly after, and just before the auction started, she allowed herself a few moments to sob into a hankie. And this time it wasn’t just for Grandad Ernie, it was at the confusion she felt welling up inside her.
* * *
Libby was grateful for the radio in the van on the drive home. It allowed her the chance to sit back and distract herself from whatever was going on in her head.
She tried to focus on what was real and solid about the day that had passed. The furniture and lamps secured in the back of the van that she would take to the disused garage at the back of her parents’ garden for storage until the shop was ready for them. The shelves that Keith would arrange to be delivered in about ten days – giving her the chance to get the majority of the heavy work done in the shop.
She thought of the third desk – a second ercol, which she had won at auction, and she indulged in one of her favourite hobbies: imagining how the shop would look when it was all up and running. She closed her eyes, tried to picture it as a busy, cosy escape from the real world. The low hum of the radio commentator, combined with the vibration of the van driving along lulled her into a doze, from which she was rudely awakened by a gentle jab to the ribs.
‘Wakey wakey, time to stop snoring and drooling and tell me exactly where your parents’ house is?’ Noah asked.
‘Larkhill,’ she mumbled, dragging her arm across her mouth before declaring she didn’t drool or snore, to which, of course, Noah laughed.
‘You even did the biggest snort when I nudged you there. How you didn’t wake yourself up, I’ll never know.’
She blushed, the thought of snoring in front of anyone, let along Noah, making her feel embarrassed. ‘I was tired,’ she said. ‘And snuffly. Probably all the dust from the warehouse. Or a cold or something.’
Noah just laughed. Libby sniffed. She did feel a little congested. She hoped it was just a reaction to dust and not the sign of an oncoming cold. She simply did not have the time to get sick. She had the tech people scheduled to come on Monday to discuss her requirements – phone line, internet, WIFI,
stock management and till.
Not to mention she had to finally settle on a name for the shop and start working on her promotional material, and get the signage in place for the shop.
She felt her head thump a little, so she rubbed her temples.
‘I’m only teasing you, you know,’ Noah said. ‘You only snored a little bit. I barely noticed. I mean, compared to Paddy, you were practically silent.’
‘Paddy snores?’
Noah laughed. ‘Oh God, yes. I never realised that dogs snored before he came to live with me. I’ve been known to resort to earplugs.’
Libby couldn’t help but laugh too. ‘Does he not sleep in a different room?’
‘Oh no. Poor thing was abandoned, you know, before he was rescued. He doesn’t do well being on his own. That’s why he’s down in the pub so much. The rumour that he only comes down to sniff out a sneaky bowl of Irish stew is just that. He needs the company.’
The thought of Paddy being abandoned made Libby feel sad. So sad in fact that she wondered if she would cry. What the hell was wrong with her? Mood swings and tearfulness and a sore head. Maybe she was due her period. She tried to count back in her head. No. She wasn’t due, not yet anyway. Not for another few days. But PMS could be a bitch all the same.
‘Poor Paddy,’ she croaked.
‘Poor Paddy nothing,’ Noah laughed. ‘He’s the most spoiled dog in Derry! Everyone fusses over him. He’s fed well, gets his walks every day – round St. Columb’s Park or over the Peace Bridge and back – he sleeps on top of a king-size bed. He does okay. He deserves it all, of course.’
Libby wondered if she could detect a small crack of emotion in Noah’s voice. It endeared him to her in any case, but she immediately stiffened, thinking she could not, and would not, let him under her skin. There was no point. And she was just premenstrual and emotional and, chances were, when her hormones aligned again, she would go back to seeing him just as her nosy, occasionally helpful and sometimes supremely patronising, neighbour.
When the furniture was unloaded and Libby’s father had oohed and aahed over her choices, while Noah had bigged her up as a very canny businesswoman, she travelled with him back to the pub, where she had left her car that morning. As Jo had promised him, he was home by five – in time for the early-evening crowd, with a quick bite before their night began.
Libby had the good grace to thank Noah – and to realise what an asset he had been to her. ‘I really appreciate your help,’ she said, as she climbed out of the passenger seat and glanced over at the shop – which already looked a little less forlorn. ‘I owe you.’
‘You do not,’ Noah said. ‘Sure, didn’t you buy the breakfast? And those overpriced sandwiches at the market? An extra three quid before something is made from sourdough and they put the word “rustic” in front of it. You paid for the diesel and I got some great vintage vinyl, so let’s just call it even?’
She nodded. ‘Okay, if you say so.’
‘I say so,’ Noah said, just as the door to The Ivy Inn opened and Paddy lolloped out to greet him, jumping up and showering him in sloppy dog kisses.
Jo wasn’t far behind. ‘You’re back!’ she said, smiling broadly.
‘We are indeed,’ Noah said. ‘And wait ’til you see what I got for an absolute bargain. An original Undertones LP, signed by Feargal Sharkey himself.’
Jo’s eyes widened. ‘Ah brilliant. Will we have a listen after work? Been a while since we pogoed around the place to “Teenage Kicks”.’
‘It’s a date,’ Noah said, and Libby started to feel very much surplus to requirements.
‘Guys, I’ll leave you to it. Thanks again, Noah, and thanks, Jo, for loaning him to me. Have a great evening!’
‘Do you have to run off now?’ Jo asked. ‘Why don’t you come in and grab a drink? I’ll introduce you to some of the regulars if you like?’
‘I’m driving, so no drink for me,’ Libby said. ‘Not until that flat is ready to be lived in – which is very much not the case at the moment. It makes the shop look like a palace in comparison.’
‘You could drop your car home – jump in a taxi. We have a good band on tonight. I’m clocking off soon, so I could even keep you company,’ Jo said.
The invitation sounded so very appealing, but no, she would refuse. She needed to try and sort her head out. She needed to see Ant and make a decision about their future once and for all. She needed to talk to him about how she felt.
‘Nice as that sounds, I have plans.’
‘Washing your hair?’ Noah asked.
‘Very funny,’ she teased. ‘I’m going to see my boyfriend.’
There was a momentary pause – before Noah spoke again. ‘Ah, a boyfriend? Was he not available for vintage furniture shopping?’
Her cheeks grew warm again. ‘Erm, no. He was working and couldn’t get the time off.’
Noah glanced briefly in the direction of the pub. The pub he should have been working in himself that day. Libby was crimson at that stage.
Jo was next to speak. ‘Why not bring him in tonight then? If you’re seeing him, he’ll become a part of the Lane as well?’
Libby didn’t want to try and explain to Jo that she had plans to have a discussion of a more serious nature and the backdrop of the local pub, with live music blasting around them, wouldn’t be the right environment.
‘I’ll ask him,’ she lied. ‘We might see you both then. Thanks for asking. And thanks again, Noah. For your help.’
‘Don’t mention it,’ he said, before the door to the pub opened and one of their regulars walked out, calling his name. Noah smiled at Libby, turned and cheerily greeted his slightly-worse-for-wear customer with a friendly pat on the shoulder before guiding him back inside, saying he would order him a taxi and get him a strong coffee. Jo followed, chatting to Paddy as he wagged his tail in contentment.
Libby watched as they walked back inside – and probably looked at them both for a bit too long before she shook herself from her reverie and headed to her car. She had messaged Ant to say she would be over between six and seven, so she’d have to hurry if she wanted to get home, showered and changed. She looked down at her chipped nail varnish, the result of heavy lifting and heavy cleaning, and she knew she should touch it up as well.
Normally she would enjoy a bit of pre-Ant pampering, but she no longer felt the same pull towards him. Maybe it was simply because she dreaded what was to come. Given a choice, she’d have much rather just headed over to Jess’s flat with a bottle of Prosecco.
Yet another wave of guilt washed over her. She’d really neglected her friend. She could see that now. She’d broken the girl code and put Ant and his needs and wants – not to mention her own desires – above spending time with her best friend.
She sighed. There was no point, she realised, in scratching that particular sore. Jess was at a conference. She had to talk to Ant. She had to ‘woman up’ and just get on with things.
Or she could just pack away her doubts like the big coward she was and let herself fall into her usual Saturday night behaviour with Ant. Wine, good food, and good sex. She could be a proper adult later.
She pointed the car towards home and drove off, leaving Noah, and her myriad confused feelings, on Ivy Lane for the night. Her head thumped a little more.
14
You, Me & Other People
Libby arrived at Ant’s seafront house shortly before seven, just as she said she would. She had showered and changed, slipping into something a little more flowy and feminine – a strappy maxi dress, flip-flops and a soft white cardigan to keep the evening chill from her shoulders. Her hair was wavy, hanging around her shoulders – pulled back from her face only with her sunglasses. She had put on only the most minimal of make-up – making the most of her face being sun-kissed and freckled.
Her time at home had allowed her to calm down – to deflate a little and gain some perspective on what had happened. The kiss meant nothing, she told herself. Even if it felt different at th
e time. It was the surprise of it that threw her, not anything else. She was playing a role. As was Noah. She was, for now, with Ant, and Noah was with Jo, and that was simply how it was.
The roads had been busy on the drive to Ant’s – with day-trippers making their way home, sand-covered and a little sunburned perhaps. Others were just heading to the beach – ready for an evening stroll, hand in hand with their loved ones, or letting a beloved pet run ahead of them while they got their own sense of calm from the to and fro of the waves. It was Libby’s favourite time of day – when the air was warm, the sun bright, the day starting to reach its lazy best. Chill-out time. Happy hour. Bury your head in the sand and a bottle of wine o’clock.
When she pulled into the gravel driveway, she was more than a little confused to see Jess’s distinctive yellow Mini Cooper parked in her usual spot and the bi-fold doors already wide open, the sound of music and laughter drifting out into the garden.
Parking her Corsa behind Jess’s Mini, Libby got out of her car and walked towards the laughter, as she tried to make sense of why Jess, of all people, would be here.
Jess, who was supposed to be halfway up the country at a mental health conference. Jess who didn’t really seem to like spending time with Ant in the first place.
Libby had even sent her a WhatsApp message earlier, telling her she missed her and had been thinking about their last conversation. A message that remained unread, which Libby had assumed meant her friend was still busy at the conference and not able to check her phone.
Popping her head in through the French doors to the large open-plan living place, she saw Jess, head thrown back in laughter, sitting on a stool at Ant’s kitchen island, while he chopped vegetables and held her rapt with one of his many stories. The tableau before her eyes was very much like an advertisement for an interiors magazine – the perfect couple, sitting in the perfect kitchen – large wine glasses in front of them, preparing dinner together, laughing – looking stunning. The sun caught the highlights of Jess’s hair just perfectly as it sat in loose waves, giving her, in her white summer dress with her bronzed legs and arms, the appearance of a Grecian goddess.
The Hopes and Dreams of Libby Quinn Page 11
