by Karen Swan
‘I’m afraid everyone has to wait in line, madam,’ the elf replied, staring pointedly at the copy of the book held in her arms, before wandering off.
‘Can I get another book, mama?’ Jasper asked, sending crumbs all over the floor.
‘Sure,’ she sighed. ‘But come straight back here. And stay where I can see you.’
She watched as he ran back to the children’s corner, having completely forgotten the book he had just been reading. She bent down to pick it up before someone tripped over it. She put the book in her arms with the other three Jasper had picked and, as she straightened up, she saw the woman in front of her was now having her copy signed, Sam’s head bent as his pen squiggled across the page. ‘I hope you enjoy it. Happy St Nicholas,’ he smiled, handing the book back to the reader and his eyes already sliding over to the next cust—
Her.
She saw the smile fade from his face, a flash of panic and then something else – something darker – bloom in his eyes at the sight of her. Did he think she was going to cause a scene and start another argument? Or was he remembering Matt? She’s all yours. Did he sense what she’d done? Could he guess she’d done it to spite him? Did he even care?
Whatever was going through his head, none of it could account for, or make less confusing, the fact that she was standing here now.
Hesitantly, she stepped forward. ‘Hi.’
‘Hello,’ he said in a short tone, and it was quite apparent from his expression that he had never expected to see her again either. He had closed the door on her and turned the key. ‘This is a surprise.’
And not a nice one, clearly. ‘Yes, I—’
His eyes fell to her copy of the book in her hands and he reached out for it brusquely, looking away from her. His mouth was set in a grim line. She stepped in closer, pushing the book towards him.
‘Look, Sam—’
‘At least I don’t have to ask your name,’ he murmured, flicking for the title page. ‘So we can do this quickly.’
‘No,’ she faltered, watching him, feeling his hostility. ‘That’s not why I’m here.’
He looked up, pen paused mid-air, one eyebrow arched. ‘What?’
‘I need to talk to you.’
‘You’re aware this is a book signing? I’m working. This is hardly the time.’ His words were quiet; to onlookers, they were just having a conversation.
‘Sam, I need your help.’
‘I sincerely doubt that,’ he said, going to sign his name and seeing his own handwriting already written across it. One of his free marketing copies.
‘I do. I need to find out where this book was left.’ She pointed to the number written in the top corner. ‘I tried your marketing department but they won’t talk to me.’
‘You did what? You spoke to my mar—’ He shook his head as he stared back at her and she felt the invisible thread between them quiver. But he looked away quickly again in the next instant and gave a shrug. Whatever. He didn’t care. He wasn’t interested, not even interested enough to ask her why she had done such a thing, and she couldn’t tell whether he was angry or relieved to learn that she hadn’t come here because of them. He closed the book without signing it and held it back out to her.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the feet of the woman behind her step forward in anticipation. Lee turned her head just enough, in warning, and the feet took a half step back again.
‘Please, Sam. You’re the only person I can ask. Look.’ And she quickly thumbed to the defaced page. She watched as his face changed at the sight of it and he took the book from her again. The desperation in the words was clear to see. This was no hoax, no childish prank. She knew he could see that too.
‘I’m going to have to ask you to move along, madam,’ an elf said to her, stepping forward from a sentry position behind Sam’s left shoulder. ‘We have to keep the queue moving.’
Lee looked from him to Sam again, beseeching him with her eyes.
‘Mama! I found this one!’
Jasper came careening over with a copy of a Star Wars jigsaw book in his hands. Sam slammed the book shut – hiding the message – as Jasper held up the new book to her expectantly. The fifth one. ‘Uh, okay yes, we can get that one too,’ she murmured, trying to hold her voice steady.
Jasper stared at Sam. ‘I know you,’ he said frankly.
‘No,’ Sam hesitated. ‘I don’t think we’ve met.’
‘I remember your eyes.’
Sam’s gaze slid towards her. ‘Oh. Well then, it must be my mistake. What’s your name?’ he asked quickly.
‘Jasper.’
‘Hi, Jasper. My name’s Sam.’
‘This is the Sam who wrote the book, Jazz,’ Lee said quietly, trying to gloss over to her child that coming here had been a mistake. Why should Sam have helped her out? He’d already granted her one favour, and that was clearly one too many. It was perfectly evident he regretted ever getting involved with her. ‘Remember we wanted to come here to get the sheep book signed?’
Jasper looked back at Sam earnestly. ‘I like the koala best.’
Sam smiled, his face lighting up. ‘Really? He’s my favourite too. Everyone else seems to like the squirrels.’
‘Did you sign our book? Mama said we could only read it when you put your writing in it.’
Sam’s mouth opened as he glanced across at her. ‘. . . Well, actually, I was just about to do that, but your copy has a tear in it,’ he said, sliding their copy fully out of reach and producing a new one from under the desk. They both knew there was no way they could let Jasper come across that message. ‘Shall I address it to you?’
Jasper nodded, not really understanding what that meant. He watched in silence as Sam’s hand flew across the page, Lee’s attention instead on the nape of his neck, the line of his jaw, the flop of his fallen-out curls . . . She’s all yours . . .
‘The koala.’ Jasper’s eyes lit up as Sam handed the book back and the child hugged it tightly.
‘Ssh, don’t tell anyone or I’ll have to do it for everyone,’ Sam whispered, putting a finger to his lips and winking at him.
‘Jasper, what do you say?’ Lee asked quietly, putting a hand on his shoulder. Sam’s kindness to her child didn’t mean coming here hadn’t been a massive mistake.
‘Thank you.’
‘It’s my pleasure, Jasper,’ Sam replied.
‘If you could allow the next person to come through now, please.’ The elf had stepped forward again. Lee’s time was well and truly up.
She nodded, Sam’s eyes meeting hers briefly. But his stare was cold and, when he made no attempt to comment further, she had no choice but to move on. She heard the woman behind her start babbling immediately, stepping into the space Lee had left almost before she’d vacated it. She glanced down the queue again. They were through the door now and out onto the street. His adoring fans.
‘Right . . . Well, we’d better pay for these,’ she said slowly as they moved off, trying to gather herself as her disappointment grew. She felt crushed by his refusal to help, devastated by his scorn.
‘And then we can go to Vondelpark?’
‘Sure.’ They walked over to the cash desk in the fairy-light grotto, Jasper running off to look at some colouring pencils in the nearby display.
‘I’ll be right with you, I just have to replace the receipt roll,’ the sales assistant said as Lee stood at the desk and got out her purse.
‘Huh? Oh yes, that’s fine,’ Lee murmured, her gaze falling to Sam’s book on the top of the pile. She opened the front cover to see the special illustration he’d drawn. It was of a koala sleeping, all curled up, and one paw was being held by a much smaller koala. A baby. Beneath it was a message.
To Jasper,
Keep holding your mama’s hand.
Sam
The cold had sent the birds down from the trees, scavenging for crumbs on the tabletops and daring to peck beneath the chairs where people sat enjoying the bright sunlight. On days such as t
his, it felt like the whole city relocated here, everyone swapping the narrow, cobbled water-edged streets for undulating space, tree-dotted lawns and wide, sweeping carriageways where they could run, walk, cycle, skate . . .
Jasper was kneeling on a chair, reaching over the tray for his hot, oozing bitterballen and juice. It was their weekend treat to come here. Depending on the weather, they would feed the ducks and go to the playground, before ending up at one of the large cafes for lunch. He loved running about with the other kids, and they would often bump into kindergarten friends here, Lee always at a loss to remember the mothers’ names.
‘Are you warm enough?’ she asked, reaching for his bare hand and squeezing it. He could never wait to toss away his layers – hats and scarves were torture for five-year-old boys, it seemed.
‘I’m boiling.’ Chasing pigeons could be an Olympic sport, the way he went at it.
‘No, leave your coat on please. You’re hot because you’ve been running around but you’ll cool down quickly now we’re sitting still. It’s December, for heaven’s sake, and there’s ice on the ground. It’s far too cold to sit outside without a coat on.’
‘Is it going to snow?’
Lee turned her face up to the sky. ‘I don’t know. Not today it won’t – it’s too clear. But soon maybe.’
‘I hope it snows. I want to build a snowman.’
‘Yes, that would be fun. I should check the forecast . . .’
‘We’ll need a carrot. For his nose.’
‘You’re right,’ she agreed. ‘I’ll put carrots on the shopping list.’ She heard a familiar sound overhead. ‘Oh look!’ she said, pointing up to the sky at the small flock of green parakeets flying from one tree to another. They were Jasper’s favourite birds and she still got a thrill every time she saw them too, as though Rio had come to town. London had its own wild colony as well.
‘Please can we catch one, mama?’ Jasper pleaded. ‘Please. It can sleep in my room.’
She gave a bemused grin. ‘Even if you could catch one, which I’m afraid you definitely couldn’t, you’d never sleep. It’d keep you awake all night with its squawking, and you need your sleep so you can grow to be really big and—’
She stopped mid-flow. Sam was standing a table away holding a coffee, his dark hair covered by a black beanie, a thick cashmere scarf at his neck. She imagined she must look as shocked as he had sitting at his table earlier. ‘I heard Jasper asking to come here,’ he said by way of explanation, looking over at her son and giving him a friendly wave.
‘But . . . the queue was onto the street,’ she stammered, as if that was the pertinent point.
He shrugged. ‘The store was closing at one. And I’m heading out to Friesland shortly.’
‘Oh . . . You’re from there?’ she asked blankly, stunned into autopilot politeness.
He nodded. Everyone was travelling, it seemed, to be with their families. Noah and Liam had left the city last night, Mila was celebrating with her brother across town. Only Lee and Jasper were staying put, it felt.
They stared at one another in silence, apparently bewildered that they were both here. She’d gone to him with a begging bowl and he’d all but sent her packing; she couldn’t believe he had followed and found them. And neither, seemingly, could he. His gaze was still weighty, laden with an anger and resentment that he wouldn’t express – she wouldn’t play by his rules and he wouldn’t play by hers. For a man she had known a little over a week, they already had a complicated history.
‘Do you want to sit down?’ she ventured. If nothing else, Jasper’s presence meant this would stay civil.
He hesitated and she could see the conflict in him – to go, to stay, to help, to turn away . . . ‘Thanks.’ He pulled out a chair – scaring off a pigeon that was strutting between its legs – and sat opposite them, warming his hands around his travel cup. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, the tips of his fingers blanched white by contrast. Their eyes alighted and flitted off each other like the sparrows on the empty tables, both aware that the conversation they needed to have wasn’t suitable for a young audience.
Jasper was staring at their unexpected guest with guileless scrutiny and Lee knew his little brain was trying to place him, this newly met man with the familiar eyes.
‘Hey Jazz, why don’t you do some colouring in the new book we bought?’ And she reached into her bag and pulled out the animals colouring-in book and pencils.
‘Which one shall I do?’ Jasper asked, happily distractable as he began flicking through the pages. The tiger? The elephant? The parrot? The butterfly?
‘How about the parrot?’ she said. ‘Seeing as we just saw the parakeets.’
‘Okay. But I’m going to make them rainbow colours.’
‘Good idea,’ she agreed, watching as he got out all the pencils and began shading between the lines.
Lee sat back in her seat, looking over at Sam watching them. ‘Thank you for coming,’ she said quietly.
Sam half nodded, half shrugged, his eyes darting from her to her son and back again, as though he wasn’t sure what – or how much – to say. He cleared his throat. ‘I couldn’t stop thinking about what you . . . showed me.’
‘Yes.’ It had troubled her own sleep last night, marbling her usual nightmares with a fresh strand of intrigue.
‘Have you shown it to anyone else?’ he asked.
‘No. Not yet.’
His finger tapped against the cup. ‘Do you have any idea who wrote it?’
‘No.’
‘Where did you find it?’
‘In my bike basket, last week. I forgot all about it till yesterday when I found it round the back of the sofa.’
‘So, it was just a random drop in your basket?’
‘No, I don’t think so. It’s got a number in the top corner, suggesting it was part of your publicity campaign, but there was a flyer for my new exhibition in with it. I think whoever left it was showing they wanted me to find it. To help them.’
‘So why not just ask you for help then? Isn’t it . . . complicated, leaving it in your basket like that? Anyone could have taken it.’
‘I know.’ She shrugged. ‘I can’t explain it.’
‘They obviously didn’t feel like they could talk to you directly.’
She flinched at the barb in his words. ‘No, obviously not.’
‘Unless it’s just a coincidence the flyer was in the book too. I mean, how would they have known they were leaving it in your bike basket? There are a lot of bikes in Amsterdam.’
‘Well, I guess they must know where I live. Or they know me well enough to recognize my bike.’ She thought for a moment. ‘I always put these gold streamers on the handlebars now, for Jasper, so he can recognize our bike easily.’
Sam’s eyebrows shrugged, a sign of acceptance that gold streamers certainly made the bike distinctive. ‘Maybe this person is a victim of domestic violence then, and they’ve somehow . . . found out where you live.’
‘Maybe,’ she agreed, but she suppressed a shudder of fear at the thought. Security and privacy were one and the same to her. ‘But I don’t think so. I’m careful about my personal details staying out of the public domain.’
He didn’t reply, but the sudden arch to his eyebrow was a clear contradiction and she knew what he was thinking – she had given him, a complete stranger, her address in the hospital toilet, hadn’t she?
She looked away quickly. ‘But it might not be a domestic violence issue, we can’t assume anything. This person might need help in other ways.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know – drug addiction? Gambling debts? A toxic boyfriend? A stalker?’
A young woman edged past their table, holding up a laden tray. Sam glanced up at her, then back at Lee again. ‘And what if it is something like that? A stalker. Drugs. Should you really be chasing this stranger down and getting involved? It could be dangerous.’
‘Well, luckily I’ve got previous with that.’ She hadn’t
meant the response to come back as so pithy but she couldn’t help it. She didn’t need to be patronized about dangerous situations. She’d been in far more than him.
He blinked, seemingly not liking her answer either. ‘Why does it have to be you, taking this on?’
‘Because I’m the one who’s been asked. Whoever put that book in my basket targeted me.’ She leaned forward, dropping her voice. ‘Sam, they need my help.’
‘Really? Or do you just always have to be on a crusade?’
She sat back again. There was venom in the words; she wasn’t forgiven. She stared back at him levelly, feeling the walls rise higher still between them again.
He looked away, frustrated by her, resentful he was here, his elbows on the arms of the chairs, his fingers loosely interlinked.
Lee’s gaze fell to an ink stain on his right-hand fingers, a pressure mark against the skin, and she realized this wasn’t his problem. He hadn’t asked for any of this. He was just a random guy she’d unwisely drawn into the loop of her chaotic existence. One who’d got away.
She tried softening her approach, knowing she just had to get what she needed from him and set him loose. He didn’t deserve the drama that came with getting involved with her. ‘Look, I appreciate this all sounds mad and I probably am mad for following up on it. But I’m not asking for you to get involved any further than making a call for me. Just ask your marketing people if they can find out where exactly that book was first dropped – before it was put in my basket – and I’ll do the rest myself. I promise you’ll never hear from me again.’
His eyes whipped up to hers and he said nothing for several moments. ‘How will that help, finding out where it was left?’
‘Well, follow the chain of events – the books your marketing people sent out would have come direct from the printers, yes? They’d have been sealed, bound and boxed. I think we can safely assume it’s unlikely anyone at the printers or your publishers wrote that message – it wasn’t some generalized call to arms or a political statement. It’s a cry for help, and because it was put in my bike basket, with my gallery flyer inside, it’s reasonable to assume that the person who put it there is known to me. That means there has to be a stage missing between the book leaving your marketing team’s possession and it ending up in my bike basket. There’s got to be a third party who found the book, wrote in it and left it for me to find. If you can help me discover where it was left, I’ll continue from there and I won’t bother you again, I promise. No more favours.’
