Fauxmance

by L.H. Cosway

  “I’m pretty sure we don’t have that one in stock.”

  “Can you check anyway?”

  Pursing my lips, I placed my magazine down, then got up and walked around the counter. Julian smiled as though he’d won the battle to wear me down. I led him over to a shelf, scanning titles as he stood next to me.

  “Have you ever seen Black Books?” he asked. “You remind me of the main character.”

  Unwittingly, I scowled, because I had seen that show and the character he was referring to was a wine-swilling, cranky old bookshop owner who treated every customer like a burden. I didn’t bother to justify his question with an answer.

  “My first assumption was correct. We don’t have it. Sorry about that.”

  He pursed his lips. “Too bad. I’ll have to search elsewhere. By the way, I do believe your top is on inside out.”

  I followed his gaze as it lowered over me and he was right. Embarrassment filled me.

  The stitching on my green T-shirt was on the outside instead of the inside. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed. I needed to start getting up earlier, so I had more time to get ready. Last night I’d stayed up until the wee hours writing. The muse had been upon me. Thanks, Muse!

  Julian laughed softly. “You hadn’t noticed?”

  “I was in a rush this morning,” I mumbled and walked back to the counter.

  He glanced at his fancy wristwatch. “It’s almost half past two. You haven’t looked in a mirror all day?”

  “It’s not really a priority for me.”

  “No? If I had a face as interesting as yours, I’d be looking in the mirror all the time.”

  Wariness trickled through me. “What’s your game?”

  He gave a puzzled look. “My game?”

  “Yes, your game. Why are you here talking to me? If you…” I inhaled a nervous breath. “If you think it’ll win you points with Elodie by cosying up to her sister, then you’re dead wrong. I told you, we don’t get along. Besides, I’m pretty sure she’s already seeing someone.”

  “Of course, the stripper. She’s mentioned him,” Julian said, studying me even more closely now. “And I’m not here to win points with Elodie. Believe it or not, I pass by this shop most days. I saw you sitting there and came in on a whim. Yes, I like your sister, but I also happen to think you’re adorable.”

  Pfft. Whatever. “Sure, you do. What’s your profession?”

  My question seemed to give him pause, which only furthered my suspicion that he was a journalist. The fact that La Dame Aux Camelias was his favourite book pointed towards arts journalism. I’d bet my last penny he was a book critic.

  “My profession is something I don’t like to advertise.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if I tell you, you may not wish to get to know me. Usually, if people get to know me first, then discover my profession, they’re more accepting. They’ve already found out for themselves that I’m a good person, and what I do for a living doesn’t cloud their judgement.”

  Okay, I had no idea what he was talking about now. “Are you a journalist?”

  He affected a confused look. At least, I imagined he was affecting it to throw me off the scent. “Why ever would you think that?”

  “Just a hunch.”

  “I’m not a journalist.”

  “Sure, you aren’t. Listen, I think you should go now. You’re not going to find any story here.”

  Julian opened his mouth to say something when the bell rang, and Bernice walked in to relieve me from my shift. She glanced from Julian to me. “Hello again. Are you back to look for the new Sasha Orlando book for your friend? It’s still two more days before it goes on sale.”

  Julian scratched his head. “No, I, uh, was just passing through.” He looked back to me, a conflict on his face. “It was a pleasure seeing you again, Ellen. Bernice.”

  With that, he left. I played back our conversation in my head, but it only made me more confused than ever.

  Chapter Five

  Julian

  I walked back to my flat, perplexed by my conversation with Elodie’s sister, Ellen. Perhaps it was the fact that they didn’t have a good relationship that made her frosty. But then, she’d acted weirdly suspicious, thinking I was a journalist out to find a story. What was that all about?

  Again, something simply wasn’t adding up.

  When I’d discovered Elodie had a sister, I was amused and intrigued by the resemblance. They had different coloured hair and eyes, but their facial features were identical.

  Ellen reminded me of Elodie insofar as they had the same face, practically the same voice, but that was where the similarities ended. Ellen wore jeans and T-shirts, no makeup, and had a smattering of freckles across her cheeks that were adorable.

  I liked to imagine myself as a scholar of women. All of their variations and idiosyncrasies fascinated me, so to discover two sisters who were so different in temperament made me feel like an archaeologist who’d just stumbled upon a rare fossil.

  One more thing they had in common: neither sister was interested in me, which was perfectly fine. I’d long since accepted I was not the sort of man women chose to date or settle down with. I was the sort they enjoyed a thrilling, sexually adventurous affair with for a few weeks before moving on, and that was okay. Sure, more and more often these days, I wondered what it would be like to be loved completely and unconditionally by someone, but I would never ask a single woman to accept what I did for a living. It just wouldn’t be fair.

  I reminded myself that life was too short to spend it with any one person. With my particular profession, I got to enjoy all the colours, shapes, sizes, and souls that God had seen fit to create.

  Rose was packing when I arrived home. Tomorrow was Damon’s last day of filming, so they were off back to the island on Sunday. Since they were the only real family I had, I’d be sad to see them go.

  My mother had been admitted into a psychiatric hospital when I was in my late teens and I’d never met my father. Now Mum lived in an assisted living facility. I went to visit her a few times a year, but it was never certain if she’d be happy to see me. Sometimes she’d greet me with a smile, maybe even a hug. Other times she’d be cold and withdrawn, too much inside her own head.

  She suffered from an extreme form of bipolar depression. It was one of the many things she passed on to me. However, unlike Mum, I was able to manage my moods with medication and self-care. When her past lover, Elijah, with whom she’d been having a polyamorous relationship including two other women, chose one of the other women over her, Mum suffered a manic break. It was one of the most tumultuous periods of my life, and in the end, I had to make the hard decision to admit Mum into a facility. It was a choice I lived to regret somewhat, because now she didn’t want to leave. She was institutionalised, and the idea of re-entering the outside world terrified her.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” Rose asked as I flopped down onto the bed. She knelt on the floor, carefully folding clothes and placing them in her suitcase.

  I made a dramatic frown. “I don’t want you to go.”

  Her expression softened. “Why don’t you come with us? You could do with a break from the city. Do some meditation. Read a few books. It’ll be good for you.”

  I considered it. The idea of getting away from all the hustle and bustle was appealing, but then I thought of my current preoccupation with Elodie and Ellen. I was too intrigued by them to leave right now. There was just something about them that I needed to get to the bottom of.

  “It’s not a good time for me to go away.”

  “Oh? Does this have to do with a client?” Rose asked, curious.

  “No, for once this has nothing to do with a client. You know Elodie?”

  Her expression turned knowing. “Ah, right. The sexpot from the coffee shop.”

  I smiled at her phrasing. “Well, do you remember Ellen, from the bookshop the other day?”

  “I thought her name was Bernice?”

&
nbsp; “No, that was the owner. I’m talking about the shop girl in the back.”

  Rose twisted her mouth to the side, trying to recall. “Vaguely.”

  “Well, it turns out she’s Elodie’s sister.”

  “Really? Small world.”

  “I know, but there’s something about them that doesn’t add up.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Both are immune to my charms, for one.”

  “That old chestnut. You want what you can’t have.”

  “It’s not that. I’ve had my advances rejected before, as you well know. It’s just that they both seem…overly suspicious of me. Like they don’t trust my intentions even though they don’t even know me.”

  “Huh. Maybe they’re just bitches,” Rose suggested. I picked up a pair of rolled up socks and threw them at her head.

  “They’re not bitches. Well, at least I don’t get that impression.”

  “Then what?”

  “That’s the problem. I have no idea.”

  “So, you’re going to be consumed with finding out what their deal is for the foreseeable future and that’s why you can’t come to Scotland?”

  “Pretty much.”

  She exhaled a breath. “You’re always wrapped up in some new person or other, so I’m just going to leave you to it. You better come in the summer though. I miss you when you’re not around.”

  “Aw, and there was me thinking I was the third wheel to yours and Damon’s epic love life.”

  Rose scoffed. “Shut up.”

  “Are you still going to the bookshop tomorrow to pick up that new novel you wanted?”

  She nodded excitedly. “Of course. I’ve been counting down the days.”

  “Mind if I tag along?”

  “So that you might bump into Elodie’s sister again?”

  I smiled wide. “Perchance.”

  * * *

  I considered the idea that Ellen was simply shy, and her standoffishness was a form of armour. But then, what was Elodie’s problem with me? She certainly wasn’t shy. At least, that was the impression I got from the weeks I spent listening to her conversations with Suze.

  It sounded pretty bad when I put it like that, didn’t it?

  Oh well, I never claimed to be some noble, trustworthy prince.

  I was surprised to find the bookshop crowded with people when Rose and I arrived on Saturday afternoon. A large display featuring the latest Sasha Orlando release, The Games We Play, had been set up in the middle of the store and people were queueing up to get their copies.

  “This is so exciting,” Rose exclaimed as she grabbed a paperback and joined the queue. I looked around for Ellen, but there was no sign of her. Bernice stood by the counter, ringing up purchases. I felt a measure of disappointment and wondered if maybe she was in the storeroom out back. Rose had her nose buried in the book, already several pages in by the time we reached the counter.

  Bernice gave a friendly smile when she saw us. “You came back.”

  “I have a trip tomorrow, so I need my reading material,” Rose replied with a wide grin.

  “Well, I’ll thank you for your custom.”

  “Is Ellen working today?” I asked. “I was hoping to speak with her.”

  Bernice gave a sad look. “She was, but she went home about an hour ago. Poor thing suffers terrible anxiety in crowds. Normally it’s just one or two customers in here at a time, but when there’s a big book release, we get a lot more people in.”

  Huh. Was that the reason for how she acted around me? I suddenly felt horrible for forcing conversation on her. She must’ve been nervous as hell having a stranger come up to her like that.

  “That’s awful,” Rose said.

  Bernice nodded. “She was in such a rush to get out of here that she left her ticket behind. It’s for tonight’s show of Hamilton. A friend of mine works at the theatre and managed to snag a seat for Ellen. I’m hoping to get a chance to drop it over to her at some point today, but I’ve been rushed off my feet.”

  “Does she live close by?” I asked.

  “Yes, she’s just over on Esther Crescent.”

  “Rose and I can slot the ticket in her letterbox, if you like? We’re walking that direction anyway.”

  Rose gave me a questioning look, while Bernice eyed me with playful suspicion. “Are you certain you aren’t trying to snag the ticket for yourself?”

  I winked at her. “I promise you my intentions are honourable.”

  She chewed her lip. “Well, since the show starts in a few hours it’s important she gets it.” A pause as she seemed to conclude that she could trust us. “Her house is number 119.” She pulled a small envelope out from behind the counter.

  “Perfect. We’ll have it to her in no time.”

  I was certain that if Rose, my blue-eyed, innocent and kind looking best friend weren’t with me, Bernice wouldn’t be quite so willing to trust me with the prized ticket. We walked out of the shop, waving goodbye to Bernice. Once we were around the corner, Rose stopped me in my tracks.

  “Perhaps it’s not such a good idea for you to go over there. If she suffers from anxiety, then having someone like you show up will only make it worse.”

  I arched a brow and put a hand on my hip. “Someone like me?”

  “Don’t play dumb. You’re well aware of the effect you have on women. You fluster them. I’ve witnessed it plenty of times.”

  “I’m just going to slot the ticket in her letterbox, no euphemism intended,” I winked. “There won’t be any flustering.”

  “Do you promise?”

  I swept a finger over the left side of my chest. “Cross my heart.”

  Rose eyed me. “Okay, good, because I have to go meet Damon for lunch.”

  “Hold on. You’re not coming with me?”

  “I can’t. I already told you I have plans.”

  “Fine, go. I’ll see you back at the flat later.”

  “And remember, drop off the ticket and leave. Don’t knock on the door, don’t hedge to be invited in. In summation, don’t try to work your devilish charms in any way.”

  “Heard and registered. No door knocking, hedging, or devilish charming shall occur. You have my word.”

  I saluted her, and Rose shook her head. We exchanged a hug and then she walked in the direction of the nearest Tube station. I headed toward the address Bernice gave, the long street lined with period homes. They didn’t appear to be split up into flats either, which meant Ellen lived in one of these all by herself. How on earth did someone who worked in a bookshop afford a place like this?

  But then, I remembered Elodie mentioning she lived in this area, too. Did they live together? No, that didn’t make sense, especially considering they supposedly weren’t close. Perhaps it was some kind of house share.

  I climbed the steps leading to the front door of 119, eyed the letterbox, then hesitated. Rose had warned me against it, but what harm could it do to knock and present her with the ticket in person? Some part of me yearned to see her, check if she was okay. Surely, it wasn’t a good sign for a few extra people in the bookshop to freak her out so much.

  Feeling spontaneous, I lifted the knocker. A moment passed. No one answered. I glanced at the window and saw the curtains twitch. Ellen peeked her head out for a second then ducked out of view.

  I knocked again, and again there was no answer.

  “Ellen, I came with your ticket for the show tonight. Bernice said you left it behind at the bookshop,” I called out.

  More silence.

  “I know you’re in there, darling. I saw you peek out just now.”

  Still nothing. She must’ve been embarrassed. After another moment or two, I decided to slot it through the letterbox like originally planned, but then I heard the lock flick over. The door opened, and Ellen stood before me. She hid most of her body behind the door, and her face was slightly blotchy. Had she been crying? My heart clenched at the thought.

  I knew what anxiety felt like, sin
ce I’d experienced enough of it as a kid. Mum was always up and down, always with a new boyfriend, some of them nice, others not so nice. When you lived in an unpredictable world with no security, anxiety was your ally. It warned you of coming danger. But like I said, with the help of medication, I’d since learned to manage it. If the look of Ellen was anything to go by, she was deep in the midst.

  “Hi,” she said, reaching a hand out for her ticket.

  “Are you okay?” I asked as I handed it over, my question edged with sympathy.

  “I’m fine. Thanks for bringing this.” She sniffed, then made to close the door.

  “You don’t look fine. Is there someone I can call for you? Elodie? Maybe one of your brothers?”

  She must’ve heard the genuine concern in my voice because she lost some of her guardedness. “No, thank you. I’ll be o-okay.”

  The quaver in her voice broke my heart, and I felt the strongest urge to comfort her. I placed my hand on the door to keep her from closing it in my face.

  “My mum used to get the same thing. When I was a kid, she was pretty nervous in crowds. She self-medicated though, and that just made things worse,” I blurted, frowning at myself. I hadn’t meant to share that.

  Ellen opened the door a little more. “Your mum?”

  “I don’t get to see her very often anymore,” I said sadly.

  She stared at me, and I tensed. Her big brown eyes seemed to have this way of looking right into your soul. I hadn’t felt that with Elodie. With Elodie, I’d gotten the sense that she was looking past me for a better option. But Ellen truly looked at you, gave you her full attention. She appeared to come to some conclusion when she said, “I’m sorry for being rude to you the other day. I wasn’t myself.”

  “No apology needed. I understand.”

  She shook her head. “No, you don’t.”

  “Then explain it to me,” I urged.

  I had no idea why I felt such a strong draw to her. Maybe because I’d spent so many hours studying her sister, who looked so much like her, I felt a connection, like I already knew her somehow.