Natural Born Readers (The Book Lovers 3)

by Victoria Connelly

  ‘It was like the old version of us, swapping news and asking each other’s opinions,’ she said.

  ‘So, you were honest in your messages to him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Tell him that.’

  ‘But I knew what I was planning.’

  ‘And you knew that it was wrong,’ he pointed out.

  ‘I still did it, though. I knew what I was doing,’ she said. ‘There’s no excuse for it.’

  ‘You still love him, don’t you? And he loves you.’

  ‘Not now. Not after this.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’

  ‘How could he?’

  ‘Because it’s very easy to love you, Bryony.’

  ‘Oh, Dad!’

  He put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her close.

  ‘I have a feeling that the two of you are meant to be together,’ he said. ‘Despite him taking off around the world and despite you needing to take your revenge for that. I don’t think any of that matters – I think you two can get over all that.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Don’t you?’

  Bryony shook her head. ‘I have this big empty feeling inside me. It’s like my life is over.’

  ‘Oh, honey, it’s not over. This chapter might be. But you read novels – you know that sad chapters are followed by happy ones.’

  ‘Not always,’ she said. ‘Sometimes you just get more sad chapters like in Jude the Obscure.’

  ‘But you are most definitely not a Hardy heroine,’ he told her. ‘You’re more like a –’

  ‘What?’

  ‘An Austen heroine – bright, witty and wonderful. You’ll get your happy ending, Bryony.’

  Bryony smiled at that. ‘You think so?’

  ‘Absolutely. You’ve just got to believe it.’

  Flo was missing Bryony’s company at Cuckoo Cottage. Belle and Beau the donkeys were totally in love with her and the hens, ducks, geese and pigs all ran towards her whenever she arrived. Bryony was very much a part of the fabric of Flo’s place now. But young people had their own lives to lead and Bryony had sounded teary when they’d spoken on the phone on Sunday. Flo suspected that it was serious man trouble

  Was there any pain like young love, Flo wondered? She remembered the pangs of romantic love. Flo might have chosen never to marry despite two – or was it three – proposals? She couldn’t quite remember if Michael O’Connor had actually popped the question or not, but she still knew that the heart was a fragile thing.

  Family could cause you as much grief as any romantic relationship. Flo knew that only too well especially in the last few weeks. As she picked up Peggy and Beatrice the hens who had somehow managed to get into the fenced-off vegetable garden, Flo ruminated on the situation she now found herself in. She still hadn’t confronted Mitch, but the time was fast approaching when she should. For one thing, she wanted to retrieve her possessions before he sold them; for another, Sonny was getting anxious.

  ‘What do I say when he asks for the stuff?’ Sonny had asked her on Monday morning before they left for school. His father was expecting another drop.

  ‘You simply say that there isn’t any more stuff,’ Flo told him.

  Sonny looked anxious. ‘He’ll shout at me.’

  ‘Then you tell him you’re going to call for a teacher.’ Flo had kissed him. ‘Don’t worry, I’m going to sort this out once and for all and then he’ll never bother you with this again, I promise.’

  But Flo had been putting it off. Sonny had said that Mitch’s face had turned an alarming shade of red when he’d been told there was no more stuff to steal. He’d used some choice words which Sonny had repeated. Flo had gasped and had told her great-nephew that the hens would stop laying if those kind of words were ever heard again at Cuckoo Cottage.

  As she pulled out a couple of dandelions from between the cabbages, she made a decision. She would see Mitch that evening. She would go round to his house and, if he was out, she would simply sit in her car until he came home. Sonny could spend the evening with the neighbour across the road. She was always happy to have him.

  Wiping her hands on her dress, Flo returned inside.

  ‘Sonny?’ she called. He was in the living room with Threddy the cat on his lap. ‘I’m going round your dad’s, okay?’

  ‘Do I have to go?’

  ‘No, sweetheart. You can go across to Lindy’s.’

  Sonny smiled. ‘Can I take Threddy?’

  ‘No, Lindy’s terrier would only chase him. Do you want to take anything across with you? Your homework or –’

  ‘I’ve done it.’

  ‘Good boy.’

  ‘I’ll just take a book. Bryony gave me a really good one.’

  Flo smiled. It was lovely that he was enjoying reading so much.

  ‘Okay then,’ Flo said. ‘Let’s do this.’

  Chapter Twenty

  Flo had never been more nervous in her life than when she was sitting outside Mitch’s house. He was in. She could see the living room light was on and, through the net curtain, she could see the wavy blue light from the television set. She should go in. Right away. What was she waiting for? She was only prolonging the agony because she wasn’t going to leave without facing him.

  ‘Get on with it, old woman,’ she told herself, leaving the sanctuary of her car and making her way to Mitch’s front door. She knocked, then knocked again, wondering if he could hear her above the blare of the TV.

  A moment later, he opened the door.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.

  Flo was furious that he’d ask such a question. Surely, as a father, his first concern should be that Sonny was okay. But Mitch obviously wasn’t thinking of his boy.

  ‘We need to talk,’ Flo told him, pushing past him and entering the house.

  ‘You can’t just barge in here!’ Mitch shouted after her, slamming the front door shut.

  Flo made her way into the living room and, finding the remote control, switched the TV off.

  ‘Hey! I was watching that.’

  Flo ignored him. Instead she dived straight into her mission.

  ‘Tell me what this is, Mitch.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘All this stuff in here.’ Flo motioned to the mountains of bric-a-brac, her eyes peeled for anything that belonged at Cuckoo Cottage.

  ‘This is my business,’ he told her, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans. ‘I’m a dealer.’

  ‘And where do all these things come from?’

  ‘Where do you think they come from? Other dealers, people who want to sell their stuff.’

  ‘So you buy it, do you? You buy things from people who want to sell things?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Well, then we have a problem because I didn’t want to sell to you. I still wanted my things.’

  Mitch frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I know what you’ve been doing,’ she told him. ‘I know how you’ve used your own son to steal from me. He’s confessed and I’ve seen it with my own eyes so there’s no point denying it. You’re a thief, Mitch, and you’ve stolen from your own family.’

  He muttered something under his breath which Flo didn’t quite catch. She probably didn’t want to catch it either, she thought.

  ‘Goodness only knows where all these things have come from,’ she went on. ‘I bet I could find a dozen old women you’ve stolen from, just like me, if I dug around a bit.’

  ‘Who do you think you are – Miss Marple?’

  ‘Oh, you can joke about this all you like, Mitch Lohman, but I’m deadly serious. This ends right now.’

  She could feel tears in her eyes as she confronted him, feeling both weak and strong in the same moment.

  ‘I don’t know what your problem is,’ he said. ‘You’re going to leave everything to me in your will anyway, so what’s the difference?’

  Flo couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. ‘What’s the di
fference? Are you serious?’

  ‘I don’t want to wait around forever.’

  Flo gasped. Who was this man standing before her? Surely he couldn’t be related to her in any way? If it hadn’t been for young Sonny, Flo would have wiped her hands of her nephew a long time ago. It pained her to admit it, but he’d always been bad news. And that’s why she’d made a decision.

  ‘Listen to me, Mitch,’ she began, her voice a lot calmer than she felt. ‘You can keep the things you stole from me.

  Mitch frowned. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Apart from my grandmother’s gold locket, you can keep it all. On one condition.’

  ‘What?’ Mitch grunted.

  ‘I’m keeping Sonny.’

  Mitch seemed to be considering this as he gazed down at his feet. She’d expected some kind of token fight from him or maybe even an incredulous laugh, but he simply nodded.

  ‘He’s better off with you anyway,’ he said at last, looking up at her.

  ‘Yes he is,’ Flo said. ‘I’m glad we’re agreed on that. You can see him whenever you like. You know where he is. I’m not taking him away from you; I’m simply taking care of him.’

  Mitch nodded and then cleared his throat and looked shifty.

  ‘What?’ Flo asked.

  ‘That locket.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I can’t give it to you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I sold it.’

  The words hung in the air between them. For one dreadful moment, Flo thought she was going to faint.

  ‘Then you’d better get it back,’ she told him.

  ‘I can’t do that.’

  ‘You’d better do that, Mitch Lohman. You get that locket back or I’ll report you to the police. I’ve got photographic evidence too,’ she said, reaching inside the bag she’d been clutching. She produced one of the photos Bryony had taken. ‘That’s a copy,’ she told him, ‘and there are plenty of others.’

  Mitch looked at her, a sort of fear mingled with respect in his eyes.

  ‘You’ll get that locket back or I’ll write you out of my will. Don’t think I won’t!’

  Mitch looked genuinely floored by this. ‘I don’t know if I can –’

  ‘I’ll expect it back by the end of the week,’ she told him. ‘I take it we understand each other.’ She picked up the remote control and switched the TV back on and then, without a backward glance, she left his house.

  When Flo got back to Cuckoo Cottage, she put the kettle on and sat down at the kitchen table. She was shaking. Her confrontation with Mitch had taken every ounce of courage in her, but she was so glad that she’d faced him. She’d let her nerves calm a bit and then she’d go and pick her Sonny up.

  Her Sonny.

  She genuinely thought of him as hers now and she was excited at the thought of their future together. Mitch might have shredded her nerves good and proper, but Flo realised that she had a lot to be grateful for.

  Bryony spent just two nights at Campion House. She knew she could easily have stayed longer, being mollycoddled by her family and sinking into the cosy routine of home once again, but she really shouldn’t do that. She had to face up to what she’d done and the sooner she did that, the better.

  Whilst she was there, she’d come across the old copy of Arthur Ransome’s Coot Club on one of the bookshelves in the bedroom. It was the one she and Ben had read together at Wroxham on the school trip.

  Flipping through the pages, she’d gasped as she came across a pressed flower. It was a daisy – one of the daisies he’d picked for her to make a chain to wear around her neck. He’d made one for her head to. A daisy crown, he’d called it, for his fairy princess. She’d laughed and called him a silly romantic and he’d shrugged. He’d never been afraid to show his feelings.

  ‘Oh, Ben,’ she’d whispered, closing the book. ‘What have I done to us?’

  With those words still echoing in her mind, she popped her ‘Back in 10 minutes’ sign in the door of her shop on Friday lunchtime and crossed the road towards Josh’s.

  ‘Hello, sis,’ he said as she walked in. ‘Look at the state of this book.’ He handed her a paperback which was currently riding high in the bestseller lists.

  ‘It’s all creased,’ she observed.

  ‘Mucky too. And they had the nerve to send it out for me to sell as brand new!’ Josh tutted. ‘Who have they got packing their books these days?’

  Bryony couldn’t help smiling at her brother’s indignation. He was usually indignant about something.

  ‘You see the clothes shop has closed?’ he continued, nodding out of the window at the shop next to Well Bread.

  ‘Yes, it’s a shame. I wonder who’ll take it next.’

  ‘As long as it isn’t a rival bookshop,’ Josh said, rubbing at an invisible mark on the cover of another of his books.

  ‘Josh,’ she began.

  ‘Yes?’ He was examining some other books now and shaking his head at small imperfections.

  ‘That day you brought Ben to Sunday lunch –’

  ‘I’m not apologising for that again,’ he declared.

  ‘I’m not asking you to.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Where did you pick him up from?’

  Josh frowned. ‘Why?’

  ‘Why do you think? I need to talk to him and he’s ignoring all my messages.’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ Josh said.

  ‘Why? What’s he told you?’

  ‘Nothing. I’ve not spoken to him since that Sunday lunch.’

  ‘Really? Then why did you say you’re not surprised he isn’t speaking to me?’

  ‘Because I’ve heard.’

  ‘What have you heard?’

  ‘That you took your revenge out on him good and proper.’

  Bryony placed her hands on her hips. ‘Did Mum tell you that?’ Bryony knew that her dad would have told her mum.

  Josh shook his head. ‘Polly told me.’

  ‘What?’ Bryony cried. So, she thought, Dad must have told Mum and she must have told Polly who then told Josh. ‘God, I hate living in this family sometimes. Does anyone not know?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought so.’

  She sighed in despair. ‘Are you going to tell me where he lives or not?’

  Josh turned to face her. He didn’t look happy. ‘You’re putting me in a really awkward situation here, Bry,’ he told her. ‘Ben’s my mate.’

  ‘And I’m your sister,’ she stated. ‘What do you think I’m going to do? I just need to talk to him.’

  ‘Yes, but I might be implicated if you fly into a rage and murder him.’

  ‘I’m not going to murder him. If anything, he might murder me.’

  ‘Can I have your first edition Dodie Smith if he does?’

  ‘You’ve got to give me his address first.’

  ‘All right, all right.’ Josh walked to his shop counter and picked up a pen and scribbled a note on a piece of paper which he handed to her. ‘I’m not visiting you in prison.’

  ‘Fine. Just make sure you send me plenty of books.’

  As Flo had sat dithering in the car outside Mitch’s house so too did Bryony outside Ben’s. Well, Georgia’s, she thought. Bryony had always got on with Georgia. She was one of life’s fun people, with an ever-present smile on her face. Only they hadn’t talked in years and she probably wouldn’t be smiling when she saw Bryony.

  Ringing the bell a moment later, Bryony tried to gather her thoughts. She was there to apologise. That was good, wasn’t it? That was putting things right. Nobody could hate her for that. Still, she couldn’t help feeling nervous.

  ‘Bryony?’ Georgia said as she opened the door.

  ‘Hello Georgia.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’ve come to see –’

  ‘Not me, I bet.’

  ‘Is he here?’

  ‘No, he’s not.’ Georgia was abrupt, but she didn’t sound angry and Bryony felt sure she could detec
t a little tenderness in her eyes. ‘Would you like to come in?’

  Bryony really felt like weeping with relief. She hadn’t been rejected or punched on the nose.

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  She followed Georgia down a hallway towards the kitchen.

  ‘Tea?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Georgia went through the motions of making the tea and Bryony looked around the tiny room.

  ‘How is he?’ she asked at last.

  Popping tea bags into a pair of mugs and pouring boiling water over them, Georgia sighed, ‘I won’t lie – he’s pretty cut up about all this. It was a pretty mean thing to do to him.’

  Bryony bit her lip. ‘I know it was. Oh, God – what have I done?’

  ‘Well, you’ve wasted a hell of a lot of time for a start.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll see me?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Georgia said.

  ‘I need to talk to him, Georgia. I have to. I made a mistake – a huge mistake – and I need him to know that. You’ve got to let me see him. I must talk to him.’

  Georgia was watching her as she spoke, her eyes wary but seeming to understand the desperation Bryony was feeling.

  ‘I want to show you something. I think you’ll like it,’ Georgia said, disappearing out of the room.

  Bryony couldn’t begin to imagine what Georgia was going to get and was surprised when she returned a moment later with a large photo album.

  ‘Come with me,’ she said and they took their mugs of tea together with the photo album into the living room, sitting next to each other on the sofa, the album on the small table in front of them.

  ‘I made this because I thought Ben’s travels deserved posterity,’ Georgia said. ‘He didn’t know I was doing it but I kept all the photos he sent me. He used to email and text me photos all the time. I don’t think he realised I was keeping them to print out.’

  She motioned to Bryony to open it. And there he was – her intrepid hero. Standing high in the mountains with an enormous rucksack on his back, resting by a mammoth waterfall, looking hot and humid in the middle of a jungle. Her Ben in all those strange lands. And in each and every photo was that irrepressible smile of his which she’d missed so much.