The Story of Us

by Dani Atkins

  ‘I think his meaning may have got lost in translation,’ I suggested, instinctively springing to Richard’s defence.

  Monique gave me a long hard look and I realised again how many people underestimated this woman with her apparently broken English and heavy accent. I knew only too well she had perfect command of my native tongue as well as her own. I’d seen her reading highly complex English literature with complete understanding and knew that long ago, for reasons she chose not to disclose, she had decided to conceal this fluency.

  She softened then, and I saw the sympathy shining brightly in her hazel eyes. ‘Take time to heal, my Emma. All will be well, but it will take time.’

  I nodded dumbly and with no conscious thought tumbled into her open arms, as she held me against her pillowy bosom in the way my own mother hadn’t been able to do, with any real meaning, for the longest time.

  It was midday on Thursday and I had already drunk my fourth cup of coffee and was starting to climb the walls with boredom and caffeine overdose when Monique entered the back room, making a big show of mysteriously shutting the door behind her.

  ‘Tell me the truth, Emma, are you in trouble with the law?’

  I looked at her blankly for several seconds. ‘What? No, of course not,’ I replied, trying to think if I’d even got as much as a parking fine in recent years. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Because there is a man in the shop asking if you work here. He looks extremely serious and actually rather ’andsome. But he is American, and wearing sunglasses on a dull day, so I figure he must be FBI.’

  My heart inexplicably began to beat faster, and it wasn’t because I was afraid I was about to be apprehended as an international felon. ‘What did he say, exactly?’ I asked, already getting to my feet and stepping out from behind the desk.

  ‘I already told you. He asked if you worked here. I said yes. He said could he speak with you. We didn’t make the chit-chat.’

  I went to open the door that led to the back of the shop, pausing at the small mirror hung by the coat hooks on the wall. I smoothed down my hair, making sure the newly cut fringe covered the scar on my forehead, and ran a finger under each eye to check for smudged mascara. Monique watched with open interest and fascination.

  ‘What?’ I challenged, as her scrutiny transformed into a knowing smile.

  ‘Nothing. I say nothing at all,’ she replied with a very Gallic shrug of her shoulders.

  He had his back to me when I entered the shop, with Monique only two steps behind. Not for her the discretion of leaving us alone for a moment or two of privacy. She was far too curious to see who my visitor was. It would serve her damn well right if he had come to arrest me; and her too for harbouring a criminal!

  ‘Jack,’ I said in greeting, pleased to hear that my voice sounded relatively normal.

  He was smiling as he turned, and I could easily see how he had earned Monique’s ‘’andsome’ classification. He was dressed casually, in jeans and a plain white shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to reveal arms that I had good reason to know were every bit as strong as they looked. I was suddenly glad that the bruises on my legs had faded enough to allow me to wear a dress to work that day, even though I’d thought the only person who would see it was my slightly eccentric French employer.

  Sometime during Monique’s absence, Jack must have pocketed the sunglasses, for it was easy to see the warmth in his eyes as he left the display stand he had been studying, and walked up to the counter.

  ‘I remembered you said you work in a bookshop, and as I have some research to do for my novel, I thought I’d try and source a book on the subject.’

  I could have questioned why he hadn’t used the internet, which surely would have provided him with whatever answers he needed to find, but that would have sounded like I wasn’t pleased to see him. And I was. Perhaps more than I should be.

  ‘Well you’ve definitely come to the right place,’ I said with a smile. ‘For books, I mean… we have books here.’ Dear God, I was actually babbling. I cleared my throat and tried to sound a little more professional. ‘Are you looking for any book in particular?’

  ‘What? Oh yes. Something on local lakes, if you have one.’

  I stepped out from behind the counter, extremely glad that I’d worn heels and not flats, when I stood beside him. He was so tall he actually made me feel petite, which was quite a pleasant novelty.

  ‘Are you writing a book about sailing?’ I enquired politely, walking over to the stack which held our local geographical volumes.

  ‘No. Actually, it’s about a murder. I need a lake deep enough to hide a body in.’

  ‘Of course,’ I replied smoothly, shooting Monique a furious glare at the small eruption of laughter that escaped from her lips. She was making absolutely no pretence at being otherwise occupied, and had settled herself on the stool behind the counter to observe us, as though watching an episode of her favourite soap.

  ‘Do you write crime thrillers?’ I asked, because that’s what I would ask him, if I hadn’t already Googled him extensively, checked out the catalogue of titles he had released, and was actually awaiting delivery of a copy of his first book. I blamed Monique for that, leaving me alone with the internet and not enough to do to keep me busy.

  ‘Mostly, yes,’ he confirmed, moving to stand beside me at the rack of books. I could smell again the distinctive aftershave he wore, not in an oppressive wave, but as a subtle undertone to a smell that I guessed would be called ‘manly’ if we were in a trashy romance novel. The thought sobered me. I wasn’t a character in a novel. And it really didn’t matter how handsome or mysterious Jack might appear to me, Monique, or anyone. I was engaged to someone else, and I had no business thinking the kind of thoughts that kept coming unbidden into my mind whenever he was around.

  ‘We have a couple that I think might be suitable,’ I continued, pulling two large colourful hardbacks from the shelf and passing them to him. He scanned the front covers for a brief moment, and scarcely even glanced at the blurbs on the back.

  ‘This one will be fine,’ he said, passing me the more expensive of the two. It was, actually, probably the best choice for what he was looking for, but he couldn’t possibly have realised that from such a cursory glance. He followed me back to the counter, and must have seen the meaningful glare I threw Monique, when still she didn’t move from her stool-top sentry post and actually forced me to squeeze behind her to reach the till. She smiled beatifically at Jack and then me. I rang up the purchase, took the notes he held out, and was extremely careful that I counted back the change into his outstretched palm without once touching his skin. I passed his book across the counter, wrapped in tissue paper and nestled within one of the shop’s distinctive colourful bags, hoping Monique hadn’t noticed that I’d stretched out the entire transaction for just a minute or two longer than necessary.

  ‘It was really nice seeing you again,’ I said truthfully.

  ‘And you,’ he responded with a smile that did an anatomically improbable thing with my stomach. ‘Actually, I was wondering if you had time to join me for a bite to eat.’ He glanced at the expensive-looking watch on his wrist. ‘What time is your break?’

  ‘We don’t usually stop for lunch,’ I explained sadly. ‘As it’s only the two of us, we tend to just work through.’

  ‘No, we don’t,’ corrected Monique, deciding now was the moment to join in the conversation. I couldn’t actually call her a liar out loud, but the look on my face screamed it as though from a megaphone. She blinked mildly back at me. ‘All of the employees must now take a one-hour lunch break – it is something the unions require.’ Oh. My. God. Could she be even the slightest bit less obvious?

  ‘Really?’ I asked. ‘Strange that I didn’t know this, considering the only employees here are you and me, and neither of us belong to a union.’

  Monique made a highly distinctive French noise which was somewhere between a dismissive spit and a cough. ‘You cannot argue with the unions.’<
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  I shook my head at her bald-faced interference. I’d always known she disapproved of my relationship with Richard, but openly encouraging me to go to lunch with another man was something new. However, she had left me with no option but to accept Jack’s invitation. ‘I’ll just get my jacket,’ I said, disappearing into the back room. By the time I emerged, Monique was busy serving a new customer, so thankfully could add no further meddling to the situation.

  Jack held open the door for me, and the moment we were outside I turned to him in apology. ‘I am truly sorry about that. Monique can be quite opinionated at times.’

  ‘She does seem to be quite a character,’ Jack admitted with a grin. ‘Have you worked there for long?’

  ‘Since I was sixteen,’ I replied, ‘on and off.’ He looked puzzled. ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘Then you will have to speak fast,’ he advised, ‘because I hear the union is only giving you an hour for lunch.’

  We walked past a parade of shops before Jack gently asked, ‘So how have things been with you, Emma?’ I bit my lip on the automatic ‘Fine’ rejoinder that I seemed to give to everyone who asked me that question these days. His golden brown eyes held me prisoner, and I knew instinctively that I couldn’t lie to him; he’d see through me in an instant.

  ‘Hard. It’s been hard. And painful. Some days are better than others…’ My voice trailed away and he smiled gently, reaching for my hand and squeezing it briefly. I knew then that he saw through my protective shield as though it wasn’t even there.

  ‘Let’s make this one of those then, shall we?’ he suggested gently, and my heart gave a ridiculous skip and skittered weirdly within my chest. ‘So, where do you recommend we go for lunch?’ His abrupt return to the mundane was a welcome relief. ‘Is there somewhere here in town? If not, my car’s just around the corner.’

  I glanced up and down the high street. There were several places where we could eat. But it was a small town, and people loved to gossip, and even though I had nothing at all to hide, I still didn’t want to be the object of idle speculation. Speculation that could easily get back to Richard and hurt him.

  ‘There’s a nice pub about five minutes’ drive away. The ploughmans there are delicious,’ I suggested.

  ‘I have absolutely no idea what you just said, but as long as it doesn’t involve me eating some poor farm worker, then let’s go.’

  ‘So is your thriller going to be set in Hallingford?’ I asked, as we wove along the narrow country lanes. Jack handled the large car skilfully, pulling up on to the bank to allow a tractor to pass.

  ‘Not specifically, but getting a feel for the area will definitely help.’

  ‘Well, I’ve lived here for most of my life, so if there’s anything you want to know, you can always ask. About the area, I mean, not my life.’ I was babbling again and I could hear the nerves in my voice, even if he couldn’t. Why had I agreed to have lunch with him if it was making me feel so guilty? I think I knew the answer to that, and it was largely tied up with how Richard would react if he knew where I was right now. Perhaps a better question to have asked was why was Jack here? What was his reason for seeking me out?

  Jack took his hand briefly from the wheel and clasped mine, which was nervously plucking some invisible piece of lint from my dress. I visibly jumped at his touch. What was the matter with me?

  ‘Relax, Emma. We’re not doing anything wrong here,’ he said, surprising me, as usual, by being able to read me like an open book. ‘We’re just a couple of friends having lunch, that’s all.’

  His words seemed to be patently underscoring that he had someone special in his life, someone important. Well that was good, because I had one of those too.

  ‘Oh, I know that,’ I assured him, because I really didn’t want him to think I’d read more into this invitation than there was. ‘I think Monique’s meddling just got me a little rattled. I guess she’s more against Richard and me as a couple than she’s ever let on.’

  ‘Interesting,’ Jack mused, negotiating the large hire car into a minute parking space at the pub with great accomplishment. ‘You really will have to talk fast today to tell me everything.’

  In the end we scarcely touched on any topic that crossed the borderline into personal territory, or the tragedy on the night we’d met. Perhaps I could even tell Richard about this meeting, knowing I’d not said or done anything that would cause him a moment’s worry. That was how everything appeared on the surface, at least. On a separate lower level, I was experiencing some pretty unsettling sensations that I knew I couldn’t share with him. Like the way the skin on my back had burned like fire as Jack steered me through the crowded bar. Or how my heart began to beat faster when he studied my face as I spoke, or how something warm lit up inside me when he laughed at some small quip or joke I had made.

  I had just finished recounting some crazy and embarrassing story about Monique, and Jack was still laughing as he leaned across the table for his drink and his hand brushed mine. That was the moment when the crowded pub and the noise of its patrons faded away, and for just a second it felt as though the air itself had been sucked out of the room, in the way a raging fire can draw oxygen from a space. His eyes met mine and suddenly there was no laughter. He looked as shocked as I was. Fire was a good analogy here, as was heat. They were both present in abundance, and playing with them was dangerous, only a fool didn’t know that.

  I was the first to speak. ‘Well, it’s getting late. I really should be getting back, or they’ll kick me out of that union… or something.’

  He gave a smile of understanding, and I know he too had felt something, and knew why I was running away before I was scorched. ‘Let’s get you back then.’

  In the mirror of the ladies’, I saw the flush on my cheeks and the dilated pupils in my eyes. There was no point in denying the unexpectedly powerful connection I felt with Jack, but I was certain it was just a natural by-product of the intense situation when we’d first met, and because he’d saved my life. It was unique and extreme, and it was really dangerous and stupid to confuse it with any other type of attraction. There were probably books written on the subject, about how your whole life and perspective changes after a near-death experience. And when a total stranger puts their life in jeopardy to save yours, that has to forge some kind of intense bond between the two of you, doesn’t it? I resolved to check it out on the internet as soon as I got back to the shop.

  Jack pulled up directly outside the bookshop, leaving no awkward or ambiguous privacy to say goodbye. As I turned to release my seat belt, I noticed two large carrier bags on the back seat of his car, each bearing a logo from Monique’s competitors in town. Without asking permission, I reached over and pulled them both into the front. Jack said nothing to stop me, but his face bore a small wincing expression as though he was preparing for a blow. I pulled out a book from the first bag and instantly recognised it as the exact same one I had sold him just over an hour ago. I reached into the second bag and withdrew its contents, the same book. I said nothing; I let my cocked head and raised eyebrows do the talking.

  ‘Well, who knew there were going to be three bookshops in a town this small?’ he eventually supplied. I felt a smile starting to unfurl and bit down on my lip to stop it.

  ‘And the books?’

  ‘Ah well, I actually did want that particular volume about the lakes. So when they told me in the first shop that you didn’t work there, I thought the least I could do was buy the book from them.’

  ‘And the second shop?’

  ‘Likewise,’ he said, with a small guilty grin.

  It was no use. There was no way I could get that smile under control. ‘And you never thought to ask for a different book, in shop number two or three?’

  He looked even more shamefaced at that one. ‘That would have made more sense,’ he conceded, ‘it just didn’t occur to me. Lack of imagination, I guess.’

  ‘That’s got to be a major disadvantage in your profession,’ I la
mented, releasing my seat belt and getting out of the car. I could still hear him laughing as he pulled away from the kerb.

  THE END

  PART TWO

  The tea in the cup beside me had grown cold. There were now several unattractive dark splotches floating on its surface. I wasn’t usually so easily distracted.

  I thought about going downstairs to make a fresh one, but the kitchen of my family home was already full to bursting with our visiting guests and relatives. Besides, was anyone supposed to see me until the church ceremony? I couldn’t remember the etiquette. I put the cup back down on my bedside table. There would be more than enough to eat and drink at the hotel reception. The caterers had come highly recommended and the menu they had suggested for today was perfect. That, at least, had been one less thing we had had to plan.

  I had a fleeting moment of panic when I glanced at the clock and then an even greater one when I turned back to my dressing table mirror. My hand flew to my throat and I gasped, because suddenly it wasn’t my own familiar image staring back at me, but that of a much older woman, her face softly lined, her skin no longer firm and smooth. There were grooves fanning from the edges of her eyes and time had scored etch marks beside her mouth, which was open in shocked surprise. It was my mother. I was so startled by the vision of her that I actually turned and looked over my shoulder to see if she was standing behind me. But the room, of course, was empty.

  I looked back into the glass and reached out my hand to its surface, my fingers longing to trace the shape of her face, the sweep of her hair, still rich in colour, but when I made contact with the mirror she disappeared, and I was back there in her place.

  CHAPTER 6

  I knew that something was wrong as soon as I pulled into my parents’ drive that evening. And if the front door flung wide open, despite the pelting rain, wasn’t enough of an alert, then hearing my father’s frantic shouts as I raced towards the house confirmed it.