How to Find Love in a Bookshop

by Veronica Henry

  “You’re my princess,” he told her.

  “‘Princess’ is not such a good thing where I come from. It’s a pejorative term, for a woman who wants her own way all the time,” Rebecca told him.

  “Like I said,” replied Julius. “You’re my princess.” And she laughed.

  He knew his mother, Debra, would be tolerant of the situation, because Debra was broad-minded and he didn’t think she had told him off, ever, in his life.

  They drove up to London, and Debra took them out for lunch at a wine bar in Kensington. The walls were covered in a mural of grape vines, and they ate chicken cacciatore and chocolate fudge cake.

  Rebecca was fascinated by Debra, with her strings of amber beads and endless St. Moritz cigarettes and her husky drawl. Debra had a world-weariness about her that implied she had seen and done everything, even though she now lived a very tame existence. She wasn’t in the least intimidated by Rebecca’s fierce IQ or force of personality or brazen dress sense. They were more than a match for each other.

  When Rebecca went to the loo at the end of lunch, Debra lit another cigarette.

  “Be careful, darling,” she said. “The bubble won’t last forever.”

  Julius told himself his mother was just being protective. Which was odd, because she hadn’t been when he was young. She’d left him to get on with it much of the time. He wondered what had changed.

  He sighed. “Better to have loved and all that.”

  “I just don’t want to see you hurt, if things go wrong.”

  “What can go wrong?”

  Debra blew out a plume of smoke. “Any number of things.”

  Julius was determined not to be unsettled by his mother’s warning. And when Rebecca came back to the table and put her arm around him and called him her guardian angel, he smiled at Debra as if to say, See?

  “Your mum is so cool,” said Rebecca as they trundled back down the A40.

  Julius rolled his eyes.

  “My mum’s never had to worry about anyone except herself,” said Julius, trying to shake off the sense of foreboding Debra had given him. He was cross; just because she was world-weary didn’t mean she had to spoil it for everyone else. “She doesn’t care what anyone else thinks.”

  “She’s the exact opposite of mine, then,” said Rebecca. “My mom cares what everyone thinks. Right down to the mailman.”

  —

  Debra was right, though.

  Julius supposed he should have seen it coming. But then—why should he? The thing was, all the girls he’d ever dallied with had been on the pill. It was almost a given—most girls put themselves on it when they went off to university, if they weren’t already. A quick trip to their local doctor and they were covered. It had never occurred to him that Rebecca might have landed on English soil without organizing contraception before she left. Of course, everyone at Oxford was pretty casual about sex. There was a fair amount of bed-hopping. Julius had been as guilty as anyone, but not once he met Rebecca. He knew the love of his life when he saw it. Yet he’d forgotten the key question.

  So when she sat up one morning, looking green at the gills, then bolted to the bathroom, he was shocked into silence when she told him why.

  “I think I’m pregnant.”

  “Aren’t you on the pill?”

  She shook her head.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” He was appalled—at both his negligence and hers. “I just assumed . . . Surely you realized this might happen?”

  She put her face in her hands. “I guess I just hoped.”

  “Hoped?”

  “For the best.”

  “That’s not the most reliable form of contraception.”

  “No.” She looked utterly forlorn. She sat in the middle of the bed, holding her stomach.

  “Well, I suppose we should go to the Family Planning Clinic.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s where you go for contraception. Or, um . . .”

  She held up a hand. “Don’t say it. Don’t say that word.” He didn’t want to say the word.

  “They can arrange . . . things for you.”

  She stared at him. “It’s out of the question.”

  He blinked. “Oh. Right. Okay. Um . . .” He frowned. “So what is the plan?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You want to go to university. We live in one room. We don’t really have any money.”

  She lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “We don’t have any choice. I’m not getting rid of it. I’m not getting rid of our baby.”

  Julius wasn’t sure what to think or feel. This was an eventuality he hadn’t prepared for. He didn’t know anyone else who’d been in this situation. He knew a couple of girls who’d been caught out, but they’d sorted things quickly and quietly and learned their lesson. He certainly didn’t know anyone who’d gone ahead and had a baby. But he wasn’t going to force Rebecca into anything she didn’t want to do.

  “What are you going to tell your parents?”

  She gave a heavy sigh. She didn’t answer for a moment.

  “I’ll tell them when I go home for Thanksgiving. At the end of the month.” She sat up, and to his surprise, she was smiling. “A baby, Julius. I knew when I saw you, you were going to be the father of my children.”

  “Well, that’s lovely,” said Julius, thinking that was all very well but he would have liked to wait a little longer. He didn’t say that, though. “We’re going to have to find somewhere better to live. And I’ll have to get a proper job.”

  It was his own stupid fault. It was his responsibility as much as hers. He should never have assumed.

  Rebecca got up to be sick again. And Julius looked around the room that had been their home for the past few months and thought: I’m going to be a father.

  Rebecca didn’t tell her family when she flew back to New England for Thanksgiving. She was still as slim as a reed, because she wasn’t even three months gone, and she had thrown up every morning and every evening like clockwork, despite devouring sugary, fatty, lardy cakes Julius brought her from the bakery.

  “There just wasn’t a good time. I wasn’t there for long enough, and there were so many visitors. I’ll tell them at Christmas.”

  By Christmas, she was putting on weight, but it was cold, so she was able to wrap herself in swathes of baggy clothing. She still didn’t reveal her secret.

  “I didn’t tell them. I didn’t want to ruin the holiday.”

  “It’s getting a bit late.” Julius was anxious. He had told his mother, who had expressed no surprise. But nothing surprised or shocked Debra, who’d been there and seen it and done it all.

  “Just don’t expect me to babysit” was all she told him, and he laughed but didn’t say she was the last person he would leave a child with.

  By the time Rebecca was four months pregnant, she found out she had got a place at Oxford and finally told her family. Julius realized it was because before then she’d been afraid they might force her into something she didn’t want to do. She had a will of iron, but pregnancy had made her vulnerable and pliable, and she’d feared that on home territory she might be brainwashed.

  “You? Brainwashed?” Julius was disbelieving.

  “I’m not as tough as I make out,” she told him. “And you don’t know my family.” She made a face. “Daddy’s flying over.”

  “I thought you had your dad wrapped around your little finger?”

  “There’s a difference,” she said, “between wanting to study at the best university in the world and having a baby at nineteen.”

  “It’ll be fine,” Julius told her. “I’m here to back you up.”

  She was frightened, Julius realized, despite her fighting talk. And he thought perhaps she feared she might capitulate, because it would be the easy option. How a
wful, he thought, to fear manipulation by your own family. Debra might be on her own planet, but she was never interfering or controlling. In that moment, he swore to himself that he would never try to control his own child. That he would be supportive without being manipulative.

  He wondered if her father was going to turn up with a shotgun. He was ready for him, if so. Julius didn’t much care about how he felt—he was only concerned for Rebecca and his unborn child. There was a limit, in certain situations, as to how many people’s sensibilities you could address.

  —

  Thomas Quinn was surprisingly measured and calm about the situation. Rebecca came back from meeting him a little subdued, but relieved that there hadn’t been a scene.

  “It would have been different if my mom had come over,” she told Julius. “Dad says she can’t even speak about it. I know Mom. She’ll turn it around to be her crisis. Her drama.”

  “She sounds awful,” said Julius.

  “She just doesn’t like anything that doesn’t fit into her vision of how things should be.”

  “I suppose she’s not alone in that.”

  “No. But boy, do you know about it if it’s your fault.”

  “Well, it’s lucky she’s not here.”

  “Yes,” agreed Rebecca. “Dad wants to meet you, though.”

  “No problem,” said Julius. “I think we should meet.”

  He wanted to reassure Thomas Quinn as much as he could.

  Rebecca eyed him with interest. “You’re very brave.”

  Julius shrugged. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “You do know most guys would have totally freaked out.”

  “There’s no point in getting hysterical. Or pretending it hasn’t happened. You’ve just got to get on with it.”

  Rebecca hugged him. “You know what? You make me feel safe. I never knew that’s what I wanted . . .”

  —

  Julius met Rebecca’s father, Thomas, the next day in the drawing room of his hotel suite. Rebecca had decided to keep out of the way.

  “I’ll only get emotional if he says something I don’t want to hear. Don’t let him bully you.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Julius. He wasn’t nervous, though he was apprehensive. He didn’t want to make a tricky situation turn nasty.

  Thomas Quinn was scrupulously polite, ushering him in and ordering coffee. It was a little bit surreal, thought Julius, sitting in opposing armchairs in this formal setting. He felt like a head of state about to discuss foreign policy.

  “I want to make this situation as least disruptive as possible,” Thomas told him. “You know, of course, what a smart girl Rebecca is. She has a very bright future.”

  “Yes,” said Julius. “She’s very clever. Far cleverer than I am.”

  “And, as her father, it would be wrong of me not to want her to make the most of her potential.”

  “I’m sure that’s what we all want for our children.”

  Julius held his gaze.

  Thomas Quinn cleared his throat.

  “I appreciate that you have been a gentleman and agreed to stand by her. Rebecca tells me what a tower of strength you are. How supportive. I’m very grateful.”

  This wasn’t quite the tack Julius had expected. He’d anticipated disapproval. Criticism.

  “Thank you,” he replied, wondering what was coming next.

  “However, I think you’re both being idealistic. I don’t think either of you really have any idea of the impact having a baby will have on your careers, your lifestyle, your economic circumstances. I mean, you don’t actually have a career yet—do you? You’re working in a bookshop?”

  Julius stared, intense dislike starting to boil up inside him. He’d thought it was too good to be true. He remained calm and polite.

  “Yes. But I have a good degree. I’m quite confident—”

  “Your confidence is charming. But you’re being naive. Take it from me. I’ve had three children. Good intentions are all very well in theory. Admirable. But you will find the reality a very different story.”

  “Mr. Quinn, people have children every day and bring them up perfectly well—”

  Thomas Quinn cut him off again. “I don’t want to see my daughter’s potential wasted. I want her to be the best person she can be. I don’t think having a baby at nineteen is going to enable that. No matter how much support she has from you.”

  “She can carry on her studies. We’ll find a way.”

  Quinn gave a dismissive snort.

  “Look, I’m not going to pretend I think this is a good idea on any level. Rebecca is a pistol on the surface. But underneath, she’s actually very vulnerable. And not as strong as she comes across. Believe me, I’m her father. I know Rebecca. Which is why I’m so concerned. I know you think this is about her mother and me, but it isn’t. I’m very worried. And I can see she thinks the world of you and would listen to what you have to say.”

  Julius felt a growing sense of horror. “It’s too late for an abortion. If that’s what you’re thinking.”

  He was pleased to see Thomas flinch. Julius wasn’t going to mince his words to spare this man’s feelings.

  “I know that,” said Thomas carefully. “But it’s not too late to give the baby up for adoption.”

  Julius couldn’t hide his shock. He wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “What?”

  He crossed his arms and stared at the man who, in theory, had things gone in the right order and more happily, might have been his father-in-law.

  Thomas walked over to the latticed window of the hotel room. Julius stared at his broad back and wondered what he was actually thinking. Was he really doing the best for his daughter, or was there another agenda? Was this all about saving her reputation? Protecting the family name?

  “Let me make a deal with you.” Thomas turned back, walked across the room, and sat down. “If you can persuade Rebecca to give the baby up for adoption, I will write you a check for fifty thousand pounds. And I will help find the very best family possible.” He held up his hand. “Don’t say anything for at least a minute. Please know that this comes from a desire to do the best for my daughter.”

  Julius walked over to the window and stood where Thomas had stood. He looked out at the buildings, the colleges: the hopes and dreams of so many young people, himself included, Rebecca included, were held inside those walls. Eventually he turned.

  “I suppose there aren’t many problems you don’t think can be solved by money.”

  “If you turn this offer down, I won’t be giving you and Rebecca any financial support. You do understand that?”

  “It hadn’t even occurred to me that you might. It wasn’t something I was relying on.” Julius stood up and held out his hand. “Please—be assured that I will look after your daughter and grandchild to the best of my ability.”

  “If you change your mind, the offer is there until the end of the week. Until I go back.”

  “I won’t be telling Rebecca about our conversation,” Julius told him. “I don’t want her upset. I’ll just tell her you wished us the very best.”

  Thomas Quinn didn’t look shamefaced in the slightest as he shook Julius’s hand.

  —

  In the end, he did tell her, because she pestered him to reveal what they had discussed.

  “Did he offer you money?” she asked. “I bet he did.”

  “He wanted me to persuade you to give the baby up. For adoption.”

  Rebecca was furious. “He is so manipulative.”

  “I think it’s because he cares. I tried to put myself in his situation.”

  Julius wasn’t sure why he was trying to protect Thomas Quinn, but it was mostly because he didn’t want Rebecca upset. He was feeling more and more protective of her, especially now that the baby was showing.

  He to
ok her to their favorite pub that evening, and sat her down by the fire with a glass of apple juice for her and a red wine for him. He held her hand over the table.

  “In an ideal world,” he said, “I would whisk you off to Venice and hire a gondola. But it’s not an ideal world, and it’s far too cold to hire a punt, which would be second best. So I’m going to ask you here . . . if you would like to get married? Would you marry me?”

  She stared at him, speechless, and he thought he had said the wrong thing. That marrying him was the last thing she wanted. He saw a tear work its way out of one eye and down her cheek, glittering in the firelight. He reached out to brush it away.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m an idiot. I didn’t mean to—”

  “Yes!” She cut him off. “Yes. I would love to marry you. More than anything else in the world.”

  They celebrated with toad-in-the-hole and spotted dick, both of which made her laugh until tears ran down her face again. And after a certain amount of laborious paperwork, because she was American and didn’t have her birth certificate, they left the registry office one tentatively sunny spring afternoon.

  “You know what we should do? We should open our own bookshop,” Rebecca said as they walked home, hand in hand.

  Julius stopped in the middle of the pavement. “That, Mrs. Nightingale,” he said, “is pure genius.”

  “Nightingale Books,” said Rebecca. “We could call it Nightingale Books.”

  Julius felt a burst of joy. He could see it now, the two of them with their own little shop.

  In the meantime, he had got a managerial position at the bookshop, which gave him a slightly higher wage, and found them a house of their own to rent: the tiniest two-bedroomed terrace in Jericho. The second bedroom was only a box room, but at least they had their own space. He spent all his spare time painting it out, until it was bandbox fresh. He put up shelves and hooks so they had plenty of storage. He took Rebecca to Habitat to choose a sofa.