It seemed surreal after weeks of thinking about the woman from the party that she could have, in hindsight, been so easy to track down. He looked up at the wide window filled with a display of ‘Early Summer Reads’, each book accompanied by a handwritten endorsement of its virtues. It made him smile and he remembered how good it had felt to talk about his divorce with Bea. If he could count on a friend to understand and help him move on with his life it could make all the difference. Ed and Rosie might think this was about him dating again, but they were wrong: right now, Jake needed a like-minded friend.
The rain was soaking into the collar of his jacket, thin trails of icy water sneaking inside and running down his spine. He had no idea what he was going to say to her, but he had come this far. Taking all of his courage, he pushed the door open.
Soft jazz music was playing as Jake walked into Hudson River Books, and instantly the smell of fresh coffee met him like an old friend. He was amused by how much the bookstore reminded him of Rosie and Ed’s florists’, even though the stock differed greatly. Perhaps it was the exposed brick walls, or the cheerful, handwritten chalkboard signs. Or the sense of welcome the entire shop seemed to emit.
He moved further inside, noticing the customers engrossed in their latest book purchases around the store, and the kids’ book corner, where a young mother was settled on a huge, acid yellow and lime green beanbag seat with her small daughter, reading a Shirley Hughes’ Alfie book. The store that had appeared small and restrictive from the street actually stretched back much further than Jake expected, allowing for reading areas to be dotted between the shelves. Every aspect of the bookstore had been designed to entice customers to linger, to take their time choosing the word-worlds they wished to enter and then indulge themselves using the shop as a sanctuary. Jake had been impressed by the second-hand bookstore near his office, but Hudson River Books was a world away from it.
A tall man Jake guessed to be in his early thirties was serving behind an industrial-looking steel and wood sales counter halfway down the bookstore and, with no sign of anyone else, Jake approached him.
‘Hey. Can I help?’
Jake instantly felt foolish for even being there, let alone for the enquiry he was about to make. The man behind the counter was wearing an Andy Kaufman T-shirt beneath a slim-fitting pinstriped jacket and peered at him through dark-rimmed glasses. Here in this part of Brooklyn he looked completely at home, while Jake, in his work suit and tie, felt like a fish out of water. This wasn’t helping the situation, he told himself. He needed to ask for Bea, talk to her and leave.
‘I hope so. I’m looking for Bea James?’
The quirkily dressed man observed him carefully. ‘Can I ask what for?’
He probably thinks I’m a salesman in this suit, Jake grumbled silently, wishing again that he’d had the good sense to change before he dashed over to Brooklyn. Williamsburg wasn’t far away, for crying out loud: why hadn’t he thought to make a detour to his new apartment?
‘I met her a couple of weeks ago at an event and I finally got round to saying hello.’
‘I see.’ The way the man looked Jake up and down, he felt like he was under suspicion for an as yet unidentified crime.
The silence was excruciating. Jake pressed on, hoping politeness would win him favour. ‘I’m Jake – Jake Steinmann.’ He extended a handshake and, after a brief hesitation, it was accepted.
‘Russ O’Docherty. I own this place with Bea.’
‘Good to meet you. Great store you have here.’
The most fleeting of smiles passed across Russ’ face. ‘Thank you. We’ve worked hard to make it a success.’
‘I can tell.’ He was making conciliatory small talk now, but at least it was better than the silent scrutiny of Bea’s business partner. ‘Your customers seem to like it.’
‘They do. We’re very popular in the neighbourhood.’
‘Great.’ Non-contentious subjects thus exhausted, Jake nervously glanced at his watch. ‘So – can I talk to Bea, please?’
‘No can do, I’m afraid.’
What is your problem? ‘Pardon me? Why not?’
‘She has the afternoon off.’ Jake could swear he saw a glint of triumph in his opponent’s eyes. ‘But if you care to leave a message …?’
Battling the crush of disappointment bearing down on him, Jake grasped the lifeline. ‘Yes. Thanks, I’ll give you my card.’ He fumbled in his suit jacket pocket for a business card and hastily scribbled a note on the back of it. Handing it to Russ, he thanked him – although he wasn’t entirely sure what for – and walked quickly out of the bookstore.
Not wanting to return home just yet, he ducked into a coffee store a few doors down the street. He needed to process what had just happened; make sense of it all.
As he sat with his cinnamon latte, the full weight of what he had just done descended upon him. It had made so much sense when he received Ed’s phone call – that irritatingly optimistic streak in his nature convincing him that it was the only course of action to choose. Now he felt like a jerk for leaving a lame message on a business card for a woman he didn’t know ever wanted to see him again. What would she think when she saw it? If she saw it: the disdain of her business partner didn’t fill Jake with hope that Russ would be inclined to pass it on.
He stared out at the unfamiliar street in a neighbourhood he had never previously visited, wearing a suit that made him stand out like a polar bear in the desert – and wished he had never come. Jessica would pity him. He pitied himself. Why was what she thought of him still important?
Perhaps the stress of an impending divorce battle had skewed his judgement. He was obviously searching for something and had projected that onto Bea, as if she were the antidote to the emptiness inside him. She wasn’t; that much had been proved this afternoon. He had to get a hold of himself and focus on making it through the final stages of his separation from Jessica, for his own sake and for that of his clients, who would be walking through his office doors soon. How could he hope to counsel anyone when his own life was a mess?
It had been a painful experience, but necessary. He needed to forget this episode of his new life in New York, move on and get a grip. As he finished his coffee he allowed himself a final wistful thought of what might have happened if he had met Bea today. Then, banishing it to the furthest reaches of his mind, he began the slow walk home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Bea’s apartment, Boerum Hill, Brooklyn
Bea was still smiling when she arrived home later that afternoon. Her time away from the bookstore had been the tonic she needed, not least because of the fun afternoon she had spent at Kowalski’s with Rosie. They had chatted like lifelong friends and she couldn’t help but feel better for the experience. Surrounded by the beautiful colour and aroma of flowers, she had felt at peace; and the surprise of finding a new friend in a street in New York she had never visited before made her smile. It had been a wonderful day.
It was good to feel positive again. Since she had broken up with Otis, Bea had realised how down she had been. It stretched back months, not days; a slow-growing fatalism caused by letdown after letdown. At the time, she believed she was happy, but if she was honest with herself she knew she had been surviving, not thriving. The engagement party conversation had shown her that; so had meeting Rosie today. Bea liked the positive version of herself and was determined to pursue it.
She was about to head into her kitchen to make a pot of tea when a faint mewing sound from the living room window caught her attention.
‘Not again,’ she muttered as she drew up the sash to reveal a shivering ball of smoke-grey fluff clinging to the wrought iron fire escape outside. ‘Now what are you doing out here, hmm? You know you’re scared of heights.’ With practised flair she clambered out of the window onto the metal platform, not minding the four-storey drop to the street below between the open grid-work. She had made this trip many times before, each one connected to the terrified cat she now scooped i
nto her arms. ‘You never learn, do you?’
The cat shivered against her, burying its head in the crook of her arm as she climbed back into her apartment and shut the window. ‘Right, Gracie, let’s get you home.’
Bea picked up her keys and put them in her jacket pocket as she closed the door to her apartment and headed across the hall to 12B. Unlike all the other doors in the apartment building, 12B’s bore a jaunty name plaque:
AVONLEA
Welcome One & All
Gracie the cat was still clinging to Bea as she knocked the fox-shaped doorknocker.
‘One minute …’ a singsong voice called from inside the apartment.
Bea grinned and waited. After the sound of several bolts being slid back and a chain unfastening, the door opened and a short, rotund lady with a mass of white curls beamed up at her.
‘Beatrix! What a lovely surprise!’
‘Hi Giesla. I have someone I believe belongs to you.’
Giesla tutted and held her hands open to receive her cat. ‘Were you up to your old tricks again, Gracie? We spoke about this. You shouldn’t go out the window. You hate it.’
Apparently recovered from her ordeal, Gracie began to purr, gazing lovingly up at her owner.
‘She won’t learn, of course. Gudrun and I keep hoping the experience will deter her.’
‘Maybe you two should think about not leaving the window open?’ Bea suggested, as gently as she could. ‘Then Gracie wouldn’t be tempted to venture out onto the fire escape.’
‘Who’s at the door?’ a gravel-edged voice demanded from inside the apartment.
‘It’s Bea from 12C,’ Giesla called back. ‘She brought Gracie home.’
‘Invite her in!’ the voice called. ‘Don’t leave her on the doorstep.’
Giesla blushed. ‘I am so rude! Won’t you come in, Bea dear?’
‘Of course. But I can’t stay long, I’m afraid,’ Bea replied quickly. She had learned from bitter experience that it was best to state a time frame before stepping across the threshold of 12B.
Giesla and Gudrun Niequist were sisters, both in their seventies, who had lived in the same apartment for forty years. They had been the first neighbours to knock on Bea’s door when she moved into the apartment block on St Marks Place, in the Boerum Hill neighbourhood, and had remained her closest allies. She had seen a lot more of them this year, mostly due to their rescue cat Gracie’s sudden desire to explore the fire escape that snaked down one side of the apartment building. Bea had been called upon to rescue Gracie when the cat had first ventured onto the metal platform just beyond the kitchen window in the sisters’ apartment. Neither lady had been able (or willing) to go out onto the fire escape to rescue the hapless moggie, so Giesla had knocked on Bea’s door in a panic, believing Bea to be young and fearless enough not to be fazed by a trip out of the window. Thankfully for Bea, heights had never bothered her; both she and Stewart had been keen rock climbers in their teens, making their mother squirm when their father took them climbing on family holidays, laughing at her panic as they dangled from ropes on cliffs, mountainsides and climbing walls.
Since then, Gracie had become more adventurous: walking around the side of the apartment building only to realise where she was and panic outside Bea’s window. Were it not for the shaky state of the cat whenever she was rescued, Bea could swear the cat did it on purpose. Recently, as spring had become early summer and the metal platform began to attract heat, Gracie had marooned herself more frequently, and Bea was growing tired of being the apartment’s unofficial pet rescuer.
Giesla and Gudrun’s apartment had last been decorated in 1968 and, though a little faded, it still evoked the spirit of the groovy Sixties. Walking into the apartment was like travelling back in time, the only link to the twenty-first century being the new packaging of old favourites such as Oreos and Twinkies in their kitchen cupboards. It was fascinating: from the psychedelic orange and pink lava lamps on either side of the large fireplace in the living room, to the bright Biba print curtains shielding the long, thin windows.
Bea loved it here, even though she always ran the gauntlet of being unwittingly detained by her neighbours, who liked to keep her talking for as long as possible. She strongly suspected the reason for this was to break the monotony of each other’s company they had endured for years. While it was obvious that they loved each other, their constant bickering revealed the stresses of living with a sibling. She and Stewart had attempted to share an apartment for a year after Bea graduated and had come perilously close to disowning one another as a result.
‘I made apple cake,’ Gudrun said – although with the gruffness of her delivery it sounded like a complaint rather than a pleasant offer. Nevertheless, the news made Bea happy. Gudrun Niequist’s Swedish apple cake, made from a recipe handed down from their grandmother in Uppsala, Sweden, was legendary in the apartment block. Giesla and Gudrun made it their business to know everyone’s birthdays in the building and so, as regular as clockwork, a cake tin would arrive at your front door on your special day. Their gift was always apple cake and it was always delicious.
‘Sit, sit!’ Giesla urged Bea, her cheeks flushing red. She reminded Bea of the Fairy Godmother in Disney’s Cinderella, all soft curves and curly, pure-white hair. By contrast, her sister was what Grandma Dot would call ‘a streak of tap water’: tall, thin and angular, the only resemblance to her sister being her ice blue eyes and snow-white curls. ‘How is life with you?’
Bea, sitting in a G Plan chair, accepted a slice of cake from Gudrun and smiled at the sisters. ‘Good, actually.’
‘And your young man?’ Giesla instantly ducked as Gudrun shot her a stern look.
‘We broke up,’ Bea replied, adding quickly, ‘but it’s a good thing.’
‘So, you are single and sensible, like we are,’ Gudrun nodded wisely, still not smiling.
‘That’s right. And I think it suits me.’
‘It is by far the best way. Giesla and I have never needed a man to enjoy our lives. Isn’t that so?’
Her sister’s head drooped. ‘Yes.’
‘And your bookstore?’
‘Doing well, thank you. We held an important book launch last week and it was a sell-out event. Russ and I have put in a coffee bar as well – you two should come over and try it.’
Giesla brightened. ‘Oh, I’d love that. We should do that, Guddi.’
‘Maybe we will.’
Gracie – now transformed from the shivering fluff ball Bea had rescued into a contented cat with a purr like a pneumatic drill, jumped up onto Giesla’s lap and instantly went to sleep.
‘Gracie seems to have recovered, anyway,’ Bea said.
Giesla stroked the sleeping cat. ‘She’s happy to be home. And we have you to thank for that.’
‘We need to put that cat on a leash,’ Gudrun hissed.
‘She’s still learning, Guddi.’ Giesla leaned towards Bea. ‘The rescue shelter said she’d had trauma in her last home. When they first had her, she hid in her cage for a month. I think it’s good she feels adventurous.’
Her sister sucked her teeth disapprovingly and stood up. ‘I will fetch the coffee.’
Giesla waited until Gudrun had gone, then reached over and clasped Bea’s hand. ‘What my sister said – about being happy single: don’t listen to her.’
Bea stared at her neighbour, surprised by the change in her demeanour.
‘I mean it, dear. Being single sucks …’
To hear this word coming from a sweet old lady was hilarious, but Bea hid her smile. ‘Does it?’
‘Trust me. I know.’ She raised her head a little, listening for her sister’s returning footsteps on the wooden floor, then returned to Bea. ‘I had a man. Once. I loved him.’
‘Oh Giesla, I didn’t know that.’
‘I’ve never told anybody. His name was Enrique. He worked the bar in our father’s restaurant, back in Duluth. My dad loved him – like a son – but he would never have agreed to us marrying beca
use Rique was Puerto Rican. Back in those days, that mattered to some people. It didn’t matter to me: I was sixteen and thought he was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. We shared one night …’ She blushed and her gaze dropped to the sleeping cat on her lap. ‘… Nobody knew. I met him after my dad had gone to bed. It was – magical … Rique wanted me to run away with him, but I was a good girl. He left the next day and gave me an address to find him when I was ready. Of course, I never found the nerve …’
Bea was taken aback by the old lady’s confession. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘It is the single biggest regret of my life,’ Giesla said, her eyes glistening in the glow from the mantelpiece lava lamps. ‘I should have followed my heart, but I didn’t. I put my sister and my family above my happiness.’ Her grip on Bea’s hand tightened. ‘Promise me, Bea dear, that you’ll never stop believing in love? Because without it,’ she indicated her time-frozen apartment as if it were an omen, ‘what do we really have?’
An hour later, Bea arrived back home, grateful of the chance to be alone. Giesla’s words had unsettled her, although she couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. She hadn’t given up on the possibility of love, just the search for it right now. The decision she had made at the party was the right one. I’m not like Giesla Niequist, she told herself. She felt for her neighbour, of course, but it was a completely different situation.
Next day, Bea found Russ had already opened the bookstore when she arrived for work.
‘Enjoy your leisure time?’ he enquired, a sly grin spreading across his face.
‘I did, as a matter of fact. I went to the Upper West Side to meet a friend.’
Russ grimaced. ‘And they let you in? I thought you needed a visa to enter that neighbourhood.’
Bea ignored his prejudice. It was a well-known fact that once upon a time Russ had harboured dreams of living there, only to find the price of apartment rents prohibitive. From then on, he had condemned the entire area of New York as money-obsessed and snobbish. ‘They must have liked me, then, because I was invited in.’
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