by Jo Watson
CHAPTER 40
I waited until the clock struck midnight before I went to the library. I’d managed to catch a little bit of sleep after my bath, and was feeling slightly more human. I crept out of my bedroom and down the long hallway, pushing the door at the end open and walking inside. The passage felt completely different this time, now that I knew of all the things that had happened in here. All the kisses at midnight, the secret liaisons, the writing of letters. This passage held so much more meaning for me. I stopped walking for a moment and closed my eyes—listening, wondering if I could hear the echo of what had happened here, a soft whisper from the past. I touched the wall; it was cold, but I could imagine that, at some point, warm bodies would have been pressed up against it in passion.
I smiled to myself. This story was becoming so much more to me than just a book. The more I read his letters and her diary, the more they crept into my heart. I could picture their faces so clearly. I could picture their clothes, their voices as they whispered sweet nothings to each other. I opened my eyes again and looked around, feeling a sudden sense of loss. Would I ever have a place like this? A person like him? Someone that loved me, for me? When I was younger, I had longed to be a part of a family. And, as I became a little older and more aware that you could create your own family, I had longed to find someone and get married, to have babies and a wonderful life of my own, with a family I could call mine. Little did I know that, as I got older, I would also develop this uncanny ability to choose the wrong men. I would find it hard to mingle with people, or make meaningful connections with them . . . although . . .
It hadn’t felt that way with Mike. It had felt so surprisingly easy and effortless. There had been this strange connection, from the moment we’d met, that I couldn’t quite explain. Mind you, most of the things that had happened over these last few days defied explanation—well, defied any explanation that made sense, that wasn’t rooted in some esoteric, the-universe-is-doing-this kind of thinking.
I continued down the dark, dingy passage and pushed the door at the end open as slowly and silently as possible. I walked to where Ash had said the library would be and slowly opened the door. I knew that Mike was close to me, now, sleeping. It felt strange being this close to him, and yet so far away. Being so near him, without him knowing I was there. I hoped it would stay that way.
I stepped inside the library and closed the door behind me as quietly as possible. I flicked on the lights and looked around. It was incredible. Exactly as I’d imagined an old library to be: dark wood paneling, the dusty, musty smell of old books hanging in the air. Old, frayed Persian rugs covered the floor; large, brown leather couches surrounded an old stone fireplace; there was a huge mahogany desk with old papers on it that looked as if they’d never been touched, and, in the center of the desk, a large bust of a man I didn’t recognize. But the most striking thing about the library was the wall of books, with one of those cool ladders that slides from left to right. I could imagine Edith in this library, slipping her favorite book back on to the shelf after reading her favorite quote from it . . .
We are all fools in love.
It was one of the most famous lines from Pride and Prejudice, and I don’t know why I hadn’t seen it immediately. The word fool and the heart inside the infinity symbol that had been carved on to the tree were a clear reference to it. I scanned the wall for the book, and when I couldn’t see it anywhere, I started climbing the ladder. I’d recently proved to myself that I wasn’t good at climbing fences; I just hoped I was a little better at ladders.
I climbed the ladder carefully. It was so dusty, it was slippery. Also, my nose was starting to tickle and I could feel a sneeze coming on. This was the last thing I needed to happen, now, especially considering the last time I’d sneezed had basically caused an international incident. And then, suddenly, one of the rungs shook. I wobbled a little, but managed to hold on. With my current streak of strange luck, though, I’d probably fall and break a bone. At least I was touching wood!
“Please, please, please!” I whispered at the ladder, begging it to stay intact for a little longer. “If you don’t break, I promise I will dust you when I’m done,” I said, feeling slightly mad that I was trying to communicate with this inanimate object. I climbed higher and higher and finally reached the top shelf.
I started scanning for the book, where (hopefully) I would find a gold mine of letters. My eyes drifted from one spine to the next, and then . . .
I stopped. My eyes scanned the words; I read them twice, just to make completely sure I was right. There it was. Pride and Prejudice. It was staring at me, beckoning me to just reach out and take it. My fingers tingled as I reached for it. They were practically on fire as I wrapped them around the book and pulled. I was so excited, so eager to peer inside that I didn’t wait to get down. Instead, I opened it right there and then, and, when I did, disappointment wracked my body. Nothing! Without thinking, I stamped my foot and—shit—that’s when disaster struck.
I looked down just in time to see my foot crash through the rung, splinters shattering and wood snapping. I started to fall. I yelled as I plummeted and then, in one hard, loud thump, I hit the floor. I winced in pain as I climbed to my hands and knees, grateful that I wasn’t too hurt. And then I heard a noise. Footsteps descending the staircase. The door handle starting to turn. I stared in horror as Mike burst through the door. Then I heard another noise and looked up as books began to fall from the shelf, pummeling me like falling baby elephants. I felt an explosion of pain on my head. I closed my eyes momentarily as the pain kicked inside my skull like a drum. But my eyes flicked open again when I heard him.
“You! What the hell are you . . . ? Becca, I mean . . . what?! How . . . ? Why . . . ? Becca, WHAT?”
I looked up at him as he stuttered away, clearly trying to make sense of this moment. Why was I, the girl he’d personally driven out of town, now on her hands and knees in his library? He pointed at me, his face going ashen white.
“What?” I asked, raising my hand to my head in alarm. I felt wetness and pulled my fingers away. They were coated in blood. “Blood,” I said, suddenly thinking about the woman in the elevator . . . I hoped she was okay.
“Sam!” I heard a shout from behind Mike; it was Ash, and she was looking at me with horror.
“Sam?” Mike asked.
I tried to shrug, but my head hurt like hell.
Ash slapped her brother on the arm. “What the hell are you just standing here for? We need to get her to the hospital. Come, come.” She rushed to my side and started pulling me up. She shouted over her shoulder, “For God’s sake, Mike, what are you doing? Help Sam.” She was already pulling me to my feet.
“Sam?” he asked again, like a stuck record.
“Yes, Sam. The guest I was telling you about.”
I was on my feet now, feeling dizzy and somewhat peculiar around the edges.
“What are you doing here?” Mike looked at me.
“For God’s sake, bro. Come on. I told her she could use the library. MIKE!” she shouted, and that was it. Suddenly, he was also at my side, clutching my arm, both of them pulling me out of the room.
“Get her to the car,” Ash said quickly.
“I’m okay. I’m okay.” I protested, backing away from them both and trying to wiggle free of their grip.
“You are not okay. You have blood running down your face!” She looked at me firmly and then turned to Mike, as if she wanted him to confirm this.
He nodded. “I think we should get you to the hospital,” he said. Did I detect a slight hint of panic in his voice?
“Bloody right we’re getting you to a hospital,” Ash said forcefully.
We exited the house and I was quickly put in the car again—the police car. Ash had insisted on it and had also insisted that Mike put on the lights and sirens, since the hospital was all the way in the next town.
“Jesus—drive a little faster.” Ash hit the back of Mike’s seat as we drove out of W
illow Bay. Clearly, this town was too small for things like hospitals and real jail cells.
I looked to the front and caught Mike’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. They seemed to be filled with something—questions, I was guessing. He probably had a lot of questions for me, right now—questions I wasn’t sure I would even be able to answer. Our eyes locked again and something surged inside me. This time, it wasn’t the feelings I’d had before; now, it was guilt, and it was the worst feeling in the world. I’d promised him I wouldn’t come back to town, and yet here I was, in his car again. He gave his head a tiny shake and looked away, as if disappointed in me. After that, I sat quietly in the back and looked out the window until we finally arrived.
CHAPTER 41
Mike sat there, staring at me. The stitches in my forehead were stinging and so was I. The intense look he was busy shooting at me from the chair in the corner of the room was as sharp as throwing spears, making everything sting.
“So?” Mike finally spoke. His voice was cold and steely-sounding.
“Mmmm?” I looked up at him innocently from my hospital bed, although I knew there was no amount of wide-eyed innocent looking that was going to get me out of this situation.
“I’m waiting,” he said, folding his arms. He sat back in his chair and his shirt tugged against his broad chest; for a moment, I remembered how good he looked, almost naked.
“Still waiting,” he said, sounding even more irritated than he had a second ago.
“Waiting?” I asked.
“For an explanation!” He crossed his legs now too—very sexy, and yet surprisingly intimidating.
I nodded. I’m not sure why, but I did. I looked around the room, hoping someone would appear at any moment and save me from this situation. But Ash had gone to get snacks from the vending machine and, for the first time since Mike burst in on me in his library, we were alone. Honestly, at this stage, I would have taken a nurse with an enema to avoid this conversation.
He jiggled his foot in the air and I knew I needed to say something soon. Wait . . . A thought hit me. Maybe I could pretend that the wound on my head had caused temporary amnesia, and that I had no memory of who I was or what I was doing. Was that even possible? Or were things like that only possible in soap operas and romance novels?
“Becca, Sam, Pebecca—whatever your name is—what is going on, here?” He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward in his chair. “Last time I saw you, I thought I’d made it very clear that you were not to come back.”
“You did,” I said, my voice trembling a little.
“Well, an explanation for why you’re suddenly here again—and in my house, no less—would be great!” he replied sarcastically.
“I didn’t know you lived there when I checked in,” I snapped, in my defense.
He shook his head again; clearly, he didn’t believe me. “And, not only do I find you in my house, when you’re not even meant to be in this town, I find you—yet again—sneaking around in the middle of the night, and I have to ask myself, and you, the same question again: what the hell are you really up to?”
“I told you—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re researching a book.” He looked dubious; I didn’t blame him, but it was the truth. In fact, that was the only bit of truth I’d probably spoken in several days.
“It’s the truth,” I said, as sincerely as I could.
“And what are you researching, exactly? I mean, what kind of book requires all this sneaking around?”
“I told you, it’s a book on a P.I.” That didn’t sound as sincere, and I could see he’d picked up on that immediately.
“Okay, now that part was a lie,” he said.
I shrugged. “I . . . I can’t tell you what the book is about. I’m contractually bound not to say what it’s about yet. If I did, I could get into trouble with my agent and publisher.” This was a half-truth, but it flew out of me so easily, it might as well have been the gospel truth.
He eyed me, but it felt more like he was dissecting me. His gaze moved over me like some kind of scanner—one of those powerful radars that they used to look inside the Giza pyramids, searching for all the secret hidden tunnels that lurked deep inside them. I tried to keep my facial features in check as he scanned my innermost corners, looking for my hidden secrets, but my lips kept twitching for some unknown reason as he dragged his eyes slowly over my face.
“The thing is, Pebecca.” Dear God, he was calling me by my full name—this was bad! “Thing is, since you’ve arrived in this town, there has been nothing but chaos. We never have any incidents; in fact, Willow Bay is one of the most peaceful places in South Africa. But, since you’ve been here, we have had a break-in, damage to property—and by that I mean a cat is missing its eyebrow—and then we had a cat stolen by a mysterious women called Sam, who was impersonating a groomer . . . Coincidence?” These were obviously rhetorical questions.
I hung my head. Everything he’d said was right. But I wasn’t usually like this, and I wanted him to understand that. “I am researching a book,” I reiterated. “I wanted to see the town hall today, and, yes, I might have—without thinking—impersonated a cat groomer. But I put that black cat down, and she was found!” I said quickly.
“So it was you?” he asked.
I nodded and then cringed a little. “Would it help if I told you that I regret doing it and wish I could take it back?”
“But why?” he asked. “Why not just buy a bloody ticket and go inside, like a normal person?”
“It was sold out.”
“And you were that desperate to go to a cat show?”
“Well, I was researching . . . something.”
“For the book?”
“For the book,” I confirmed.
“The book?”
“Yup, the book.” I nodded.
“Becca, just how much trouble are you prepared to get into for this book?” he asked. “Is it worth it?”
I laughed. Small at first, but then it picked up momentum. “Now that, that is the question of the year, Mike,” I said, and then looked down at my hands and picked at one of my cuticles. “That’s a really good question, actually, and I’m not sure how to answer it.”
“Maybe you should, before you land yourself in some real trouble,” he responded.
I looked up at him and he stared straight back at me. Silence—strange and stretchy and making me feel a little insane. I was filled with so many contradictory feelings. I was so happy to see him, to be in the same room as him; I’d missed him, but . . . I hadn’t wanted to see him under these circumstances. I could see he was angry with me—disappointed, even—and it hurt.
“So—” Ash burst into the room—“I have some chocolate, which should be good for blood sugar—I’m sure yours is low at the moment—or, if you need something more substantial, then I have crisps—not that that is substantial, but it was all I could find in the vending machine. What do you want?” She was like the Energizer bunny as she put all the snacks down on my bed. Then she did something that truly took me by surprise. She sat, took my hands in hers with care, and looked me straight in the eyes. “How are you feeling?”
I could tell she genuinely cared and it almost brought tears to my eyes. “Much better,” I said. “It stings a bit and my head’s a little sore, but I’m all good.”
“Oh, thank God!” She placed her hand on her chest. “I feel terrible. I told you to use the library, but I didn’t know the ladder was that bad. If I’d known, I would never—”
I put my hand up to stop her. “Seriously, it’s not your fault. I should have known better than to climb an old, wooden ladder.”
“And probably not at that late hour?” Mike said pointedly.
My head snapped up and I looked at him. “Probably not,” I admitted.
“And how is the patient feeling?” The friendly doctor who’d stitched my head came in. This was such a typical small-town area—the kind where everyone knew everyone else’s business, even in the ne
xt town over—to the point that, while stitching me up, the doctor had told me that he’d delivered both Mike and Ashley, and, when Mike had been born, he was so chubby that the doctor had mistaken him for a girl because his “boy parts” were hidden!
“Much better,” I said to him, as he sat at my bed.
“Good.” He examined my head wound again. “Well, I’m happy with that. You can go home now.”
“Home?” Ash jumped. “Surely you should keep her here to monitor her, in case she has a concussion.”
“Did you lose consciousness when the book hit you on the head?” the doctor asked.
“No, I don’t think so.” I looked up at Mike.
“No, she didn’t lose consciousness. Well, she did close her eyes for a little while, now that I think about it,” he said.
“She did?” The doctor looked at me again. He took a small torch out and shone it in my eyes.
“See!” Ash said. “Don’t you have to be extra careful with head injuries? She shouldn’t sleep tonight, right? Just in case.”
“Uh . . .” The doctor looked like he was considering this. “I don’t think it’s necessary, but if it would make you all feel better, then it won’t do any harm, keeping her awake tonight.”
“Great!” Ash clapped her hands together. “My brother and I are going to look after you so well tonight, we won’t leave your side for a second, and we’ll entertain you all night long. You won’t want to sleep!” She smiled so broadly, but I could see that Mike wasn’t too thrilled with the idea. In fact, he looked like this was the last thing he wanted to do.
“So, what do you guys say . . . ? Movie night!” She clapped her hands together excitedly.
“Yay,” I said, trying to sound upbeat. I looked over at Mike.
“Mmm, yay,” he whispered, half under his breath.
CHAPTER 42
I sat on the couch next to Mike; to say it was awkward would be an understatement. Is there another word, other than awkward, that one can use? I scanned my brain, going straight to the place where my inbuilt thesaurus lay. But no other words seemed to describe adequately the strange feeling of sitting next to this man. My head was still stinging and I could feel a tender bruise developing around the wound, but that wasn’t what was worrying me the most . . .
