They wrestle half-heartedly which is quite the sight, with Max being six-four and Rosie about half his size. ‘Ask the magic tree and it will provide my very own Rosie, made to order.’
‘Well, maybe it’s not such a fairy tale after all …’ Rosie allows, stopping to catch her breath.
‘What did you wish for, Aria?’ Max asks as Rosie lies beside him on the rug.
They both turn their bright curious gazes towards me.
I gulp. ‘Erm … for world peace.’
Rosie jumps on me, taking me backwards. ‘You do have liarbetes!’
I push her off and stay prone, both of us laughing until our bellies ache. Once we’re composed, Rosie and I munch the flaky croissants and demolish the fresh baguettes laced with salty buttery goodness. How can such simple food taste so mouth-wateringly good?
‘So, I forgot to tell Max about our discovery the other day …’ She shakes her head. ‘Honestly I’ve been so out of it at night, I’ve been falling asleep before I’ve even cleaned the van.’
‘Oh?’ I play dumb. ‘What discovery?’ My lie is so translucent even Max raises a brow.
‘That Jonathan is actually a literary legend.’
‘Oh, that …’ I say.
‘How’s that for exciting, Max? We had a famous writer in our midst and none of us were any the wiser.’
Max colours but keeps schtum.
‘What …?’ Rosie asks, gazing at Max.
‘Max, you knew all along who he was?’ I ask. ‘Since right back to the music festival last year?’
‘Yeah.’ He shrugs in that infuriating it’s-all-good way. ‘I thought it was common knowledge.’
‘What! This is a huge design fault when it comes to men, they don’t share enough,’ Rosie says, making a note in her book for some reason. ‘They don’t think hard enough about what women need to know – I mean this is huge, Max, and you never thought to mention it even in passing?’
He lifts his palms in apology but he can’t hide his smile. He’s doesn’t function the way we do, and it’s such a learning curve at times.
‘I’m sorry. I guess I presumed you’d have talked about his work when you spent that day with him, Aria. I’ve been in contact with him since back then too. But isn’t this good news? You’ll see him more; you can read his books …’ He peters off when he sees abject panic on my face. ‘Or not? I’m not sure what to say or do. Why are you both looking at me like that? I feel like I’m being blamed, which is cool, but I’m just not sure why?’
‘Poor Max,’ Rosie says with a sigh. She takes an inordinately deep breath and then speaks like a TV presenter. ‘When it comes to love, Aria has sworn it off. Yet she feels a twinge for our lusty writer Jonathan, and unwittingly you have now practically thrust them together for the summer when all Aria wants to do is hide. Don’t you see?’
His eyes widen but I think it’s more fear that he’s stuck with two women who, in his eyes, aren’t making a lot of sense. ‘Why don’t you just tell him how you feel?’ Max directs the question to me.
Rosie scoffs and slams her notebook closed. ‘Are you even listening to a word we’re saying, Max?’
He edges backwards. ‘I’m listening but I’m a little confused, is all. Wouldn’t it be easier to be straight with the guy?’
I roll my eyes. ‘Max, that’s just not the way love works. You should know, you and Rosie had to overcome many an obstacle before you both admitted how you felt.’
‘I see,’ he says, clearly not seeing.
‘You’re not to tell him anything we say,’ Rosie admonishes.
‘But …’
She holds up a hand like a traffic warden. ‘No buts, you’re in the sacred circle but we’ll kick you out if you can’t keep our secrets.’
He does his best to remain sincere and holds a hand to his heart. ‘I solemnly swear I won’t break the trust of the sacred circle.’
Rosie opens her notebook again. ‘Sign here.’
At that, Max’s checked laughter explodes and it’s hard not to follow suit. Rosie laughs too, so I gather she’s joking but it’s always hard to tell when her notebook is involved.
‘Still, I find it strange he never mentioned it to me,’ I say.
Max shakes his head, his leonine locks blowing in the wind. ‘He’s not one to brag, is all.’
‘It’s not exactly bragging when you’re talking to someone who lives and breathes books, is it?’
‘It’s not his way,’ Max says mysteriously.
Max is also a man of few words and there’s probably some kind of bro code at play. I know I won’t get the right kind of information from him. ‘Right,’ I say. ‘Well, I guess we just missed out on seeing him. Shame.’
Also, phew, I can still be invisible here.
‘Don’t worry,’ Max says grinning. ‘He’s on a mammoth book tour in France, so we’ll be seeing a lot more of him.’ Rosie elbows Max while I quietly reel in horror.
Now it makes sense why Jonathan acted so surprised at the Squeaky Pig when I announced we were all off to France. He knew he’d also be in France at the same bloody time!
‘I need to change,’ I say. ‘I’ve got grass stains on my jeans and I’m coated with more croissant than I consumed.’ And I’m rambling because I’m nervous quite suddenly. ‘We have Max’s big surprise this morning!’
Rosie groans and cups her head. ‘You had to remind him.’ Conversation deftly changed!
‘As if I’d forget,’ he says, and wraps his arms around her. ‘I’ll pack this up if you both want to meet at my van in fifteen?’
‘Such a gentleman.’
‘I try.’
‘Let’s go, Rosie.’ I take her hand and we walk back to our respective vans.
‘What do you think this grand surprise is?’ she asks, her face pinched.
The gentle rippling of the Seine catches my attention and I point to the water. ‘Some kind of sailing? Paragliding?’
Her eyes widen. ‘OK, no need to panic. No need.’
‘None at all, you know you can trust Max.’
‘He didn’t mention anything about life jackets, though, did he? It’s just that I’ve done a bit of research, not all life jackets are created equal and there’s certain safety aspects—’
I cut her worry off with a small shove in the back so she’ll climb Poppy’s stairs and focus on the job at hand. ‘We don’t want to be late.’
‘No, we definitely don’t. Not if there’s a safety briefing …’
I dash back to my van and pull on a fresh pair of jeans and tie up my hair. When I get back to Rosie she’s calmed herself and is packing things into a backpack.
‘What’s all that?’
‘Snacks, pen light, safety goggles, a small inflatable life jacket. Just the usual.’
I shake my head and pull her out the door before she can pack her first-aid kit and a parachute. We find Max sitting in his van listening to folk songs. ‘Bloody hippy.’
‘You know it.’ He smiles. ‘Get in and let’s get this adventure underway.’
We drive for half an hour or so before we stop at an airfield.
‘Oh holy mother of tofu, please tell me I’m not flying a plane!’ says Rosie, panic erupting from every syllable.
‘Nope, not a plane. A helicopter.’
‘What!’ Her voice boings around the van.
‘You’re just a passenger, Rosie. Not the pilot.’
She screws up her nose. ‘Why can’t we just go on winery tours like normal couples?’
‘Where’s the fun in that?’ He gives her an impish grin.
‘Slightly sozzled in the spring sunshine does sound good,’ I say. ‘But this is so much better, Rosie! Imagine what we’ll see from up there!’
‘We’ll see ourselves reflected in the river when we—’
I clamp a hand over her mouth to suffocate the words.
‘Ready?’ he asks.
‘Ready,’ she manages to muffle through my palm.
We meet the pilot fo
r a safety briefing, with Rosie diligently note-taking throughout. On board we’re given noise-cancelling headsets to wear so we can hear the pilot and talk to one another during the flight.
‘You’re going to luff it,’ the man says in his sensual French accent.
‘Oui,’ Rosie squeaks, mouse-like.
He starts the chopper. Even with the noise-cancelling headphones the sound is next level, the thump of the rotor blades reverberates through the cabin, making my entire body vibrate.
Rosie gives me a shaky thumbs-up and I grin back. We take off, my belly somersaulting as we ascend.
The view is incredible and the town gets smaller as we climb into the blue sky. The pilot weaves the chopper and points out places of interest. The town has a distinct medieval feel to it even from all the way up here.
We press our noses up to the glass not wanting to miss a thing.
‘Wow,’ Rosie says. ‘This is even better than abseiling because I just have to sit here and be rewarded with the spectacular scenery below, I don’t have to push my body to its limits.’
Max turns from the passenger seat in front. ‘Did you say you want to go abseiling?’
She throws him a faux dark look.
‘Victor Hugo called Rouen “the city with a hundred bell towers” in one of his poems,’ I remark idly. ‘I think we could count them from up here.’
The pilot circles over the city once more. It seems miniature from this height.
I don’t want the ride to end, but far too soon it comes to a close as we land just as noisily as we took off. ‘Let’s do that again!’ Rosie says, her face alight. For someone who is so fearful she sure manages to adapt quickly, so used to Max’s daredevil streak is she now.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘But we’ve got to learn how to fly one of these suckers ourselves!’
‘Let’s not get carried away!’ Rosie admonishes me.
We thank the pilot and head back to the town proper, but I can’t help feeling weightless still, as if whatever had been holding me down was left high in the sky. I’ll always be grateful for finding Rosie and Max on my nomadic journey. They’ve opened my eyes to how exciting life can be if you just take the chance. Even Rosie knows to say yes now, when her mind screams no.
Maybe I need to be a little more like Rosie …? Jump out of the comfort zone no matter how scary it feels.
‘What’s on the cards for tomorrow?’ I joke.
‘Our feet firmly on the ground, that’s what.’ Rosie says, laughing.
But in actual fact we’ve made some plans for a number of quick day trips. We’re meeting some of Max’s old friends at Monet’s gardens in Giverny, I’m desperate to see the waterlily ponds and Japanese bridge. And then if there’s time, we’re off to see the butterfly house in Honfleur.
Chapter 9
Later that evening Rosie knocks on my door, one hand holding a plate of colourful macarons aloft. ‘Thought you might want to talk?’ she says, her voice catching as if she’s not sure. Rosie still doubts herself when it comes to social cues, and I just wish she’d be herself, because her quirks are what make her so lovable.
‘Sure. Come in.’
I make the obligatory pot of tea and a floral scent permeates the air.
‘How’s it going with the diary?’ she asks.
‘It’s both magical and heart-wrenching having the diary turn up three years after the fact, you know?’ I’ve read a few more passages. They bring my husband to life and remind me how he never took life too seriously. He lived for the moment, and I’m trying to do that too in honour of him.
‘Do you think she held it back on purpose?’
I consider TJ’s mum, Mary. ‘I don’t know. We were so close until we weren’t, but I can’t imagine she’d stoop to that level, but you never really can tell. Grief changes people. It changed her.’
‘I’m sure she probably meant to send it early on but it’s likely she couldn’t function herself. Losing your child, there’s no getting over that. When you’re grief-stricken, waking up is hard to do never mind a trip to the Post Office …’
A burst of resentment rises to the fore. ‘Part of me is angry that she gets to be excused for her bad behaviour though. Mary feels I kept him from her at the end, but that was his choice, not mine. Deep down, I do understand she needs someone to blame. But when I lost him, I lost them all. I felt as though I could’ve disappeared and no one would have missed me.’
‘That’s so sad, Aria.’ Her face falls.
I shrug, not wanting to make Rosie sad. ‘I wonder why she’d send this now. Is it a peace offering? Or did she truly misplace it?’ He was the apple of her eye, her lovely son who made the world a better place every single day.
‘Why don’t you pay her a visit? We can catch the train back and stay a few days? Have a long overdue and much-needed chat about it all?’
I shake my head vehemently. ‘No, I don’t want to visit. I couldn’t bear to see the grief in her eyes, or her mannerisms that are TJ all over. I’m not ready for that, and I don’t think I ever will be.’ TJ’s family had been my family too and in the space of a few months I had no one. I’d been left with a horrible sinking grief, wondering if I’d ever function normally again. For months I struggled to leave my house. There were too many reminders of TJ everywhere. The park where we walked in the rain. The café where he always ordered eggs benedict and read the Sunday paper. The school he worked in, now mourning the loss of one of their best teachers. The tree we first kissed under. The jewellery shop where he got my bespoke and utterly perfect engagement ring made, a stack of silver books, no diamond for this bookworm. And of course, the hospital, where our lives had come crashing down.
Rosie puts a hand on my knee and gives me a watery smile. ‘It will get better, Aria. I promise you that. But eventually you will have to face Mary and make peace for that to happen. It doesn’t have to be today, next week, next month, but it does need to happen.’
‘When did you get so wise, Dr Phil?’ I don’t want to mire Rosie in this all the time, and so I try to lighten the mood.
‘Right around the time I met you.’
‘Shucks.’
‘So I heard Jonathan has been video-chatting with Max and your name came up.’
I lob a cushion at her. ‘Really, Rosie? From TJ to Jonathan in one single breath?’ Despite the weighty subject matter I do feel better having shared my problems with Rosie. Even if she insists on bringing Jonathan into the conversation every chance she gets.
‘Sorry! But you’ve sworn off love so I won’t bother telling you what he asked about you.’
‘Fine.’
‘Fine.’
‘Good, I’m glad.’
She smiles, waiting me out.
Damn it. ‘OK fine, what did he ask, not that I care!’
She lifts a shoulder. ‘If you don’t care …’
‘Don’t make me come over there, Rosie!’
She laughs. ‘OK, OK, he asked Max if you ever spoke about him much after the music festival.’
My pulse races. ‘And what did Max say?’
‘Nothing. He’s sworn to secrecy remember?’
‘Oh … right.’ I can’t help feel a little crestfallen at the idea that Max left him hanging.
‘But then I happened to walk in and I’m not bound by the same code of secrecy so I told him that yes, his name had come up, of course it had, and we’re eager to see him when our paths cross.’
My heart lifts. ‘And that’s it?’
‘Aren’t you proud of me? I didn’t once try and set up a double date or anything of the sure-fire alternatives that would set you on the blissful path to happy ever after.’
‘You showed remarkable restraint, Rosie.’
‘It almost killed me.’
‘I’m glad it didn’t.’
‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome.’
Chapter 10
Rouen
On the morning of the fete the sun beats down with the promise of a sc
orching day. It bodes well for a big turnout and I predict Rosie’s going to sell out of her famous knickerbocker glories.
Rosie, Max and I drive to the grounds and park up next to each other. Edging close, Rosie says, ‘You don’t think the wet chicken guy is going to turn up and demand more money, do you?’
I laugh. ‘No, I’m sure he won’t. But if he does, just holler out for me.’
Relief shines in her eyes. ‘OK, thanks, Aria.’
With a backwards wave we go about our business, getting sorted for customers who’ll begin arriving within the hour.
I set up my folding table under the awning and stack summery romances and vintage bundles of Mills and Boon books that are always popular among romance readers and have become collector’s editions. Inside I find my bright purple bunting and tack that onto the front of the table for a splash of colour. Dashing off, I gather wildflowers and hunt for old jam jars we use as vases.
With that done, I find our outdoor furniture and place tables and chairs in the space between Rosie’s van and mine, plonk the perfumed flowers down and then root around the storage box for our shade umbrellas.
‘It’s hot already,’ Rosie says, sauntering over, brow knitted. She still gets nervous when we’re at a new location so it’s best to keep her busy so she relaxes into it.
‘You’d better get some more ice cream churning with a beautiful day like this on the cards.’
‘It’s mixing now.’
‘Can you find our chalkboards?’ I ask. ‘And write them up?’ She stops wringing her hands and gets to work. She’s so much more relaxed when she’s got a job to do.
Across the way, Max has his juice bar open. Brightly coloured liquids swish away in vats. His display fridge has all sorts of ‘raw’ treats on offer and I wonder how the French will take to his version of dessert, since they’re all about enjoying life’s pleasures when it comes to food.
With the outdoor area organized and our signs ready, there’s nothing left for me to do except assume the position favoured of this bookworm – butt in chair, feet up, nose in a book – and wait for fellow reading enthusiasts to find me and discover the joy that is the Little Bookshop of Happy Ever After. Before I sit, I open up the small windows and hope for a cross breeze. I could sit at the folding table out front but the sun is relentless today and the shade the awning provides isn’t enough for my pale complexion.
Aria's Travelling Book Shop Page 8
