Aria's Travelling Book Shop

by Rebecca Raisin

  Max hesitates for a fraction of a second and I wonder if there’s more to it with Rosie. She has been lethargic of late and he doesn’t seem to want to let her go.

  ‘Sure, sure,’ he finally says. ‘Maybe a cup of chamomile will help her have a steady night.’

  ‘Has she been having problems sleeping?’

  He averts his gaze. ‘No, nothing like that. You know how she gets when things change. She’s up before the birds, that’s all it is.’

  When she’s worried she wakes at crazy hours and bakes and cleans, and cleans and bakes. She must be exhausted burning the candle at both ends.

  I bend down and gently shake her awake. ‘Rosie …’

  With a snort she comes to. ‘Oh, god, sorry!’ She covers her nose as if it has offended her. ‘I was dead to the world.’

  ‘Come on. I’ll make you a pot of tea before you turn into a pumpkin.’

  ‘Jon,’ she says groggily, stretching as she stands. ‘It’s so lovely to see you.’

  ‘You too, Rosie. I hope we can catch up again another time.’

  She gives him a loose hug. ‘I’m sure we will. Sorry I can’t stay, I need to sleep something fierce.’

  ‘I hope you get some rest,’ Jonathan says to Rosie before turning to me. ‘Goodnight, Aria …’

  I chastely kiss his cheek and instantly regret it. He smells like hopes and dreams, he smells like books! I double blink and mumble gibberish before I lead Rosie away – she’s half-asleep and I’m all wobbly.

  We go back to Poppy, and I make a pot of tea. The ritual has calmed me so now I can focus on the job at hand. I haven’t even sat when the words come tumbling out. ‘Rosie, are you OK? You’re not sick, are you?’

  Her eyes are red from being woken from a deep sleep and she looks downright dishevelled. ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘You’ve been tired a lot lately.’ My voice catches. ‘It’s nothing, is it?’ My poor heart remembers how innocently it all started with TJ. How his flu-like symptoms were a lot more treacherous than we gave them credit for.

  She yawns, big and wide. ‘You know, I don’t know what it is. Max is insisting I find a doctor too. I just can’t shake this sluggishness. It’s putting me so far behind.’

  My heart twists, imagining the worst. ‘I’m going to find a doctor and book you in for tomorrow.’

  ‘But we’ve got to head to Bordeaux, it’s all scheduled.’

  ‘So, we’ll be a day late.’

  ‘Can’t we—’

  I interject before she convinces me to do it her way. ‘No, we can’t. Nothing is more important than your health, and that’s that. Drink up. It’s your night owl brew, so that should send you right to sleep.’

  ‘OK, OK, wow, you’re acting like me.’ She grimaces.

  ‘It’s a scary thought.’

  ‘How did tonight go? How did you end up with Jonathan?’ she says with a question in her eyes. I see what she’s doing though, and I won’t be distracted. She needs rest.

  ‘I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow once you’ve had a decent sleep.’

  Once she’s finished her tea, I tidy the mugs, otherwise I know she’ll be up and at them before I’m out the door. ‘Into bed, Rosie.’ I tuck her in and kiss her forehead as if she were a little girl then I sit at the end of the bed. Within minutes she’s asleep.

  Back in my van I connect to the campsite Wi-Fi and find a local doctor and book her in for nine o’clock the following day. I send Max a Facebook message and let him know.

  I’m overthinking it, I know I am. It’s just so unusual to see frenetic, ball-of-energy Rosie lying there so sallow and limp. I need a distraction so I take TJ’s diary from the drawer and hope the passage is an uplifting one.

  I found a book stuck to Aria’s face tonight, literally stuck. She had fallen asleep, mouth open, face down on the page and the two became one! When I delicately peeled it from her cheek a smudge of black ink remained, a tattoo of her wild night reading. Who knows what she gets up to in these other worlds. I should be jealous of all the men she swoons over, right? But I can’t help but laugh at her dedication. She’ll be amused, I think, when she sees her reflection in the mirror tomorrow …

  I laugh, imagining him finding me in such a state. Of course, I don’t remember it, and he wouldn’t have said, as he so often found me in various poses with books as I’d read until the very moment my eyes closed and I fell into slumber. I still do. Which book was it, I wonder, that kept me up?

  A part of me feels a pang of guilt though – how can I have such precious memories like this diary while his mum is struggling so without such a keepsake? Perhaps it’s up to me to reach out so she can begin to live in the light again … Could I be the bigger person?

  Here I am surrounded by people who love me and a man I’m trying hard not to think of in a romantic way and Mary is all alone with her husband who thinks emotions are for the weak. I bet she’s been just as lonely as I have.

  I find my laptop and boot it up. I decide not to overthink it and instead I write from the heart.

  Dear Mary,

  Thank you for sending TJ’s diary. It has been a revelation of sorts and such a precious keepsake. I’m only reading it in small sections at a time to make it last. There’s so much to say but I don’t know where to start. I know you’re still hurt that I took TJ away when you needed him most. But if I could only explain so that you’d understand. I didn’t take your boy from you for any selfish reason on my part. He so desperately wanted to see the lakes, and one last thing of beauty. Deep down, I think he wanted to be alone so he didn’t see the sorrow in everyone’s eyes while he came to terms with it. He didn’t want to leave us. And he wanted to feel in control of his one last wish, and so I did what he asked, and I’d do it again too. Was he running away, or was he following his heart? This is the question I ask myself every day, and the same thing I have since done with my own life. I keep running, and nothing ever changes and it doesn’t bring him back. But still I run.

  What can we do, Mary, except hope to find peace? My life has been so empty without him and there’s days where I wonder what the point of it all is, if you love so hard that the world is dull when that love is gone. But then I have these small euphoric moments over the smallest things, like the deliciousness of a pink frosted donut, birds flying at sunset, my friend Rosie’s snort laugh, and it gives me hope that there is something around the corner if only I try to live in the moment …

  But how can I? When the man I love is gone? Nothing can ever replace TJ.

  Anyway, this is probably a rambling mess, but I wanted to reach out and tell you I’m sorry if the part I played in TJ’s final time hurt you. I only ever wanted to do what made him happy. I hope you can forgive me as I am willing to forgive you.

  I did bring him home, after all.

  Aria xxx

  Chapter 15

  Blois, Loire Valley

  The next morning I’m up far too early because of everything on my mind. With coffee in hand I sit in bed, contemplating the long walk back to the camp I’d taken with Jonathan the night before. We’d edged around so many sensitive subjects that I’d been left confused as to what was really being said. So I do what any modern-day girl would and head straight to Facebook to stalk him.

  When I open the app I’m surprised to find a friend request from the man himself. I accept it and I smile as I scroll through the pictures which are mostly book-related. There’s a photo of his home library which is an enviable thing of beauty, a black room with floor-to-ceiling shelves and French antique furniture in rich, bold blues. There’s a snap of him at a dog shelter which makes my heart pound a little quicker. He volunteers there as a dog hugger and ambassador for the Adopt Don’t Shop movement.

  A dog hugger! I never knew there was such a thing! There are lots of snaps of mixed-breed dogs who he walks when he donates his time. I wonder if that’s what he does when he gets writer’s block?

  There’s not many posts of people and it occurs to me
that he really does live a very solitary life, unless he doesn’t share online because of who he is, but somehow I don’t think that’s the case in this instance. I think, like me, Jonathan is truly lonely, having built up his career to the detriment of personal relationships. Didn’t he say as much? He gets lost to it when he’s writing, I can understand the pull.

  Eventually I drag myself away from my stalking session and check my emails in case any book orders have come through. I stop short when I see TJ’s mum, Mary, has replied and so soon. I click on the message:

  Aria,

  You’ll consider forgiving me? For what exactly? I wasn’t the one who spirited TJ away from everyone he loved. I wasn’t the one who kept him from extra medical treatment which would have prolonged his time with us. I wasn’t the one who said he was sleeping every time someone called. It was you who did all of this and I could continue on, Aria, as well you know. Have you ever considered that TJ might not have been in sound mind at that time? And yet you thought following his wishes was the best course of action – well, I’m telling you right now, it was not. It was the worst possible choice you could have made and that I cannot forgive. Perhaps it’s best if we cease contact.

  Mary

  I swallow a lump in my throat. How stupid could I have been trying to make contact? Her resentment towards me is as strong as ever and I doubt myself again about the choices I made back then. When I think of my beloved TJ’s last wishes, the fervent look in his eyes, the way he pleaded for the trip, I know in my heart I did the right thing. He was of sound mind, and he was adamant he wanted to visit the most beautiful place on the planet. In the end we were only gone a couple of weeks because of how quickly he deteriorated. It had happened scarily fast and in the end I took him home because I couldn’t give him the proper care he needed and secretly I’d been terrified and wasn’t ready to lose him. Back home, he was reunited with his family for the last few weeks of his life and they were a time of excruciating sadness for all of us. He refused to leave the van, refused to go into palliative care and I promised him no matter what – he’d die on his terms. And I fought for it. I fought for him. Wouldn’t anyone do the same?

  I did the right thing for TJ.

  As I hug myself tight, wishing TJ was here, I wonder what he’d think of all of this, and what he’d tell me to do if he could send a message from wherever he is. My instinct is to flee (no surprise there) and grant Mary’s wish of ceasing contact, but that’s the cheat’s way out and I know she deserves better from me. And I also need an apology from her. It all comes back, the messy falling out that we had when we should have been hugging one another, not arguing. She insisted on organizing his funeral, a drawn-out religious affair that wasn’t TJ. It wasn’t an ode to the man I loved and I told her so at the time. Where was the joy? I wanted his favourite songs played, upbeat songs as the slideshow of photos slid by, but Mary refused. I let it go. And in that slideshow, pictures from TJ’s baby years, right up to adulthood, there was not one of me. Not a single one. Of course, I’d given the funeral director a plethora of pictures, TJ with his students, with his friends, with me. They didn’t use one. Not one. And little did I know after the funeral, they’d cut me out of their lives for good.

  But I know Mary’s inherent goodness, I know her heart. And it’s been long enough to know that hurt makes her speak such a way, and not anything else. TJ would want me to fix this, to be the bigger person. We need to repair our relationship in honour of the man we both loved with all of our hearts.

  There’s no time to reply now though and I need to proceed with caution and make sure I word my reply right.

  I dress quickly and head to Rosie’s van. By the river a few nomads are circled around a fold-out table playing cards. They give me a wave and yell out for me to join them. ‘Later!’ I promise.

  I barrel into Poppy, mind scattered. ‘Hey! Are you OK?’ Rosie asks, searching my face.

  I must look shell-shocked still, so I do my best to wipe the worry from my expression and give her a wide smile. I won’t unload any extra stress on Rosie, not while she’s sick. ‘Yeah, I’m great. Sorry.’ I shake my head. ‘I spent too long reading, stayed up way too late.’

  ‘Oh, it’s just you looked so lost there for a minute,’ she says.

  I smile. ‘No, no I’m all good.’ My go-to lie for the last forever. ‘Where’s Max?’

  ‘Changing after a run, he’ll be back in a tick.’

  Max knows a lot more French than we do so he can help translate at the doctor.

  Within a few minutes he’s back and we all squish in to the front of the Little Bookshop van. ‘Maybe we should have taken my van?’ he says, trying to negotiate a place to put his feet as boxes of second-hand books I picked up at a car boot sale lie scattered in the foot well.

  ‘You’ll live,’ I say, feeling determined that today I will make things happen. There won’t be any putting off of anything. Not on my watch. I’m surprised how calm Rosie and Max are, considering. If anyone was to worry, it’d be Rosie. Just when I wonder if I’m overreacting Rosie nods off, head against Max’s shoulder and I know she isn’t herself.

  We arrive at the doctor’s surgery and I softly shake a groggy Rosie awake. Inside, we take a seat and I fidget with a book, pretending this is just another day and everything is fine.

  Beside me, with hands clenched, Rosie says, ‘I’m feeling a little silly that you’re both here when all I need is another nap and a slice of chocolate gateau. Can we cancel? If we leave now—’

  ‘We’re not cancelling.’ My voice comes out harsher than expected and she reels back as if I’ve slapped her. ‘Sorry, Rosie, but it’s just better to nip these things in the bud before they blossom, you know?’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘Sickness things.’

  Realization flashes across her face. She gives me such a sad smile my heart breaks in two. It brings it all back to the fore – the hospital visits where hope was lost, the way I tried to walk outside without my legs buckling from under me. The sheer and utter fear I carried inside me. I scrunch my eyes closed against the memories coming thick and fast.

  ‘Oh, Aria. I’m not sick like that. I’d know it, I’m sure of it. You don’t need to worry. Truly.’

  I pretend to be confused. ‘Better that we check you’re not coming down with some kind of virus, or …’

  Rosie latches on to my panic. ‘God, you don’t think it’s some airborne disease, do you? Something I ate? Some kind of slow-moving poison?’

  Max shoots me a look-what-you’ve-done stare.

  We’re saved by the doctor with an amiable face, who calls Rosie’s name. ‘Come with me, Max?’ she asks him.

  He nods and says, ‘You want to join us, Aria?’

  ‘No, no, you go.’ I’ll just sit here and bite my nails down to the quick.

  They take an age. Years. Decades. I’m just about to go and bang on the door when they walk out, Rosie with a tearstained face, and Max wearing a smile so big it threatens to swallow him whole. I have no idea what to make of it.

  ‘What is it?’ I dash to her.

  ‘I’ll tell you in the van.’

  I hold on to her arm as if she will fall at any moment. ‘I’m not an invalid, you know. I can walk.’

  ‘What did he say?’ I ask in the quiet of the cabin.

  Max takes her hand and gives it a squeeze.

  With a shuddery intake of breath, she says, ‘I’m pregnant. Little Indigo is coming well ahead of schedule without consulting us. I’m unprepared. I’m not ready! How can this be?’

  I gasp and my entire body relaxes as if I’ve been carrying the weight of the world without knowing it. ‘WHAT!’ The word reverberates around the cabin of the van. I’ve never felt so happy in my life, so damn relieved.

  Rosie’s face is wan when she says, ‘Right? I am meticulous, meticulous with note-taking on my body and its feminine functions. I can’t believe I’ve overlooked such a thing. I mean, it beggars belief! I just cannot see how thi
s could happen. I just can’t.’

  ‘Well,’ Max pipes up. ‘When mummy and daddy love each other very much—’

  She clamps a hand over his mouth. ‘Is that some kind of a joke, Max?’

  It’s too soon for jokes for the shell-shocked girl in front of me, even if it is pretty funny. Rosie’s utter astonishment is something to behold so I try to rein in my joy but I’m sure it shines from my face anyway. I’ve always imagined these two as parents, it’s almost like it is meant to be, just slightly ahead of Rosie’s schedule.

  ‘Are you happy though, Rosie?’

  A stray tear winds its way down her cheek. ‘Yes. I’m ecstatic. Scared. Bamboozled. Anxious. The doctor said I’m being bombarded with a range of hormones that are probably going to cause all sorts of mood swings and that’s also why I’ve been so tired. He said the fatigue should pass by the third month. I’ve got a lot of research to do, that’s one positive.’

  ‘Max?’

  He lifts her hand and kisses the top of it. ‘I’m the happiest man on the planet. I’m hoping it’s twins. Triplets, even.’

  Rosie’s face pales. ‘Trust a man to say that! Let’s not get carried away or anything will we, Max?’ She shakes her head. ‘Triplets, can you imagine? We need to think about this rationally.’

  ‘Yes, rationally. The first thing I’m going to do is buy you the world’s biggest notebook.’

  ‘Aww,’ I say. ‘The perfect present for our mum-to-be planner extraordinaire.’

  ‘I have to tell my folks, they’re going to be grandparents again,’ Max says. Max’s parents have about ten or eleven children, some biological, most adopted, so their brood of grandchildren is already huge. His mum, Nola, sort of picks up people along the way – anyone who needs a hand, a mother figure, or just a straight-up confidante will find it in her. She’s a total mother-of-earth nomad and we all love her to pieces.

  The shock slowly begins to wear off and Rosie’s expression becomes tender. She clasps Max’s hand and says to me, ‘Can we go back? I’m feeling a little queasy.’