Aria's Travelling Book Shop

by Rebecca Raisin

  ‘Urgh,’ I say to no one. ‘Now I’m officially talking to myself? Could things get any worse?’

  ‘Boo!’ Rosie startles me, pushing her face in the window. ‘Who are you talking to?’

  Hand on heart I say, ‘My future rescue puppy.’

  She frowns. ‘Well, ah, it’s good to prepare I suppose. Get out of the car, I’ve got a raspberry milkshake with your name on it.’

  ‘You’re feeling better?’

  ‘I am. Must be the Mediterranean air.’

  I ease out of the van and take in the view while I stretch the kinks out of my body. The light here is different somehow, the sky is bluer. Can that be? Even the air seems fresher, like it could cure all that ails. I take a deep breath in and feel it flow through me, awakening my senses.

  ‘I never want to leave,’ I say.

  ‘We say that everywhere.’

  Max wanders over, flicking his mane of leonine hair. ‘Are you girls OK if I head into town? I need to refuel and grab some supplies for the street festival before we go to site.’

  Rosie gives him a quick hug. ‘We’re fine.’

  Max roars off in his van and we take chairs from the back of Poppy and set them up to get the best vista of the sea. While Rosie sorts the milkshakes, I slap together a couple of cheese sandwiches and slather on her homemade mustard pickles.

  We hand each other the spoils and sit down. ‘So before you take a mouthful of food, tell me why you hid in your van all morning,’ she says.

  ‘Moi?’

  ‘Don’t try to out-Rosie Rosie.’

  ‘I … don’t … know … what—’

  ‘The robot, really?’

  I laugh. ‘OK, well last night I was just minding my own business when …’ I fill her in on the story, meeting dashing old Neville, and Jonathan, and then Tori’s Hollywoodesque entrance.

  ‘She said I’m used to being the third wheel! I tell you what, I so wanted to throw my glass of red wine at her shampoo commercial hair.’

  She bites down on her lip but a smile escapes. We’ve both had visions of revenge against Tori but haven’t wanted to stoop to her level … or something. I’d be quite happy to, but Rosie advises me against it. ‘Why would she be so mean?’

  ‘That’s just Tori,’ I say. ‘You don’t see the half of it.’

  Rosie lets out a long sigh. ‘Yeah, I know I don’t, she’s not brave enough to fall foul of Max all of a sudden, that’s the only reason she’s all sweetness and light to me. Don’t worry, I know she’s as slippery as an eel under all that. I haven’t forgotten.’ Rosie takes a slurp of her milkshake. ‘Nectar from the gods.’

  I follow suit. ‘Fresh raspberries?’

  ‘Fresh organic raspberries.’

  ‘Picked by the silky soft fingers of innocents?’

  She laughs. ‘Yes. But back to matters at hand. I’m surprised they set up a date. Jonathan’s not one to jump from one girl to the other, far as I can tell. I’m sure she’s making it up.’

  ‘Well, he didn’t exactly jump from me, since there was no me.’

  ‘OK, let’s pretend for the sake of your own pride there was no you and him, but remember he told Max he was smitten with you, why would he say that and then go on a date with Tori? It doesn’t make sense.’

  I shrug. ‘I don’t know!’

  ‘Why don’t you ask him?’ she says.

  ‘As if! What if he is dating her?’

  ‘Then you’ll say wow, congratulations, I hope you’ll be very happy together.’

  ‘OK, what if he says he’s not dating her, then I’m really stuck.’

  ‘Why do you care who he’s with? Aren’t you up there in your spinster castle with your friendly bats for company?’

  I sigh and sip my milkshake to buy time. ‘I don’t know why. I’ve been asking myself the same thing the entire drive here. It doesn’t make any sense, and yet …’

  ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say you might be falling for the guy, horrible monster that he is.’

  ‘But what if he’s dating Tori? I don’t think I could even consider someone who wants to date Tori.’

  ‘Aha!’ she says triumphantly. ‘You do admit to considering dating again, yes?’

  ‘No. Yes. No. I don’t know.’

  She cocks her head and gives me her mummy look, the soul-searching I know you gaze that is surely going to stop her child in their tracks when she pulls it out of her arsenal. ‘What’s happening with the diary? Is TJ helping?’

  It’s like she summons him. My beautiful gap-toothed husband with his impossibly curly hair and lovely rangy body.

  I close my eyes against the sun. The fresh spring air ruffles my tresses and sends a rash of goose bumps down the length of me almost as if someone is giving me a sign they’re still around. The thought makes me smile and catches Rosie’s attention. ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Why are you smiling like a loon?’

  Will I sound crazy telling her that from the afterlife my dead husband is ruffling my hair with the French breeze just as I’m talking about potentially allowing myself to have feelings about another man? ‘I just get this sense sometimes …’ My words dry up, suddenly I feel exposed saying such private thoughts even to Rosie.

  ‘That TJ is here?’

  Holy mother of metaphors. ‘How did you guess that?’

  She shrugs. ‘Sometimes I just know things.’

  ‘It’s crazy, right? Ever since reading his diary it’s like he’s close, off in the distance just out of sight. I used to pretend he was in the next room, you know, so I wouldn’t have to face reality. But this, this has been different. This feels real, somehow. Like I magicked him here.’

  Her gaze drops in contemplation. ‘Not crazy. When my dad died I had this little bird that would fly to my flat window every morning before work. For six weeks this bird sat outside my window twittering away as I got ready for work. I knew it was a sign from my dad that he was OK, that I had to try and move on with my life, you know all that guilt and turmoil I carried about it. One day it wasn’t there, and I felt so sad, but also that it was sort of a message to pull my socks up and try and live in the present, not be so mired in the past.’

  ‘That’s so beautiful, Rosie.’

  ‘It reminds me of this. Have you thought maybe TJ is trying to tell you something?’

  I have, and I’ve wished so hard for it. ‘Like what?’

  She shrugs. ‘That’s for you to work out.’

  ‘It’s almost like he’s coming to say goodbye … like it’s time to move on.’ I whisper, because the words hurt as they fall from my lips. ‘The diary brings him right back to the fore, but in the gentlest of ways, as though he’s giving me permission, almost ordering me to start again. God, he was amazing. I know everyone says that about someone they’ve lost, but he really was. I wish you could have met him.’

  She throws an arm around me and gives me a squish. ‘I feel like I have from what you’ve told me about him. He was the best and there’s no forgetting that. But it’s a process, Aria. And the only way to get through it is to keep moving forward.’

  ‘Yeah, but you can’t outrun grief. That’s a major design flaw with it.’

  ‘So why try and outrun it? Why not face it head on?’

  I wait a beat. ‘That makes a lot of sense, Rosie. But it’s easier to run than to face up to the fact he’s not coming back and I’m not OK with that.’

  She throws an arm over my shoulder. ‘It’s OK to feel like that. It’s really unfair that he died so young but that doesn’t mean you’ll ever forget him or what you had, even if a new man comes along. It’s not like TJ suddenly gets wiped from your memory.’

  The turquoise sea and the gentle rolling of the waves slow my heart rate down and I find a level of peace I haven’t had for so long, especially discussing such weighty subjects as these. ‘Yeah, deep down I know all of this but I made a promise to him that I’d never love anyone again and here I am just three years later considering
it. I can’t help feeling bad about it. And I wonder if our roles were reversed would he do the same, and I don’t think he would.’

  Her big eyes widen. ‘You can’t know that. You’ve read a million love stories, Aria, you know love can change the world, so why not let a little into yours?’

  ‘I’m getting there, Rosie. I’m definitely getting there. I’m coming to the end of the diary entries and I know it doesn’t have a happy ending, but maybe there’ll be some sort of closure for me.’ My eyes are glassy, knowing that whatever comes next is going to hurt but maybe it’s all part of the healing process and I have to face it.

  After an hour more in the blissful beauty of the French Riviera, we pack up and head to the campsite to meet Max. I have a lot to think about …

  ***

  We arrive at the campsite which is jam packed with Van Lifers and holidaying families who are following the sun. There’s a trampoline set into the ground and the child in me runs straight over to it.

  ‘Oh my god, Aria,’ Rosie admonishes. ‘You’re sure to break a leg on that death trap and then how will you drive?’

  I laugh as I boing high into the sky, drawing annoyed faces from the kids who topple over in my wake. ‘With the other leg!’ I call out to Rosie.

  She shakes her head and goes back into the safe confines of Poppy. Violetta turns up and runs over. ‘Wheee!’ she says joining me, telling the children something in rapid-fire French that has them scuttling away.

  ‘What did you say to them?’ I ask.

  ‘That there’s a troll underneath and if they haven’t paid the fee they’ll get gobbled up!’

  I gasp. ‘You’re so mean!’

  ‘But we have the trampoline to ourselves, non?’

  I shake my head and steel myself for someone’s papa or maman to come storming over. We’re always getting into tiny spots of bother as Van Lifers. Usually it’s about the level of noise, and the fact we keep odd hours.

  We attempt somersaults and tuck jumps until we can’t catch our breath and sure enough a man with fire in his eyes comes stomping in our direction. Violetta grabs my hand, ‘Time to go, chérie!’

  It’s so absurd that I laugh as she drags me along. ‘Time for a drink?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say out of breath.

  ‘Let’s take a walk down the Promenade des Anglais. I have a friend who works in a bar there …’ Code for: drinks will be cheap. We head down the main beach in Nice, the prettiest expanse with palm trees running the seven-kilometre promenade. With the rustic ochre and pastel buildings as a backdrop it’s got an almost Havana vibe about it.

  ‘Laurent is leaving after the summer,’ she says breezily.

  ‘Leaving to where?’

  ‘Australia.’

  ‘Without you?’

  She turns to me and smiles. ‘Oui. It was only ever going to be a summer romance.’

  ‘Aren’t you sad?’ She looks anything but.

  She shrugs. ‘Not really. We’ve still got a few weeks left. And then I will find another lover for the autumn.’

  My eyes go wide and she laughs.

  ‘I told you, Aria, I’m not like you. I believe in love but I’m also happy to let it go. Why have one man when you can have them all.’

  ‘I’m scandalized.’

  ‘No, you’re British.’

  I laugh. ‘As long as you’re happy.’

  It occurs to me that true love means different things to different people. Maybe Violetta’s true love is herself and that means letting go when the time is right.

  ***

  We have to leave this nirvana soon. I can feel my life ebbing away. The cocktail of painkillers is having adverse effects and I don’t want Aria to have to handle it all on her own. She’s asked if we can return home and of course I said yes. I’m not leaving the van though. That way I can pretend we’re still here, still have time. One day soon I’ll drift off with her in my heart, in my mind, the memory of the lake a stunning backdrop to her beautiful face, and that’s what I’ll take with me when I go. She’s on edge, she’s trying so hard to be strong for me, but I can see it. I can feel it. If I could wish for one thing it would be that she doesn’t put her life on hold after I’ve gone. I want that laugh of hers to reverberate around earth, I want her to follow her heart, and have big dreams and do what makes her happy. Everyone wants to be in Aria’s spotlight so I hope she doesn’t let it dim. I wish she’d promise me that …

  Remembering that day turns my heart inside out and I let out a sob. The diary falls from my hands and a picture slides to the floor. I bend to pick it up; it’s me in half profile in the back of the van at the Lake District. I hadn’t been aware of TJ taking it – I must’ve been so lost in thought. You can see the grief in the planes and lines on my face. He knew, it was right there to see and yet, I thought I’d hidden it so well. I’d pretended we were just going home and medical help would buy us another year, two even. Maybe forever if the miracle I wished for was answered.

  But I knew in my heart we only had weeks to go, if that. And I was trying to summon the courage to look into his eyes and let him go. But I couldn’t. I didn’t want to admit it to him that I knew it was almost time. I wanted to join him. I wanted to leave this life if he wasn’t in it. But I knew he’d hate that more than anything. So I did the next best thing and made him a promise that I’d never love anyone else. And he told me it’d break his heart if I stopped living. One of us had to live and soak up the joy of life and I’d been chosen. How I screamed, railed at the universe to take me instead.

  Chapter 22

  Nice

  Nice is a romance novel come to life, from the bright blue of the skies to the pebbles on the sand and the gorgeous olive-skinned Europeans with barely any clothes on. I sit on a deck chair on a patch of road outside of the Little Bookshop van, sunglasses on, novel in hand only taking the occasional break to people watch and imagine what brings them here. I feel downright translucent compared to them with my lily-white complexion so I’m hoping the sun turns me a shade browner and not Scarlet Letter red.

  While I’m slathered in sun cream, the locals are like descended gods, slick with some kind of oil that highlights their every muscle or curve. Life is so unfair. I’m straight up and down, nary a curve in sight. The only muscles that are marginally defined are my biceps from holding books upright for lengthy periods of time and I’m quite proud of that actually.

  We’re set up for a street party and from my perch I can see the beach and it’s calling me in a seductive manner: take a swim, Aria. I’d be crazy not to. The party officially opens in an hour so I have plenty of time to take my white body and throw it into the ocean.

  Swimsuit on, I grab a towel, sling it over my shoulder and then go to Rosie’s van and find her at the helm in her happy place. The kitchen. The fresh Med air has done wonders for her. ‘What are you making?’

  She looks up with a smile. ‘I’ve made popsicles – guava and lime mojito, pina colada, and key lime pie.’

  I’m thirsty just thinking of them in this heat. ‘I’ll have one of each when they’re set.’

  ‘Of course. Where are you off to? The water?’ she says it as if I’m about to jump into the burning pits of hell.

  ‘Yes, want to join me?’

  Wiping her hands on a tea towel she says, ‘I’ll fry, I’ll turn lobster out there. I’ll—’

  ‘Put some sun cream on, mama bear, and get moving.’

  Rosie is even paler than me if that’s possible. She has white-blonde hair and the most glorious luminous skin. We stand out among all the beautiful bronzed bodies, that’s for sure.

  ‘OK, but let me lather up first. Max is out surfing somewhere, his life in the hands of the deep blue sea.’

  ‘We’re all going to survive, Rosie.’

  She crosses her fingers as if she’s not quite sure we will and goes behind the partition to her bedroom. While I wait for her I check out the vans parked lengthways up the street. Looks like it’s going to be a fabulous multic
ultural festival which are my favourite kind. There’s a Greek food van called Taramasalata and their sign advertises a plate-smashing event in the afternoon. Further on there’s TaiDin Dumplings, Creole Soul Food, Croquembouche … just to name a few. I can see I’m going to roll out of the street festival a little heavier than I came.

  ‘Looks like we’ve got a lot of research to do,’ Rosie says, joining me and pointing to the pop-up food vans.

  ‘I love how you call it research and not gorging ourselves silly on cuisines from around the world.’

  ‘Well, everyone knows the calories don’t count if it’s research.’

  ‘Of course. And you’re eating for two.’

  ‘So I’ll have double then.’

  We hit the sand and take off our flip flops. ‘Where’s Tori?’ I ask, suddenly realizing I still haven’t seen hide nor hair of her a week later, and wondering if that’s a good or bad thing.

  Rosie spreads her towel out and dithers with a response. ‘Well …’

  ‘Come on, Rosie just say it.’

  ‘She sent me a Facebook message, but you know you can’t believe everything Tori says.’

  ‘They’re dating. He’s proposed. I’m now the sole resident of Alone town, population: one. They’re going to buy a mansion in LA and make beautiful tanned babies and have a nursery full of ethically sourced wooden toys.’

  Rosie throws her head back and laughs. ‘Well, not exactly. She says they went on the one date, the one you were actually present for and since then she hasn’t seen much of him because he’s very busy doing author-y things, but she’s there for the times he needs to unwind. And I told her that’s complete BS and if she’s going to stir the pot for no reason other than to make trouble then she won’t be invited to wander with us ever again.’

  ‘You told her that?’ Rosie avoids confrontation like it’s exercise. Her two pet hates.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And what did she say?’

  ‘She said sorry. She said she had feelings for him but so far they haven’t been reciprocated.’

  Wow. A quiet thrill runs through me but I’m about to melt in the heat. ‘Let’s get wet.’