Aria's Travelling Book Shop

by Rebecca Raisin

  A long shower cools my blood. I get dressed, apply make-up and straighten my hair to a shine. Earrings on, great big chunky bracelets and I’m almost ready to go. Lastly, with an apology to my feet, I ease on my patent black heels that are so high I can almost see the Eiffel Tower from here.

  There’s a knock at the door and I say yeah as Tori pokes her head in. What now?

  ‘Hey,’ she says quietly. ‘You look great.’

  I narrow my eyes waiting for the punch line.

  She laughs. ‘I suppose that sounds insincere?’

  ‘What can I do for you, Tori?’

  She shrugs. ‘I had a think about what you said, and I guess you’re right. You know about the friendship thing. It’s just … have you ever been so madly in love with someone and they don’t even know you exist?’

  I stand silent, not knowing where this is going. Is it musician Axel she claimed she couldn’t live without, or Max or Jonathan she’s set her sights on this time?

  ‘Well, I have, and I can tell you it’s no fun. I guess, I’ve acted like a brat in the sense that because I didn’t get my own way – the boy that I loved – I tried to ease my heartache by latching on to the next man who came along, like Jonathan. Except he wasn’t the slightest bit interested as you probably know.’

  I nod. ‘I know.’

  ‘I have this horrible premonition I’m going to be alone my whole life and I acted like a fool. It’s just I’m not like you and Rosie. I don’t fit in, I never have. And I always seem to alienate people just like you said.’

  ‘So why act the way you do?’

  ‘Probably some kind of misguided defence mechanism. I’ve never had many friends and I thought van life would be the answer to that, but it’s been just the same. Axel was the first guy I loved and my first real friend on the circuit, but even he left without any fanfare.’

  ‘But you never told him how you felt.’

  She squirms. ‘I couldn’t bear to be rejected by him.’

  I sigh. ‘Try being honest in future, Tori, not just with Axel but with everyone and I think you’ll find things will change.’

  ‘I’ll try. Look, I’m really sorry if I messed things up alluding to all of that with Jonathan. He’s so dreamy you can’t hold it against me for trying, can you?’

  ‘Again, it’s an honesty thing, right? Making up a fake date is pretty sad, Tori.’

  ‘I’m cringing just thinking about it.’

  ‘Well, you’re forgiven on one condition.’

  Hope shines in her eyes, and for the first time ever it seems genuine. ‘What?’

  ‘You have to tell Axel how you feel and see what happens.’

  ‘By text?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘What if he—’

  I cut her off. ‘What if he feels exactly the same?’

  She grins. ‘Wouldn’t that be amazing?’

  ‘Go do it now before you change your mind.’

  She gives me a hug and dashes off. Tori is so young, so naive in many ways, and it feels good to forgive her for her actions that only served to make her look foolish.

  After one last look in the mirror I go to Poppy and grab Rosie. ‘Oh, wow, Aria. Golly. I don’t know what to say!’

  ‘Too much make-up?’ We hardly ever get the chance to get dressed up so I’ve gone all out.

  ‘No, not at all. You look like a catwalk model. I didn’t realize that your legs go all the way up to your armpits. Hot tamale!’

  I laugh. ‘You look beautiful too.’

  ‘Let’s find Max and get this party started.’

  We drive to the swanky area and park up a hilly street. I find it highly amusing that we’re all dressed up yet practically fall out of an old rusty van that none of the millionaire residents in this area would ever dare set foot in.

  At Répondre Max wraps a protective arm around Rosie and then throws the other around me making me smile. ‘You’re such a gentleman,’ I say, thankful Max picks up on so many things most men wouldn’t. I’m a little jittery but push the nerves away.

  We order cocktails (Black Rose for me) and a mocktail (French Kiss) for Rosie and find a seating area big enough to fit us and our tardy friends.

  Before long Tori arrives in a leopard-print strapless dress that could do with a few more inches in length but she gives me a friendly wave and I return the favour.

  ‘I hope she doesn’t drop anything,’ Rosie says and laughs behind her hand.

  Max’s friends Camille and Lucas arrive and introductions are made. Again, I feel like the odd one out but Rosie sidles over and sits next to me, giving me a reassuring pat on the leg.

  ‘God, this place is beautiful,’ I say. ‘I can see why all the fabulously wealthy people flock here.’

  ‘No, it’s because of tax exemptions. It’s a right royal tax haven!’ Rosie says. ‘That’s why they live here, not just because of the view.’

  ‘Lucky doers.’

  ‘Yeah, but imagine having to drive those corniches every day. No. Thank. You.’

  The three corniches are these impossibly tight roads on the side of the cliffs with the best view of the Med. Tour buses barrel around them as if they’re as wide as a highway which makes driving our vans on the other side a hair-raising experience. It’s not so hard to imagine Grace Kelly fatally losing control on the Moyenne Corniche. The three corniches provide a heart-in-throat drive and none of us are keen to drive them again. ‘Yeah, not the most fun I’ve had in the van, that’s for sure.’

  An hour or so later Jonathan arrives and I’m lulled by the view and the long day (and OK, the cocktail helped) and I wave to him natural as anything. As if I don’t care. Because I don’t.

  He grins and it lights up his lovely author-y face. He’s wearing his specs tonight and it gives him a bookish air that is hard to resist. But I must. At least for now.

  ‘It’s lovely to see you looking so bright again, Rosie. Pregnancy suits you.’

  ‘It’s a wonderful excuse to eat at all hours of the day now my stomach has settled.’

  He laughs. ‘And how are you, Aria?’ I go to take a sip of my drink when he says, ‘Had any hot, passionate young people sex yet?’

  The cocktail duly leaves my mouth in an unladylike spurt and covers me and Jonathan’s lower half.

  ‘No, not yet,’ I choke, trying to wipe my face while giving thanks my dress is not white. I take a napkin and dab uselessly at his chino clad legs. Unfortunately, he is wearing beige, now smeared blackberry in places. He waves me away as if it’s no problem like he gets drinks spat at him all the time. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Not yet either.’

  I stop dabbing as it’s only spreading the stain and it also feels a little weird, his naked body is just under that fabric. ‘Waiting for the right moment?’ I ask with an arch of the brow.

  ‘Waiting for the right girl.’

  I raise a brow. ‘Where’s Pop?’

  ‘He flew home after Bordeaux. It hasn’t been the same without him.’

  ‘I bet. How’s he feeling?’

  ‘Honestly he looks strong as an ox.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

  Jonathan’s eyes lock with mine for an age but I know I can’t act on my feelings, not yet.

  An hour later, I stand and say my goodbyes. ‘Why?’ Rosie says. ‘We can all leave together soon.’

  ‘I’m zapped from today and one more cocktail and I’ll be asleep.’

  ‘Jonathan can drive you back, I’m sure.’

  I don’t give him a chance to respond.

  ‘No, no, I’m all good, I’ll grab an Uber. There’s something I have to do actually.’ I feel the truth in my words and I realize what’s been stopping me from moving on, not just with relationships but with my whole life and I’ve got to fix it before any change is possible.

  Chapter 24

  Nice

  When TJ’s family disowned me after he died, completely ghosted me as if I was someone so easy to let go, I didn’t think I’d ever
forgive them, especially Mary who I’d been so close to. TJ’s dad had always been a cold fish, and with Mary leading the charge, he duly cut off contact with me while Mary inspired the rest of the family to do the same. When the first anniversary of TJ’s death came around I reached out to them, hoping to share the heart-breaking day with people who’d understand, but they refused and then stopped answering the phone. I spent that day curled up in bed watching our wedding video on repeat, drowning my sorrows with red wine and then vodka. Not the healthiest way to reflect on the man who set my world on fire.

  My biggest grapple had been what did I owe them after they way they’d treated me? But now I know. And I need to do what’s right. Not only for TJ but for me too. It’s time to make peace. I dial the familiar number, remembering when I’d call them just because.

  ‘Hello?’

  I take a deep breath. ‘Hi Mary, it’s me, Aria.’

  There’s a long silence before she says, ‘Aria,’ almost reverently. ‘It’s been such a long time.’ I search her voice for reproach but there’s none, instead she just sounds a little low, as if she’s exhausted.

  ‘Three years,’ I say.

  ‘Feels like a hundred.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I’m existing on autopilot.’

  Goose bumps prickle my skin in recognition. ‘It doesn’t seem to get any easier like the books say.’

  In some ways it gets harder because the longer you’re alone the more you realize he’s not coming back. It’s not a nightmare you’ll wake from. There’s no deal you can make with god. There’s nothing you can do.

  He’s gone forever and ever.

  When she doesn’t reply I say, ‘Look, Mary, I wanted to clear the air between us. I …’

  ‘I know, Aria. I do know. I’m sorry I haven’t replied to your last email. You certainly gave me the talking-to I needed.’

  I’d expected anger, stern words, not this …

  She continues, ‘I’ve been trying to find the right words, and they just won’t come.’ There’s a long silence. ‘I wasn’t at my best back then, and I regret a lot of the things I said to you. Did to you. Trust me, I know I wasn’t being fair. But part of me will always wonder if he’d still be here now if he’d at least tried. I don’t think I can ever fully forgive that – taking that hope away – but I know it was his choice, I do know that now. It breaks my heart wondering what might have been, you know? And why you couldn’t convince him to do what was right. I think about that every day. Every single day.’

  ‘I understand,’ I say, as my eyes go bright with tears. ‘And Mary, if I thought the treatment would have worked, there’s no way I’d have driven him away; you know that, right?’ The prognosis had been dire; the oncologist didn’t sugar-coat it. Treatment would have bought him a few more months, but to what end?

  ‘I know. But I wanted my boy with me.’

  The strong bonds of motherhood. Had I been insensitive to her needs? It’s so hard to look back at that time and make any sense of how I could have pleased them both.

  ‘I feel horrible about that, Mary. And he wanted to be with you all too. But he desperately wanted to see the Lake District, one last thing of beauty. He wanted that quiet to come to terms with facing the end of his life.’ I swallow a lump in my throat, remembering his face, the pain and sadness in his eyes replaced by something greater, something miraculous. For one lonely moment I’d thought maybe it was a healing place and he’d soak up the vibe and return whole – cancer-free. I was willing to believe anything back then if only I could keep him. ‘That place lit him up from within. The van was a godsend, I set him up so I could open the back doors as he lay there, just the mirrored lake for company.’

  ‘He always wanted to see more of the world, and I see you’re doing that for him,’ she says, her voice raspy with tears.

  I take a tissue from the box and dab at my eyes. ‘I can’t seem to settle, Mary. I don’t know my place without him. There’s days where I feel adrift as if I’ll float away and it won’t matter a damn. But I’ve made a really good friend in another nomad called Rosie; without her, I don’t know where I’d be.’

  ‘She sounds nice. You need a friend like that. I wish I had some answers, but one thing I do know is that you can’t escape grief. It will chase you down, stand right behind you like your shadow, darting this way and that, just when you think you’ve dodged it. All you can do is move on. There’s still time for you, Aria.’

  I picture her as she was when she loved me as a daughter-in-law, her hair in a neat bob, rouged cheeks, and eyes brighter than her age suggested. But when I saw her last, the light had gone, and her cheeks were hollowed, she’d looked a decade older. I wonder if she’s recovered or if death indelibly changes those who are left behind?

  ‘Hear me out,’ she continues. ‘This is why I’ve struggled to return your email. It’s hard to find the words to say what my heart feels and still be fair to my son. But I figure if the roles were reversed and TJ was here instead of you, I’d be having the same conversation with him. If you let grief win, you’ll never find solace in this world. You’ll have all these amazing opportunities that will pass you by. People will come into your life but if you’re not open to them, you’re going to end up alone, a withered shell of that sparkly, joyful girl who walked into my life all those years ago, nose pressed in a book even back then.’

  ‘It’s only been a couple of years, Mary, and I struggle with the thought of it all.’

  ‘Three years, Aria. He’d want me to ask: Are you happy?’

  Am I? There are days Rosie and I are doubled over clutching our bellies and howling with mirth. Or those times I’m sitting in her tea van eating a slice of cake the size of my head, delighting in every spoonful. But when night falls and I’m alone in my Little Bookshop van that’s when it hits me anew and the darkness finds me again.

  ‘I miss him so much,’ I say, my voice breaking and the tears falling in earnest. ‘There’s no one like him and no one can ever live up to him.’ Jonathan briefly pops into mind and I close my eyes against it.

  ‘We all miss him. But it’s what we do with our life now that matters.’

  ‘I didn’t expect we’d have this conversation,’ I say.

  She lets out a small laugh, a glorious sound and I can’t help but smile. ‘I’ve replayed our last argument over and over again, and I hate myself for it. You were going through just as much as me, and I didn’t take it in to consideration. And cutting you off and all the awful things I did – he’d hate me for it. But I needed someone to blame, and I know that’s not right. I’ll always be upset he went away, but I can see why he wanted to go. I can see it was him driving the idea and you as always doing what you thought best for my boy. I’m really sorry, Aria, that we weren’t there for you when you needed us most. I’ll always be ashamed about that. I was just so angry and you were an easy target.’

  The apology is enough for me. That we’ve made amends takes a weight off my shoulders. ‘I’m sorry too, Mary, for the things I said and did but regrets are such a waste of energy. I’m so glad we talked.’

  ‘Is there anyone in your life?’

  I hesitate – it’s TJ’s mum after all – but I figure honesty is the best policy. ‘There’s an inkling of attraction with a guy called Jonathan. But I’ve had a hard time even thinking about someone new.’

  ‘These things always sound so clichéd, but I know my boy and I know he’d have urged you to live your life fully, Aria, and that means being in love again, as impossible a notion as it is to contemplate.’

  ‘I didn’t expect you’d be encouraging me in that respect.’

  She takes a moment to respond. ‘He’s not coming back, Aria. All we can do is make the most of what time we have left. For me, it’s not so much, for you, it’s an eternity.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What does the diary say about it?’

  ‘You didn’t read it?’

  ‘No, I’d never break his trust like that. And I�
��m only sorry it’s taken this long to send it.’

  ‘Don’t be sorry. To be honest, I don’t think I could have handled it any sooner, I wasn’t ready for it. It’s full of little anecdotes and things he wants to do and see, and then it turns darker with the diagnosis and what he wanted me to do after he’d gone.’

  ‘So why don’t you respect his wishes and follow them?’

  ‘Could it be so simple?’ Why don’t I stop running and listen to my husband’s wishes for me just like I listened to his last wishes for himself?

  ‘The diary is his last goodbye, Aria.’ Until we meet again. ‘All he wanted was to know you’d smile again, and you promised him that too, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’ I’d totally forgotten about that. Smiling again seemed like an impossibility at the time.

  ‘So make good on that promise.’

  ‘I will, Mary. I promise I will.’

  Chapter 25

  St Tropez

  The next day we take a slow drive from Nice to St Tropez. The gang check in to a campsite perched on a cliff while I make some excuses and leave to be alone for a bit. I drive aimlessly for a while, until I realize what I must do. Windows down, the breeze whipping my hair back, I get some clarity for the task ahead.

  I park and walk the La Ponche quarter until my feet hurt, and ruminate about life and love and everything in between. It feels good to be outside and pounding the cobblestones trying to make sense of things. What I’ve learned is there’s no rule book, there’s no one way to grieve and it doesn’t diminish what TJ and I had if I entertain the thought of loving a new man. I’ll always feel that spark of guilt, but that’s OK, right? It just means my love for TJ is ever present. It’s inside of me and it always will be. But I’m allowed to strive for happiness too.

  From my bag I take the diary to read the last entry. I want to read it while I’m bathed in sunlight, not in the gloom of the van, so I make my way past the docked yachts to the beach and find a spot on the sand.

  With one last look at the bright blue of sea before me I swallow a lump in my throat, and open it to the last passage. His handwriting is jagged and messy, as though he didn’t have much strength left. Taking a deep breath, I steel myself for this one last message and am surprised to find this one is written directly to me.