How to Find Love in a Book Shop(8)

He slid the book into its bag and handed it to her. She was gazing at him in something close to disbelief, with a hint of fascination.

Julius had always been quietly confident with girls. He respected them. He liked them for their minds rather than their looks, and somehow this made him magnetic. He was thoughtful, yet a little enigmatic. He was very different from the rather cocky public school types at Oxford. He dressed a little differently too – a romantic bohemian, in velvet jackets and scarves, his hair lightly bleached. And he was pretty – cheekbones and wide eyes, which he occasionally highlighted with eyeliner. Growing up in London had given him the courage to do this without fear of derision from those who didn’t understand the fashion of the times.

‘Why the hell not?’ she said finally.

‘I’ll be there from eight,’ he told her.



It was twenty past eight by the time he got to the pub. She was nowhere to be seen. He couldn’t be sure whether she was late too or had been and gone. Or simply wasn’t going to turn up at all. He wasn’t going to let it worry him. If it was meant to be …

He ordered a pint of murky cider from the bar, tasting its musty appleness, then made his way out to find a bench in the last of the sunshine. It was a popular but fairly rough pub he loved for its unpretentiousness. And it always had good bands on. There was a sense of festiveness and expectation in the air, a final farewell from the sun in this last week of summer. Julius felt a change coming. Whether it would be to do with the girl with the red hair, he couldn’t be certain, but he had a feeling it might.

At nine, he felt a sharp tap on his shoulder. He turned, and she was there.

‘I wasn’t going to come,’ she told him. ‘Because I didn’t want to fall in love with you and then have to get on a plane tomorrow.’

‘Falling in love is optional.’

‘Not always.’ She looked serious.

‘Well, let’s see what we can do to avoid it.’ He stood up and picked up his empty pint glass. ‘Have you tried scrumpy yet?’

‘No.’ She looked doubtful.

He bought her half a pint, because grown men had been known to weep after just two pints of this particular brew. They watched the band, a crazy gypsy-punk outfit that sang songs of heartbreak and harvest moons. He bought her another half and watched her smile get lazier and her eyes half close. He wanted nothing more than to tangle his fingers in her pre-Raphaelite curls.

‘Where are you staying tonight?’ he asked, as the band started packing up and tipsy revellers began to make their way out of the pub into the warm night.

She put her arms around his neck and pushed her body hard against his. ‘With you,’ she whispered, and her mouth on his tasted of the last apples of summer.

Later, as they lay holding each other in the remains of the night’s heat, she murmured, ‘You never told me.’

‘What?’

‘Your favourite book.’

‘1984.’

She considered his answer, gave a nod of approval, closed her eyes and fell asleep.



He woke the next morning, pinioned by her lily-white arm. He wondered what time her flight was, how she was getting to the airport, whether she had packed – they hadn’t discussed practicalities the night before. He didn’t want to wake her because he felt safe with her so close. He’d never experienced such a feeling before. A feeling of utter completeness. It made so many of the books he had read start to make perfect sense. He had thought he understood them, on an intellectual level, but now he had a deeper comprehension. He could barely breathe with the awe of it.

If he stayed very still and very quiet, perhaps she wouldn’t wake. Perhaps she would miss her flight. Perhaps he could have another magical twenty-four hours with her.

But Julius was responsible at heart. He didn’t have it in him to be so reckless. So he picked up a tress of her hair and tickled her cheek until she stirred.

‘Hey,’ he whispered. ‘You have to go home today.’

‘I don’t want to go,’ Rebecca murmured into his shoulder.

He trailed a hand across her warm, bare skin. ‘You can come back.’

He touched each of her freckles, one by one. There were hundreds. Thousands. He would never have time to touch them all before she left.

‘What time is your flight? How are you getting to the airport?’

She didn’t reply. She picked up his arm and looked at the watch on his wrist.

‘My flight’s at one.’

He sat up in alarm. It was gone ten. ‘Shit. You need to get up. You’ll never make it. I can drive you, but I don’t think you’ll get there in time.’

He was grabbing for his clothes, pulling them on. She didn’t move.

‘I’m not going.’

He was doing up his jeans. He stared at her.

‘What?’

‘I made up my mind. Last night.’ She sat up, and her hair tumbled everywhere. ‘I want to stay here. With you.’

Julius laughed. ‘You can’t.’ He felt slight panic.

She looked up at him from the middle of the bed, wide-eyed.

‘You don’t feel the same as me? As if you’ve met the love of your life?’

‘Well, yes, but …’ It had been an incredible night, he had to admit that. And he was smitten, if that was the right word. But Julius was sensible enough to realise you didn’t make momentous decisions off the back of a one-night stand.