How to Find Love in a Book Shop(90)

‘What are you going to wear?’

Thomasina shrugged. ‘Just my usual black trousers and T-shirt.’

Lauren shook her head. ‘No, you’re not.’

Lauren stood in front of Thomasina’s wardrobe and flipped through everything, tutting and sighing. When she found something that was to her satisfaction, she put it over her arm.

‘OK,’ she said. ‘I think we can improvise with this lot.’

She rolled up a stretchy black skirt until it was just above the knee, then put a red cardigan over it, leaving the first two buttons undone, tying it with a black patent belt taken off an old dress around Thomasina’s waist. Then she cut the feet off a pair of black tights and made her put them on with a pair of flat black ballet pumps.

Then she let Thomasina stand in front of the mirror.

Thomasina clapped her hand over her mouth.

‘You look amazing,’ said Lauren.

‘That’s not me,’ said Thomasina, and made to do the buttons of the cardigan up. Lauren slapped her hand away.

‘Leave it,’ she commanded. ‘You look totally gorgeous. Like a French—’

‘Tart?’ suggested Thomasina, looking at herself from all angles.

‘No! Film star.’

‘I’m going to feel really uncomfy. I won’t be able to cook in this.’

‘You’re not going to cook.’

‘What?’

‘I’m cooking tonight. I’ve watched you often enough.’

‘I was going to send you home.’

‘Uh-uh. You’re going to be the guest. I’m going to do all the work. If I get stuck, you can tell me what to do, but I don’t want you to lift a finger. I’ve seen you run around people so often, making sure everything is perfect and they are having a great time. It’s your turn for once.’

‘But I don’t know how to behave like …’ Thomasina pointed helplessly at her reflection. The stranger with the big eyes looked back at her.

‘Just be yourself.’

‘But I’m so boring.’

‘No, you’re not.’ Lauren shook her head. ‘You’re amazing. You’re inspiring. OK, so you’re not a loudmouth show-off like me. But at least what you say is interesting.’

‘Interesting?’

‘Seriously – you are the only person who keeps me sane at that school. I love your lessons and I come away feeling like I want to do something with my life. If it weren’t for you, I’d have legged it ages ago. You tell stories when you’re cooking. You make people want to listen. And learn more.’

‘Oh.’

‘I’m not the only one who thinks so, either. You’re loads of people’s favourite teacher.’

‘You’re just saying that.’ Thomasina didn’t know how to cope with all the unfamiliar praise.

‘Yes, I’m just saying that cos that’s what I’m like.’ Lauren rolled her eyes. ‘Shut up. And go and have a glass of Prosecco. Just one, before he gets here.’

She pushed Thomasina out of the bedroom.

Downstairs, the little table was laid, the cutlery shining, the glassware gleaming.

Tiny bowls were stuffed with creamy roses and burnt orange gerberas.

Tonight, as Thomasina lit the candles and dimmed the lights, it was for her.

Tonight, as she found a Chopin prelude and put it on, it was for her.

Her and Jem.

Dinner à deux.



When Thomasina opened the door to Jem half an hour later, he beamed at her.

‘You look fantastic.’ He breathed in appreciatively. ‘And dinner smells great. I’ve brought two bottles – one red and one white. And …’ He proffered a bunch of red roses rather sheepishly. ‘Not from the garage. I promise.’

Thomasina took the flowers from him.

Lauren took the bottles. ‘I’ll put the white in the fridge and open the red and let it breathe, shall I?’

Thomasina tried not to giggle at Lauren’s solicitousness.

‘I’m really glad you could come,’ she told Jem. ‘It would have been such a waste otherwise.’

Lauren came over with a tray, on which were perched two flutes of Prosecco, the golden bubbles shooting up inside the glasses.

‘We’re being waited on tonight,’ Thomasina told Jem. ‘It’s good experience for Lauren. It means I can write her a reference.’

‘Awesome,’ he said, taking a glass and raising it.

Thomasina raised hers too. She felt confident. Excited. Happy.

‘Here’s to last-minute cancellations,’ she said.





Twenty-Four

It was amazing what could be done in a short space of time, with all hands on deck and a willing team. Two days after the flood, Nightingale Books was stripped bare, all the undamaged stock boxed up and stored safely in June’s garage. Emilia and Bea drove around the countryside picking up materials – shelving and lighting and paint. Jackson hired three lads to help him out with the plastering and the carpentry and hired the best electrician he knew. Everyone worked long into the night.

The morning of Alice Basildon’s wedding, the door of the shop burst open. Emilia looked up in alarm. She was helping to sand down some of the old shelving.