The Light Over London(25)

Cara laughed, sniffing a little. “Yes, of course. Come on.”



An hour later, Cara had pulled on black skinny jeans and a silky green top that were far more appropriate for going out in public than the sweats and camisole she’d been wearing. She was tucked into a wide wooden booth at the Hollow Crown across from Nicole, a bottle of pinot grigio and two glasses sweating on the table between them as Cara told her the story of finding the World War II diary.

“There’s just something about it,” she said. “It starts like any other diary you might imagine a nineteen-year-old would write. She loves her father. She has a difficult relationship with her mother. She works in a shop.”

“That could’ve been me writing it when I was a teenager,” said Nicole with a snort.

“Exactly. But then this man walks into her life and sweeps her off her feet.”

“The pilot. Do they get married?” Nicole asked.

“I have no idea. I haven’t had a chance to read much because—”

“You’re studying for Jock. I don’t think you put this much work into your degree exams,” said Nicole.

“This is important.”

Her parents’ deaths had changed everything. Rushing up to Cumbria and finding out she had been too late to say goodbye had been a constant physical blow in the days, months, years that followed, like being hit hard in the stomach over and over again, the nausea building until she could hardly take it. She’d simply put her head down and escaped into work because it was better to be there than at home with an unemployed, spendthrift husband who drank too much, gambled, and disappointed her in a thousand different ways.

When she’d finally let herself admit that she wanted a divorce, it was as though a fog had lifted. She could at last see the giant compromise her life had become—one she constantly seemed to lose out on. She’d lived in a house she hadn’t really wanted in the far west of London, isolated from Nicole and her other friends until she rarely saw them. In a moment of youthful uncertainty, she’d let herself be pushed into the job Simon had picked for her so that they could afford to live together at twenty-two. And then there’d been her marriage, which had deteriorated until she’d hardly recognized the man she shared a life with.

She’d promised herself, as she’d numbly sat in her solicitor’s office learning about the steps it would take to untangle her life, that there would be no more losing compromises. She wanted a life of her own choosing. Barlow had been the last place she’d truly felt at home, so she’d returned, a decade after graduating, to start again.

“So now you’re going to figure out who wrote the diary. Any ideas?” Nicole asked.

“No, except her initials might have been L.K., and she might’ve been in the ATS, but I’m not sure yet.”

“Wasn’t that the branch Iris served in?” Nicole asked.

“Yes, but when I asked her about it, she brushed me off. I don’t know why she refuses to talk about it.”

“Maybe something bad happened to her,” said Nicole.

“Maybe.”

“Well”—Nicole picked up her glass of wine and tilted it toward Cara—“it sounds to me like you need a private investigator.”

Cara laughed. “I don’t know where they’d even start.”

“Cara?” Her heart jumped into her throat. Liam stood at the bar a few feet away, pint of ale and notebook in hand.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I thought that was you,” he said.

Nicole craned her neck to look over her shoulder, and when she turned back, her dark eyes were sparkling with delight. Cara’s stomach sank. She knew that look. It was the one her friend used to wear when they’d go out and Nicole would try to introduce her to every single-looking man in the pub, including, on one particularly memorable evening, Cara’s art history tutor.

“It’s good to see you,” she said. “Nicole, this is my neighbor Liam.”

Nicole stuck her hand out. “Pleased to meet you.”

Don’t ask him to sit down.

“Likewise,” Liam said.

“What brings you to the pub?” Nicole asked.

He lifted the notebook. “I was tired of sitting at home going over my lecture notes, so I thought I’d come in and have a pint while I work. I haven’t been to the Hollow Crown before.”

Don’t ask him to sit down.

“This is Cara’s first time too,” said Nicole with a smile.

“A happy coincidence,” said Liam.

Don’t ask him to sit down.

“Would you like to join us?” Nicole asked.

Dammit, Nicole.

Liam’s eyes flicked over to hers. “If you don’t mind.”

“No, of course not,” she said, bracing herself for an evening of heading off Nicole’s best intentions. “How are you settling in?”

“Everything’s still in boxes, but I can never seem to finish unpacking entirely. There’s always one box of books sitting in the garage.”

“Have you moved a lot?” Nicole asked.

“Life of a visiting lecturer,” said Liam with a smile. “I’ve taught at Bristol and Exeter, and was in the States as a visiting professor at Reed College in Oregon for two years.”