The Bookshop on the Corner (23 page)

Nina winced. “Yeah, it's not a lot.”

“No,” said Surinder. “You'll never be able to buy property or take a vacation or get a new car.”

“I've got the van!”

“Yeah, whatever. But you love it. You're good at it. I wouldn't be able to do that.”

Surinder stared at the tiny scrubby square of garden, the fumes roaring down the road.

“Cup of tea?”

Nina had begged for their help, and once more her faithful friends had sweetly heeded her call. Griffin turned up the next morning looking incredibly hungover and a little ashamed, and, as both girls noticed, wearing the same T-shirt he'd had on the night before. He had, it turned out, ended up with one of the young girls who had been out with the gang and was half embarrassed, half unbelievably proud of himself. Nina was half disapproving, half pleased that he seemed to have perked up a little bit.

“I don't know how to get in touch with her now, though,” he
said, pretending to look shamefaced as Nina ordered coffee and big breakfasts for everyone. “I mean, is it Tinder, is it texting, what is it?”

Nina reflected that she still hadn't had a message from Marek. Maybe he'd changed his mind. Forgotten all about her. Figured they'd taken it far enough. She tried to stop her itchy fingers from picking up her phone every two seconds.

“Send her an Instagram of a cup of coffee,” suggested Surinder. “Even she ought to be able to interpret that.”

Griffin looked pleased. “I will.”

The auction house was an old dank place underneath the arches of an abandoned railway station.

The large man in charge grunted briefly and nodded when Nina showed him her paperwork. Inside were great piles of books from a house contents sale. There were boxes upon boxes. Nina would have liked to settle down and go through them all there and then, but there simply wasn't enough time; she had to get back to work. But, after Griffin had mentioned it, she'd perused the list fairly thoroughly online before she made her commission bid, and it suited her purposes perfectly; many estate book buyers were looking for rare first editions, but she wanted good copies of contemporary books to sell, and this collection didn't disappoint: loads of recent fiction and nonfiction from a careful, non-spine-bending reader. She'd definitely gotten lucky.

It was another hot, sticky day; the tar was practically melting on the roads. It was strange to go out without her jacket. She hadn't done that for so long, it felt like she was missing something.

She got a sense on the back of her neck, something prickling before she saw him. She turned her head as Surinder and Griffin happily bickered in the gloom of the arches. At first he was just a dark figure shambling up the road. Gradually he resolved himself and she jumped up.

“Marek?” she said.

He smiled his slow, lazy, puppy-dog smile and held out his hands.

“I am here.”

“But how did you . . . ?”

“Your friend Surinder, she say you need help today. She find me.” His voice softened. “Whenever Nina needs help, I am here.”

Nina blinked. She remembered kissing him, how soft his full lips were on hers, how much she had yearned to move closer to his large, bearlike body. She found herself blushing.

“It's so good to see you . . .”

He went to kiss her, but they missed and he gently kissed her ear, which wasn't ideal, by which time Griffin and Surinder had emerged into the sunlight and Surinder was clapping Marek on the back and Griffin was saying hello to him in a slightly suspicious way that, had Nina been paying attention, would have helped her to realize that regardless of the young ladies he met in bars, he still had a fairly vested interest in who Nina was seeing.

“How's Jim?” asked Nina, but Marek just shrugged and smiled and they started lugging great chests full of novels out to the van, into which Surinder and Nina had already loaded the last of the books stored at Surinder's house.

Nina was thrilled to see inside them, noticing old volumes of children's stories with thin tissue paper protecting the inside
plates, and hand-tooled gold leaf on the covers, along with all the pristine hardbacks—it looked, from the state of things, as if the owner, whoever he or she was, had simply bought everything, without regard to whether they would read it or not. Nina wondered what on earth it would be like to have that much money, to buy that many books without worrying.

Every so often she would notice a volume that she wanted to dive into right away, but she managed to control herself until most of the work was done. Driving back to Scotland with all the books in the back was going to be a true long-distance-truck-driver job, but once she had them up there, she'd be good for months.

They drifted afterward to a little park, and found, with some difficulty, a free spot, clearing away other people's garbage and cigarette butts so they could sit down and eat ice creams from the van at the entrance that was blaring its radio noisily to attract attention. Men were bare-chested everywhere, and space was at such a premium that Nina could smell their aftershave. The sun beat down uncomfortably on her head and she wished there was even the tiniest draft.

Griffin was lying on his front, exchanging messages on his phone with the new girl and laughing hysterically and possibly a bit too loudly, Nina thought. Eventually he jumped up and said, with a mock eye roll, “Sorry, duty calls . . . or rather,
Judi
calls,” and the others smiled politely. Then Surinder looked at Nina and said, “Have you still got your key?” When Nina nodded, she said, “Right, I'm getting out of third-wheel land . . . see you later. NOT TOO MUCH LATER.”

Nina kissed her on the cheek and watched as she moved gracefully through the crowds in the park and the great mounds of litter that followed any nice day, as the sun started to sink a
little in the sky. She felt her heart beat even harder and glanced over at Marek, who had his head down, not looking at her. The back of his neck was pink. Silence fell.

“Um,” she said finally, feeling she absolutely had to say something. “How . . . how have you been?”

Marek turned to her, his dark eyes intense. “Nina,” he said. “Come walk with me.”

Nina stood up. She could tell he was as nervous as she was, but she didn't find this any more reassuring a thought, not really. They walked through the lengthening shadows of the park and out of the gates toward the canal. Slow barges drifted up and down in the early evening sunshine; people sat outside bars and restaurants talking loudly; others were walking dogs, or yelling into phones and not looking where they were going: all the normal business of the city on a hot summer's day.

But Nina was concentrating on Marek's hand, swinging casually by his side, wondering if she should take it. It felt strange, the two of them together, in daylight, like a normal boy and girl on a date. She snuck a peek at him. He glanced at her too, and she smiled back.

“Through here,” he said quietly, and, surprised, she followed him. They stepped off the road and up a side street. Nina suddenly felt a bit nervous, but Marek smiled at her and she felt reassured. Then she gasped as the street opened out into the most beautiful little garden square. Nina had never seen it before. In fact, there was absolutely no way you could ever find it unless you knew it was there. It had railings all around it and a little gate beneath a bower with a small sign:
CRAIGHART COMMUNITY GARDEN
, painted rather charmingly in the handwriting of several different children, decorated with butterflies and flowers.

Inside were rows and rows of cabbages and carrots. A
grandma and a couple of children were hoeing in tidy lines, the chatter of their voices sounding sweet in the evening air, but apart from that, there were very few people around. Bumblebees buzzed in the air, up and around, and there was the scent of late honeysuckle from a portion that someone had planted in the flower beds at the side.

“Oh,” said Nina. “I didn't even know this was here! It's gorgeous! So beautiful.”

“Like you,” said Marek simply, drawing her into a secluded corner away from where the family was working. Nina looked into his dark eyes. It was the loveliest evening after all.

“Oh, Nina,” he said, holding her hand. “Since I came to this country . . . I came here, so far away, and everything is so strange. And I meet you and you are so kind and sweet and clever, my Nina. And how I love to get your message and send things to you.”

She found herself moving closer to him.

“I almost . . . I live in room with many other men. It is so hard. I work all night and I cannot sleep in the day because I can't find it quiet, and I am sad and I miss, oh, I miss my home so much, and I miss my little boy so, so much. It is hard here, and nobody is friendly, and everything is so expensive, and, Nina, you have done more than you know; you have done so much to make me happy . . .”

He pulled her close. Nina froze suddenly. She grabbed her hand away as if it had been bitten.

“You have a little boy?” she said, thinking immediately back to snotty bloody Lennox suggesting it as a possibility.

“Oh yes,” sighed Marek, clearly unable to read the tone of her voice. “Let me show you photo.”

“And he lives with his mother?” she said, still reaching ten
tatively for the possibility that he was divorced, separated. That was normal, yes?

He pulled out a tatty old wallet. “Here,” he said, taking out a photograph.

The little boy was Marek's absolute double, big puppy-dog eyes threatening to overspill his long dark lashes. Beside him sat a beautiful, slender blond girl, smiling shyly at the camera.

“Who's that?” Nina could feel her heart thumping in her chest.

“Well, that's my son, Aras,” said Marek, obviously close to tears. “And that's Bronia.”

Nina squinted at the picture. “Your wife?”

“No, no, no . . . my girlfriend. She is Aras's mother. She live with my mother.” Marek's eyes were downcast for an instant.

“So you're still together?”

He looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“You're a couple?”

“Yes. But I work here for a year. So far from home. And I am so lonely, Nina. So lonely. And I meet you and suddenly . . . it is like sun coming out! And I have someone to talk to and to write to and to think of . . .”

“But you write home?”

“Yes, I call home every day. But what to say? I make money. I am sad. They are sad. My mother and my girlfriend fight. Aras does things and I am not there. He starts to say words and I am not there. I call and everyone is there and everyone is sad and angry with Marek and I am in my room with all the other men and they say, oh, Marek, are you out in bars all the time, you are away all the nights, oh, Marek, are you having all the fun, oh, Marek, we are stuck here and we need more money . . .” His voice trailed off. “It is so hard, Nina.”

Nina swallowed. Her emotions had shifted 180 degrees, from anger and bewilderment to enormous pity.

“But didn't you know . . . didn't you think that maybe I wouldn't want a man with a girlfriend and a baby? You have a family, Marek. How could I step in the way of that?”

Marek shrugged. “I don't know. It is different here maybe? Things are different here?” His voice was cracking with hope.

Nina shook her head, close to tears. “No. Not that different. I wouldn't . . . I'm not that kind of—”

“But I did not think that about you!” he interjected. “I never thought that about you! You to me were always special, Nina! So special! Not like other girls!”

His cheeks were pink now, the wallet still open in his hand. Nina touched his arm gently under the lush green tree.

“Oh, Marek.”

He looked at her for a long time, the hope gradually dying in his eyes.

“I am so sorry,” he said. “I am sorry. I should not have thought . . .”

“Oh no,” Nina said, trying not to cry. “Oh no. You could have thought. You could absolutely have thought.”