The Bookshop on the Corner (30 page)

I
t was as if she was frozen to the spot. Slowly the train came up the line, trundling its precious cars behind it, and throwing caution to the wind, she ducked under the barrier and waved her arms, hugely, flapping them as if she had no idea what she was doing, as the train slowed down and down.

Heart pounding, she tried to think what she was going to say: simply no, or it's not possible, or a proper good-bye, a sad look at chances missed and timing gone wrong . . .

She stood there, stock-still now. Blinking. A million different things racing through her mind. Jim was up in the cabin, and she called his name. He didn't look around. He didn't even seem to be stopping. But at last he did, just farther down the line, so that Nina was directly facing the very last car, the one with the little balcony on the back.

Marek was sitting on it, his legs dangling. Not in his uniform, in plain clothes.

She looked up at him. “Hey,” she said, unsure what to do. “Hey,” she said again, stepping forward, as he still didn't meet her
eye. “The tree,” she said. “The tree. It's so beautiful. But . . . I mean, it's lovely, but . . .”

He stood up. “Nina,” he said, and his voice was sad and low. “I came . . . I came to say good-bye.”

“Why?” said Nina. “Why? Where are you going?”

“Oh, I got in trouble. Slowed the sleeper too many times, yes?”

“No,” said Nina. “They're not . . . you didn't lose your job?”

Marek shrugged. “No picnics on the railway,” he said and smiled. “It was all my fault.”

“No!” Nina said. “You can't! You can't get fired! Won't they go on strike for you?”

A thought struck her.

“Is that why Jim isn't talking to me?”

“He is very cross with you,” said Marek. “He blame you for everything.”

“Oh God,” said Nina, in agony. “I'm so sorry. I really, really am, so, so sorry.”

Marek shook his head. “Was not your fault. Was not, Nina.”

“I didn't help,” said Nina miserably, thinking of all the huge favors she'd let him do for her; how she'd encouraged him to play fast and loose with his job. “Won't the men come out for you, though?”

“Of course,” said Marek. “I am good train engineer. Who does naughty things sometimes. But . . .”

There was a pause.

“Will you get another job?”

“Oh no,” said Marek. “No, no. No job. I cannot stay in Britain, huh.”

Nina was horrified. “Oh my God,” she said. “You're being deported! You can't be deported!”

She swung onto the railway line and climbed up the steps.

“Even this is naughty,” said Marek.

“I don't care,” said Nina hotly. “They can't deport you. Let me take the blame!”

“Maybe it is time,” said Marek sadly. “I was fooling myself. Playing that I was in a romance with you, huh? A big storybook romance, like the poets write.”

Nina looked at his huge dark eyes and spiked lashes and felt her own eyes fill with tears.

“But you were right. It was not real. I have a life. Everybody does. And my life is Aras and Bronia. This is pretend life. I want real life.” His face was full of pain.

“You're . . . you're going?” said Nina.

Marek nodded. “Oh yes. I am going home. I will find a job. I can fix engines, many types of engines. There are always jobs for people who can fix engine.”

Nina blinked. “But,” she said. “But . . .”

Without warning, there was a loud honk. Jim had started to move the engine.

“Good-bye,” said Marek.

Nina stared at him. The great train was starting to move.

“Get down, Nina,” said Marek. “Get down, it's not safe.”

“But . . . ,” said Nina. The train was starting to gather speed.

“Go!”

She looked at him one last time. Then she jumped, and landed safely by the side of the track, and watched the huge long rolling stock push its way through the valley and slowly slide on, until it was out of sight.

Standing by the railway line, she tried Marek's number with a pounding heart, but there was no answer. She hammered out a text message to him, but again no reply. She called Surinder.

“I knew this was stupid,” she sobbed on the phone, and Surinder, to her eternal credit, didn't say “I told you so” when she'd have been well within her rights to do so. “I thought it was . . . well, it was romantic. It was sweet. It was kind of a game.”

“He lost,” said Surinder simply, and Nina burst into sobs again.

She ran all the way back to the farmyard, where Lennox, hearing her footsteps, threw open the door. His tall frame was silhouetted in the doorway, the light glowing behind him in the farmhouse, Parsley at his heels.

“What's happened? What the hell is it?” he said, fear striking his face at her tears, his arms opening instinctively. “Are you all right? Did something happen?”

He grabbed something from behind the door.

“What's that?” she said, stopping short and staring at it.

Lennox looked at her levelly as she took a step back. “It's a shotgun. What's the matter with you? Did someone do something to you?”

Nina furiously wiped her tears away and resisted her principal urge, which was to run weeping into his arms, bury her head in his strong shoulder, get him to make everything all right the same way he looked after those damn sheep of his. Instead she tried to pull herself together.

“No,” she said. “No. Nothing like that.”

She followed his arm as he put the gun down, still slightly shocked that he had had it there.

“It's . . . it's Marek . . . ,” she stuttered, dissolving into tears again.

Lennox's face changed utterly: it closed up, like a door slamming shut. His arms slowly lowered to his sides.

“Oh,” he said. “Girl stuff.”

He turned to go, and Nina wanted to throw something at his head.

“No!” she said. “You don't understand. He's in trouble.”

“For stopping his train where he shouldn't have,” said Lennox. “Good.”

“But he's lost his job. He's being deported! They're sending him home!”

Lennox turned back and looked at her calmly.

“Maybe sometimes it is time to go home,” he said.

Nina could only stare at him; she couldn't think of anything else to do.

“Oh,” she said.

Lennox gazed at his feet. “I didn't mean that,” he said finally and with effort. “I'm sorry to hear about your boyfriend.”

“He's not . . . he's not my boyfriend!” said Nina. “He's just a man, okay? In trouble. For being friends with me. He made a mistake and so did I and we didn't even do anything, not that it's any of your business, and now he's being sent out of the country. Forgive me for thinking you'd give a shit about anything that isn't a fricking sheep.”

She turned away to go toward the barn.

“Wait,” said Lennox, still sounding annoyed. “What did you think I could do?”

“I thought you might know a lawyer,” said Nina sullenly. “But forget it. It doesn't matter. You don't care.”

He moved forward. “I only know a Scottish divorce lawyer,” he said. “I'm not sure how much use he'd be.”

“Don't worry about it,” said Nina bitterly. “Sorry to trouble you.”

It took days, but an e-mail finally came from Jim. Marek had gone, flown out on a deportees' flight, with goodness knows how many other unlucky refugees and travelers. Nina sat up long into the night when she got the message, cursing the name she had given her bookshop, wondering whether, in real life, anyone actually got a happy-ever-after.

T
he clouds were scudding against a bright sun; now that they were past the very peak of midsummer, there was pink once more in the sky, the promise of a proper, protracted sunset rather than a simple fade. Nina was waiting for the ax to fall, for Lennox to lose his farm, the mean old fool, and for her to be evicted. It was just a matter of time.

And the stupid thing was, even with everything that had happened, up here in the peace and the wilds of the great valleys and deep lochs of Scotland she had found something that suited her, that soothed her soul: a peace and quiet, a feel for the landscape that she'd never known before, for gentle husbanding and wild creatures, and a sense that things didn't have to change; that skyscrapers didn't have to be thrown up in minutes for foreign investors; that seasons would come and go with the clouds passing across the sky, but also that everything would come around again and find itself much as it had been generations ago, in the farms and the rivers and the towering
cliffs and the gentle running valleys, where life did not move so fast that there wasn't time to settle down with a cup of tea and a piece of shortbread and a book.

It was horribly difficult, she reflected, to have finally found the place you thought of as home, only to realize you were going to have to move on again. Maybe she'd be just as happy in Orkney. She'd heard it was incredibly beautiful there, fish leaping from the sea straight to your plate, skies as big as the world, and people thirsty for books . . . But every day she followed the familiar road winding down into the valley of Kirrinfief, and found her heart was missing it before she'd even left.

The sun was lying heavy and full, casting rays down the little valley; the cobbles looked warm, the town square was filled with tourists and people flocking around; Edwin and Hugh were outside the pub as usual, no doubt commenting on the world and everything in it.

Lesley was putting fruit out outside the shop, and waved a cheerful hand to see the book bus back again, as did other locals as they saw her drive past, used to her in their midst. Carmen the headmistress honked the horn of her Mini. Nina felt almost tearful at their welcome. A group of boys was playing shinty in the near field; she was surprised beyond belief to notice that Ben was among them.

She carried on past the dangling purple bells of the foxgloves that lined the roadway at this time of year and on upward to the farm.

The sheep were turned out in the lower meadow, the cows in the upper, and the lambs that had been left to grow were almost big enough now as to be indistinguishable from the sheep. Half smiling, Nina recognized little Fluffy, always the runt, with his jagged scar, still lagging behind the rest, completely unable to
grow up, trotting around behind Parsley when he could find him. It did her heart good to see him.

No sign of Lennox or Parsley today, though. She was so used to seeing them striding on the sides of the hills—two little blobs, one tall and intent, one bounding in a flash—that she could generally spot them from miles away. Not today. She felt nervous. She was going to have to see him at some point. And try not to get angry with him. And wait, of course, for her eviction notice. And move on.

Professionally she had achieved more than she'd ever dreamed possible. Personally . . . she had made a hash of it. She thought back to the good advice Surinder had given her before she'd left. No, it hadn't gone right. Things didn't always. But at least she'd put herself out there. At least she'd tried and given it a shot. As Surinder kept saying, everyone's love life went badly until the end. That was just how it was.

And now she'd learned a little, and she'd know what to do if she met any more puppy-dog-eyed men—or at least she'd find out their status before she started flirting with them and sending them poetry—and if she met another grumpy farmer, well, she'd know to run a mile and not let herself get sucked in to thinking about the touch of a hand, a strong masculine body pressing against hers . . .

In the midst of her reverie, she was startled to realize that Lennox and Parsley were standing right in front of her.

“Dreaming about books?” said Lennox.

Nina looked around the farmyard. It was suddenly full of farmhands armed with tools and shovels.

“What's up?” she said.

“Thought you'd like to come,” grunted Lennox. “We're off to the Clarks'.”

“Where?”

Lennox sighed and turned around to the boys. “Sorry. I told you she was a bit glaikit.”

“I am not whatever that is you just said,” said Nina defiantly.

“Those kids. Ainslee and Ben,” said Lennox. “I thought you said they needed help.”

Mrs. Clark was overjoyed to see them, completely overwhelmed. Nina and Ainslee took down the dirty curtains and stuffed them in the washing machine, while Lennox directed his men, who fixed the broken doors and replaced the glass in the windows. Two of them even started painting the sitting room, while someone else went up on the roof to replace all the loose tiles. It was absolutely astounding how much a band of people could get done with a will when they set their minds to it. Nina tried to thank Lennox, who looked at her completely dumbfounded that she would even consider it something worthy of thanks. It needed doing, that was all.

Ben ran about in a fit of delight, trying to help the gardeners and plasterers in turn as they fixed up the tumbledown house, as well as mainlining biscuits and turning Radio 1 up far louder than his mother could normally bear it. The sun beat down—it was incredibly hot—as they worked through the day, barely taking breaks.

Nina glanced over from time to time. It was so hot, Lennox had taken off his shirt, and was splitting kindling for the winter on an old log.

“Why have you stopped?” asked Ainslee, as they rinsed the curtains.

“Um, no reason,” said Nina.

“Is it that old bloke again?” said Ainslee. “Oh aye, I see it is.”

“Yeah, all right,” said Nina.

They both watched him for a second.

“Okay, let's get going!” said Nina.

Pushing into the afternoon, Nina noticed with surprise an older gentleman she'd seen before. He was wearing a suit and tie, and she realized it was Lennox's lawyer. He spoke in a low and intent voice to Lennox, who had put the ax down. Lennox's face turned absolutely miserably cross, and he appeared to be swearing under his breath. The lawyer looked apologetic, and turned to go.

As he did so, he glanced up and caught sight of Nina through the window. He held up a hand and popped in through the new kitchen door.

“Ah, hello,” he said.

“Hello,” said Nina, fearing the worst.

“I just wanted to say . . . to say I was sorry to hear about your . . . your friend. I did speak to the Home Office, you know, but apparently it was voluntary, so there was nothing they could do.”

“You . . . you called the Home Office about Marek?”

“Oh yes. Lennox asked if I wouldn't mind . . .”

Nina didn't hear any more. She was staring out of the kitchen window. The lawyer took his leave, but she hardly noticed him go.

Lennox had hired Mrs. Garsters from the village for when they all trooped back up to the farm, exhausted, at the end of the
afternoon. (Mrs. Garsters loved books about beetles and was practically an expert; Nina had to repeatedly apologize for her failure to find the most up-to-date
British Journal of Entomology
. She would huff and puff and ask what kind of a service she was, and Nina had to explain that she wasn't a service, she was a business, which didn't seem to placate her in the least.)

Set out on long tables in the courtyard were thick slabs of ham, with piccalilli and mustard on the side; fresh homemade bread, cut roughly, with salty local butter; sweating wheels of white and blue cheese; creamy potato salad; and a cool cucumber and green cabbage salad with fennel, orange, and oats, which looked utterly delicious, followed by huge apple pies and warm frothing cream from the dairy.

Nina couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so hungry, but her hands were sore and cracked from all the bleach she'd been using, and before she ate, she nipped into the barn just behind her own conversion; she was sure she'd seen Lennox leave some lanolin there—he used it for softening his own hands and for the sheep's udders—and it was just, she felt, what she needed.

She rubbed the lanolin in, and was just refilling her bottle with water from the cold standpipe that fed directly from the well when she saw him.

She couldn't actually see him at all to begin with; he was silhouetted against the sunlight pouring in from outside the barn, nothing but a tall shape. He could have been anyone.

But he wasn't just anyone. And in a millisecond, everything changed.

She could leave it all behind. She could. She had before. She could do anything she wanted, like the traveling people, like everyone who moved around in the world. But she wanted to experience everything she could. She wasn't going to hide any longer.

She had started with a van. But somehow it had opened her up to so much more. And now she wanted that real life that she felt she had been missing out on, that she felt other people got a shot at while she sat quietly in a corner being nice.

She pressed herself against the wall of the barn, feeling the warmth of the ancient stone on her back. The sweet smell of freshly gathered hay was thick in the air, golden strands breaking off and drifting down from the loft above. Lennox's shirt was half unbuttoned in the tumultuous heat; his chest was hairless.

Nina blinked and realized she'd been wondering about it for weeks. Thinking about it. Dreaming about it. But she hadn't been able to admit it to herself; couldn't admit it to anyone; was scared that it was just her imagination running away with her again, a foolish fantasy about a man she barely knew.

But all she knew now, the one thing taking over her brain completely, was that she wanted—needed—to touch him, and soon. And that there was no one here to judge her or be patronizing to quiet little bookish Nina.

“Do you want a drink of water?” she found herself saying, and her voice was breathless and lower than usual.

Lennox advanced into the barn and she held out the bottle of water, condensation running down the outside, and looked straight at him. She tried to smile, but she couldn't. She couldn't move.

His eyes gave nothing away as he advanced toward her, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body, smell the fresh,
clean sweat. It made her dizzy. She swallowed hard. He took the bottle without a thank-you, and drank from it without taking his gaze off her.

There was a split second to decide, she knew. The tiniest split second in which she could take the bottle, turn away, remove herself. Instead, she did something she wouldn't have known she was capable of: she pressed herself, defiantly, even farther up against the wall and stared brazenly right back at him. Her heart was pounding and she couldn't trust herself to speak. She needed the wall to brace herself, in case her legs gave way. She looked at his outline against the brightness of the day, in the cool, quiet sanctuary of the barn, and realized she'd never wanted anything or anyone more in her life, and to hell with everything else: Kate, Marek, the consequences, what might happen next.