Thirteen
Jemma’s stomach was like a tumble dryer from the minute she awoke until the second her event at Bishop’s Books was over. Her nerves kicked in at five a.m. and by eleven a.m. when Greg called to see if there was anything else she needed, and that she was still happy to go ahead, her voice sounded as if she’d sucked helium from a balloon.
‘Happy is, perhaps, not quite what I’m feeling right now. But don’t worry. I haven’t changed my mind. I’ll be there at six on the dot. I’ve got everything I need at this end, so if you’ve got everything your end, we’re fine. I am looking forward to seeing you again. I was sorry we couldn’t get together last night. Just for a catch up.’
‘All systems are go, here,’ Greg said. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing you too. I’m sorry about last night. As I briefly said in my text, I went to collect Laurence from the hospital at four, but he had a dizzy spell, so I hung around until they’d checked him again. Everything was fine and they said he might’ve just got up too fast, but suggested someone should stay with him, or they would keep him in for another night. There was no way he wasgoing to agree to that, so I spent the night at his place. I did try to call a couple of times, but you were engaged.’
‘Was I? Oh, yes. Clarice, my editor called and we had a long chat. And then Molly called to confirm Wednesday. Sorry about that. How is Laurence today? I hope he’s okay.’
‘No need to apologise. He’s better than he was. He’s got a nurse to look after him for a few weeks. Or a health care professional. Or whatever those people are called who basically take care of patients twenty-four-seven, via private health insurance. Although I think Laurence may be paying for her himself. She’s cooking all his meals and taking care of all his needs.’ Greg laughed. ‘Well, notallhis needs, as he’ll no doubt moan to me later. She arrived at eight and he told me he thought she was really hot and … well … you can probably imagine what he was thinking. But I don’t think she’ll do that. What’s happening on Wednesday?’
‘Wednesday? Oh with Molly. It’s her day off and we’re meeting up in Folkestone. She’s going to show me around and we’re having lunch at some place on The Harbour Arm. She says the views from there are fantastic. Assuming it’s not raining. And yes. I can imagine what Laurence was thinking about his nurse. What is it with men and nurses? Erm. Did you think she was attractive?’
‘Molly? Or the nurse?’
‘Both?’ She shouldn’t be asking but she couldn’t help herself.
‘Molly’s pretty. But she’s not really my type. She wears far too much make up for my liking, and her hair is too perfect. It looked like it was glued into position with not a single strand out of place. Plus, she seemed a bit … sarcastic and brusque on Sunday morning. Or maybe that was just my imagination. The nurse is … the sort of woman most men would find attractive. But again, not really my type. And not all men have a thing for nurses. I don’t.’
Molly’s a hairdresser. Did you know that? Her mum owns a salon in the town.’
‘No I didn’t. But that explains the make-up and the hair. I suppose she has to look good for her clientele. She could take a day off from looking perfect though, couldn’t she? I can’t imagine her walking along the beach on a breezy day.’
‘No. I can’t either. But she did apologise profusely for her cool manner on Sunday. She even gave me a hug. She said she was anxious about something but that she hadn’t meant to take it out on me. Then she suggested going for a drink or lunch on Wednesday. I’m hoping we can be friends, and so is she, I think.’
‘That’s nice. It’s a shame about her taking you to the Harbour Arm. I was hoping to take you there. I was going to put it on that itinerary I said I’d put together.’
‘You can still take me. She says there’s lots going on, and loads of stuff to see and do on The Harbour Arm. Is the itinerary almost complete?’
She wasn’t sure if this was a continuation of their jokey banter on Sunday, but she hoped he had made an itinerary. Or at least, that he wanted to take her to various places. Would he ask her out? Or would they carry on as they were? Somewhere between friendship and flirting. Hopefully, he’d ask her out.
Although she was here to write a book, not to go on dates. She must remember that.
‘Almost,’ he said, his voice giving nothing away other than a trill of joyfulness. ‘We’ll discuss it tonight. Over a drink, if you’re feeling up to it after the event.’
Not quite a date, but a good place to start.
‘I’ll need a drink after that. So … what is your type then? You’ve told me who isn’t. And … if you don’t have a thing for nurses, do you have a thing for anything else?’
He didn’t reply immediately. Perhaps she was asking too many questions.
‘Erm. Fiery red hair, freckles, easy to get on with, and fun to be around. Must love her work.’ He gave a quick cough. ‘And my thing is glasses. I like a woman who wears glasses. Probably because it makes me think they read books. Lots and lots of books. Which is dumb, I know. Lots of people don’t need glasses to read. But that’s just the way my brain works. Do you ever wear glasses? Not that it matters.’
Jemma laughed. ‘I wore glasses from the age of about five until a few years ago. But you wouldn’t have found me attractive. I wore them to correct an astigmatism and I had laser surgery to correct my vision the moment I could afford it. But I’ll happily put on some frames for you. I mean … erm.’
‘You don’t need to put on anything for me, Jemma. I like you just the way you are. Oh, God. Some guy has just fallen off a pair of stilts right in front of my bookshop. I’d better go and see if he’s okay. See you this evening.’
What stilts had to do with the Indie Bookshops Event, Jemma had no clue. Perhaps it was merely a coincidence. Hopefully he would be okay.
She made herself more coffee and tired to do some writing, but her stomach kept churning and eventually she gave in and went for a nap but she slept for longer than she had intended and then she spent the rest of the day trying to catch up. By the time four o’clock came she was stressed, nervous, and nauseous.
A long hot shower soothed her, and she was feeling a little better as she sat at the dressing table in her bedroom. She remembered what Greg had said about Molly’s make up and perfect hair, so instead of putting on a lot of foundation and blusher to hide her freckles and make herself look more like the photo on her book jackets, she kept her make up light, like she had on Sunday. She also left most of the natural waves in her hair and only blow dried the ends.
Greg had booked a taxi for her, which was kind of him, as she was definitely intending to have a drink later.
‘I’ve booked it for five-thirty,’ he’d emailed. ‘In case the traffic’s bad. It’ll bring you to the rear of the shop, so ask the driver to tell you when you’re near and then send me a text and I’ll come and meet you.’
The taxi pulled up outside the rear of Bishop’s Books at five-forty-five, and Greg was standing outside having obviously received Jemma’s text.
