The woman blushes. ‘My Spanish pen pal has written a romance book about me, and I want to read it. I have another friend who is also Spanish, and she knows all about Miguel and me. Well, she read this book and has been insisting I get a copy. Miguel has mentioned in the acknowledgements that he still thinks about the girl from the UK with the big hair and blue eyes, who used to sing Spice Girls hits down the phone to him. That was me.’
Her three teenage children groan and look away. With a dreamy sigh, the woman leans on the counter and stares into the distance. ‘One day I will go to Spain to track him down. Miguel and I could be soulmates after twenty-five years apart.’
I let out a silent groan. This is yet another example of rational people making delusional choices when they get carried away by the promise of love. I glance at Oliver, who looks captivated by the woman’s story. ‘I love this.’ He turns to me. ‘We must track down the book. Is Miguel not on social media?’
Her face falls. ‘He’s not on social media.’ She sighs. ‘I do worry that he could be happily married with kids over in Spain and I am wasting my time.’
Oliver shakes his head. ‘You must try, or you will regret it for the rest of your life.’
She nods. ‘I know all about regret. I told Miguel we would only ever be pen pals. That was the biggest mistake of my life. I went on to have three kids with my ex-husband, and throughout my marriage, I always wondered what would have happened if Miguel and I had made it work. Recently, I have been getting little signs. The place where he still lives, Frigiliana, came up on the TV the other night, and I have seen his teenage face in crowds.’
This is madness. I want to touch her and see how this love story with Miguel ends. I could tell her to stop wasting her time, but Oliver is staring at me. Those eyes of his are hypnotic. He leans in closer to me. I can feel his warm breath on my neck. ‘Let’s help her, Nelly,’ he says softly. ‘She can prove to us that true love does exist.’
Words queue up on my tongue. The urge to tell him that true love is a myth is strong, but his intense stare is more powerful. Before I can think about what I am doing, I am taking down her name, Juliet Armstrong, and promising her that I will find Miguel’s book. She’s now emotional, and Oliver has offered to hug her. Her teenage children look horrified.
Once they leave the shop, Oliver tells me he has got some errands to do in town. ‘See you later, bed partner.’ My heartbeat accelerates.
Frank, Miranda’s partner, enters the bookshop. He comes to the till.
‘Nelly, where’s Miranda?’
Frank is the antithesis of Miranda. He’s a quiet man who seems to long for a peaceful existence and always wears gloomy attire. Miranda often remarks that her online fashion consultant is eager to transform Frank’s wardrobe.
‘She’s in the romance section.’
He drums his fingers on the counter. ‘I need to speak to her.’ I point in her direction, and he marches off.
I serve a few more customers. ‘Excuse me,’ says a man. ‘Your free Wi-Fi isn’t working.’
For goodness’ sake, what is Miranda paying for? This Wi-Fi is glitchy – like my curse. I ask him to give me two minutes as Miranda looks like she’s having a heated conversation with Frank in the romance section. I run out to the back and switch the Wi-Fi off and on again.
Once it’s back on, I give him a thumbs-up and go back to the till. I’m distracted by loud sobbing. Turning around, I gasp. Miranda is sitting behind the till.
‘Miranda,’ I gasp.
‘It’s Frank,’ she croaks. ‘He’s going to be a father in a few weeks, and before you ask, I am not pregnant.’
26
When I arrive home, Jamie is sitting in the living room with Lenny curled up on his lap. Oliver is in the kitchen.
‘Hello, Nelly.’ Jamie beams. His blond hair is spiky at the front. He’s wearing a navy shirt, jeans and polished brown shoes. I’m sensing he’s off out after as the air is thick with his citrus heavy aftershave. ‘It’s nice to see you in the daytime. Ollie is in the kitchen making something.’
‘A mess knowing Oliver.’ I give Jamie a wry smile, and he chuckles.
‘How was your day?’ Jamie asks as Oliver comes into the living room, carrying two plates of pie and chips.
‘Dramatic.’
Oliver hands me a plate. ‘For you. I made the pie myself.’
Our fingers touch, and I wait for the white light. There’s nothing but silence. This is strange. It was working earlier when Miranda forced me to hug her as she was emotional about Frank.
‘Nelly – are you okay?’
I blink several times and nod before taking my plate to my chair. ‘You didn’t need to cook for me.’
He casts me a sheepish smile and hands Jamie a plate. ‘I do, Nelly. I have been the world’s worst flatmate.’
