‘Do you know the family well?’ she eventually asks.
She might be wavering. I need to help her stay firm. Love only leads to heartbreak. ‘Yes, I do, and I knew Kate well. The kids are a handful, and he’s?—’
She stops me. ‘I have heard enough. I’m going to stay single.’
Alice says goodbye after handing me the plastic bag. I watch her walk away and I tell myself that making sure she didn’t waver was the right thing to do.
‘Excuse me,’ says a female voice. The voice belongs to an older woman with wavy brown hair. Behind her are her three teenage children, all busy on their phones.
‘Do you have any books by the Spanish author, Miguel Diaz?’
‘I can have a look.’
The woman smiles. ‘I’m looking for a romance book he’s written where the Spanish male character tracks down his British female pen pal from when they were kids, and when they meet up, he realises she’s the love of his life.’
‘Oh, I see.’ I type his name into the laptop to see whether his books are in stock.
‘I can’t find his name on our database.’
Her face falls. ‘That’s a shame. Could you order one?’
I can see the book is on one of our distributor sites. ‘Yes, I could do that.’
She smiles, and I notice her cheeks are reddening. ‘Miguel and I used to be pen pals when we were younger. We were more than pen pals at one point.’
‘Mum,’ exclaims one of the teenage boys, ‘You promised us you wouldn’t be cringe.’
She turns to her son. ‘I am not being cringe.’ All three children look up from their screens and raise their eyebrows at her.
‘What’s all this talk about being cringe?’ jokes Oliver, coming to stand near the counter.
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.
