I look back to see if he’s still following me and he’s stood staring at Alice. After an impatient sigh from me, he catches up. ‘Who was that, Nelly?’
‘That’s Alice.’
He seems distracted when I point to the education section.
‘Is she new? I haven’t seen her around.’
‘She’s just moved here.’
I remember the bag behind the counter. I could tell him that someone has found the balloon and miss out the part about Amber’s message.
He spots the maths books and bends down to get a closer look.
Once he picks one – which makes the bold claim that it can get any child interested in maths – we walk back to the counter. I glance back at Ben, who’s still surveying the bookshop.
‘You okay there?’
‘I’m looking for Alice. Is she still here?’
Inwardly, I groan. The last thing this poor man needs is romance. ‘She’s probably got somewhere else better to go.’
He pays for the book, and before I get a chance to give him the bag with the balloon inside, he has hurried away.
I think about Alice and what I said about Kate’s kids. Was it wrong of me to say they were a handful? I shake off a twinge of guilt as I recall both Alice and Ben’s faces earlier when they saw each other for the first time. They couldn’t stop looking at each other. There was a definite spark of attraction. I recall what Oliver said about giving love a chance. No, I can’t do it.
Henry enters the shop at the same time Miranda appears to relieve me for my lunch break. ‘Good timing,’ he beams. ‘How about that coffee now?’
Half of me wants to make an excuse but the other half of me wants to have a coffee with an old friend. ‘Let me grab my bag.’
As we leave the book shop, I think about my theory, and I make sure my wrist brushes Henry’s hand. The vision featuring him watching the person wearing the cap on the hard shoulder of a motorway remains unchanged. I can add Henry’s name to my list.
We sit by the window in the café, which is off the main high street. He sits opposite me, and I find myself comparing him to Oliver. Henry’s mass of unruly black curls is striking to look at, but they don’t have the same pull as Oliver’s wavy brown hair. Oh, God, what is happening to me? I am becoming obsessed with Oliver James. This must stop. Our coffees arrive, and I notice Henry is staring at me. His blue eyes are warm and friendly, but they don’t hold the same intensity as Oliver’s dark eyes.
Henry lives in West London but works away a lot, and his job involves data and things I will never understand. His mum lives nearby in London, and what makes me smile is that he’s still close to his nan. He always used to talk about his nan when we were at the swimming club. Back then, she had a motorbike and many tattoos, which Henry thought was cool. He asks me about life in the bookshop. I talk about Miranda and what it’s like to work for her. He chuckles often. ‘You haven’t lost your sense of humour, Nelly. Miranda sounds like an interesting person. Can I ask what made you change your name?’
My chest tightens and I take a breath. Henry listens intently as I tell him about how my parents died and how I went to live with Aunt Polly, how Mum and Dad called me Penelope and how I found life easier being called Nelly after they died. For a moment, he doesn’t speak or blink; he just stares at me. ‘Nelly, I’m so sorry,’ he says, softly. ‘That must have been so hard for you.’
‘My aunt was amazing. She was my rock.’ I sense I need to lighten the tone as Henry looks like he’s on the verge of tears. ‘She also made me throw away my little gloves.’
He smiles. ‘I liked your white gloves. You should have said you had a calling to be a mime artist.’
We both giggle. The conversation lightens when Henry talks about his memories of the swimming club. We laugh at our younger selves and how we thought we were amazing at crawl.
‘You were much better than me at crawl,’ says Henry, before sipping his coffee. ‘I remember wondering whether you were half girl, half fish.’
I smile and think back to how good it feels to be swimming again.
‘Do you remember when you beat that girl in a race – the one who we hated?’ he asks. ‘She was in our group and had short black hair. Was she called Suzie? She teased you about your gloves in the café afterwards?’
The memory of Suzie making everyone laugh at my gloves makes me feel uncomfortable.
‘Why did your mum force you to wear them?’
I fidget in my chair. ‘A skin condition on my hands.’ I check my phone and realise I need to get back to the bookshop. Henry nods as I get to my feet.
‘I’m sorry about what happened to your parents. I will tell my mum, and I know she will be upset. She and your mum had a terrible argument which I know she now regrets.’
I recall him saying this when he first came into the shop, but I was too mixed up with everything to notice. ‘What was the argument about?’
