Page 30 of The Bookshop Ladies

‘I have no intention of pretending anything,’ he said and she heard him walk upstairs as calmly as if it was any other evening of the week.

In her heart, maybe she knew he was going to leave her. But when she heard the soft click of the front door, it still came as a shock, like the first crack of an earthquake opening up the ground beneath her feet.

Later she would be ashamed to admit it, but at that moment, some small part of her wanted to run after him. Call him back, beg him to stay, to see sense, to choose her and their life together. She didn’t. Instead, she sat there, in the kitchen that only a year earlier she’d had remodelled. Suddenly she felt as if she was a stranger in this house that had once been their dream home. She knew she didn’t belong here any more.

She pulled out her phone and dialled Robyn. She would go and stay in Ballycove for a few weeks.

Fern managed to get an early train for the following morning. She was first at the gate in Heuston Station, a small bag in her hand. She never took very much luggage to Ballycove. She was back and forth so often that she had as many belongings in Patrick Street as she had in Dublin.

She was doing the right thing in going home to Ballycove, she was certain of it. Her uncle Albie might not be able to fix everything for her and make her feel better as Peggy would have done, but he would wrap her up in love. She couldn’t stay in Dublin. It was too lonely and at the same time too suffocating. She shivered, remembering the previous day and the thoughts racing through her mind as she’d sat looking into that canal. Would she have thrown herself in if it had been deep enough to do the deed? She really couldn’t be sure. She had Robyn, a family, people who loved her. Taking the easy way out was not an option. She just needed time to think, to figure out what she should do next and maybe to make some decisions about her future, if Luc hadn’t made them for her already.

The journey to Ballycove passed in a blur and yet, somehow, as the train pulled into the old station, Fern felt as if there was a comfort in being here. It didn’t change the fact that her life as she knew it was in freefall, but it made some small difference to just be in the place she would always call home.

It was cold here, well, colder than Dublin, but there was nothing new in that. She should have brought a jacket, but really, she did well to remember to bring her purse, never mind actually pack a bag. She had even tucked in a new paintbrush. Not that she was going to paint, how could she? She was much too upset. Still, she found herself reaching into her bag and gently touching it; somehow, it was comforting to know it was there.

She caught sight of herself in the window of the new coffee shop, just a few doors down from the house that had once belonged to her own parents, but now contained Robyn’s bookshop on the ground floor and two floors of living space above. God. She looked terrible. Her hair was standing on end, there were dark circles beneath her eyes, her mouth dragged down at the corners and there were marionette lines beside her once full cheeks. She looked hollowed out, a witch. Thankfully, when she dug into her handbag, she found the key to the side door into the flat over the shop. The least she could do was brush her hair and maybe put a fresh coat of make-up on – it’d need to be industrial strength to fool anyone, but it couldn’t hurt. The last thing Fern wanted was to be a burden to Robyn. Perhaps, she would tell her daughter that she was taking time out to think. No big deal. Maybe she would heal quietly walking the beach in Ballycove and hearing the sea as she fell asleep at night. Hah, she thought, if only. The best thing to do was to call in on her uncle Albie. She craved the familiar feel of the deep sofa and the aroma of geraniums, sweet peas and the too strong tea he still believed could fix just about any problem.

20

‘Oh, Joy, I don’t know where to start…’ Robyn threw her hands up in the air. ‘It’s terrible, it’s Kian…’

‘He stayed last night?’ Joy placed her handbag on the counter. The shop was empty, thank goodness, because poor Robyn looked as if she’d hardly slept and certainly, hadn’t taken the time to find a hairbrush before opening up for the day.

‘Yes and he brought,’ she stopped, took a deep breath. ‘I can hardly say it, a terrible thing, he’s fallen in love with the most awful girl – Imogene Norton.’

‘Imogene Norton?’ Joy tried the name out, but nothing about it sounded familiar. ‘Who on earth is Imogene Norton? Why is she so awful?’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. We were in school together. I mean, what are the chances, that of all the girls he could meet in Dublin, he had to run into the last person I’d want to have anything to do with? She made my life absolute hell.Mean Girlswas invented by girls like Imogene…’ she stopped and Joy wondered if perhaps there was a connection between this Imogene and why Robyn had tucked herself away in this sleepy little village.

‘She sounds like a grade A – well, my husband would have said,chienne…’ That managed to raise a smile from Robyn. Life in France had taught Joy that sometimes it’s better not to finish a sentence.

‘Yes, as you say, a totalchienne.’ Robyn wiped away the last of her tears and her mouth took on a hardened look. ‘And now, she’s here, doing the same thing all over again…’

‘Pardon?’

‘Only this time with Kian. She’s completely turned his head, it’s as if he’s a different person when she’s around and it’s all an act, thispoor me, I’m so delicate I might be blown awaything. I mean, how stupid can a man actually be? Do they really fall for that act? She’s still beautiful of course.’

‘You are beautiful too.’

‘She’s beautiful in a delicate, Bambi-Barbie sort of way and she owns a string of really successful beauty parlours.’

‘Oh, yes, in my experience, they absolutely fall for it, some of them fall for it every single time and others, just the once and then they are cured for life. The worst are the ones who fall for it in middle age and then…’

‘Oh God.’ Robyn slumped down over her tea again. ‘Seriously, the whole time they were here, he was like a lapdog, running to the car to get her magazine, remaking coffee because it was too sweet, too cold, too milky. And she’s intolerant of just about everything…’

‘She’s very skinny?’ It was an old French diet trick, the more you couldn’t eat, the less you had to eat.

‘Like a lollipop, literally, she’s all head and sharp angles.’

‘Women like that never age well…’

‘I don’t bloody care how she ages, as long as she does it far away from me.’ Then the tears started to fall again.

‘Except?’

‘I don’t know how I’ll survive without Kian…’ Robyn’s next shuddering, faltering breath betrayed just how much she had cried and Joy felt a little of her own heart break.

‘Come on now, you don’t need any man to survive. Your mother’s friend, Margot, she would have had quite a bit to say if she heard you were even thinking like that.’

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