Page 63 of Crazy in Love at the Lonely Hearts Bookshop
‘My eyeliner is but a distant memory,’ she groused as she held her phone up, sucked in her cheeks, pouted then shot off ten quick frames, angling her head in a different position in each one.
If there was one thing that Nina knew how to do, it was taking a selfie, though the ramblers were looking at her like she’d suddenly started spewing ectoplasm out of her ears.
Noah was watching her too, with amusement that quickly turned to horror when Nina beckoned him closer. ‘You don’t want me cluttering up your selfies.’
‘’Course I do!’ Nina insisted. She’d dreamed of coming here, well maybe not to a waterfall, across open moorland in damp, cold weather, but of coming to Haworth and Noah was the person who’d made it happen. And they’d been on two dates or non-dates, hung out an awful lot and they hadn’t even taken a selfie together. ‘Get your arse over here!’
Noah was taller and with longer arms so he held up his phone and patiently (though there did seem to be some teeth grinding) listened to Nina’s instructions to ‘move your hand a fraction to the left, no, too far, back, back, back!’ and suffered her deleting most of the photos as they didn’t come up to the high standards she expected from her selfies.
‘Much as I hate to rush you, we’re due at Haworth Parsonage at four and it’s quarter to three now,’ he said at last. ‘We really should turn back.’
‘Oh, you’ll be wanting to go at a brisk pace,’ a lady rambler swathed in a purple cagoule told them. ‘Forecast is for rain.’
‘Isn’t it already raining?’ Nina ventured.
‘Pffttt! You call this rain? It’s barely even spitting,’ the woman said with a derisory snort, though actually the mizzle was far more like a very determined drizzle now. ‘Come on, you can walk back with us and I’ll make sure you don’t start to dawdle.’
‘So kind,’ Noah murmured, giving Nina a little warning nudge when she giggled a little hysterically at the thought of having to yomp back the way they came with Mrs Purple Cagoule yelling at them if they dared to lollygag.
Maureen, as Mrs Purple Cagoule had been christened, ‘though you can call me Mo,’ was a small, sprightly woman of very strong opinions. ‘I don’t think much of the soles on your boots,’ she said, eyeing Nina’s motorcycle boots with distaste. ‘And as for that coat. Well, you’ll catch your death,’ she added.
‘Here’s hoping,’ Nina muttered because the brisk pace that Maureen had promised felt like a very close cousin to jogging and Maureen’s hectoring tone was very similar to her mother’s. In fact, it was a pity that the FitBit that Alison had bought her for Christmas last year (her mother excelled in the buying of passive-aggressive gifts) was languishing in a drawer, because Nina was sure that she’d smashed ten thousand steps today and they weren’t even halfway back to Haworth.
Noah, who’d been walking on ahead with the other ramblers, stopped to wait for Nina. ‘How you doing?’ he asked.
‘I’ve decided that it’s best that you leave me here on the moors,’ Nina panted. ‘It’s too late for me and I’ll only slow you down but you can still make it back to civilisation. Christ, I’m unfit.’
‘You’re doing fine,’ Noah said encouragingly even though Nina was doing the very opposite of fine. Even though she was cold and yes, her sodding coat was sodden through, she was also hot and sweaty from the enforced exercise. ‘We haven’t got that far to go.’
‘Oh, it’s at least another mile,’ Mo said cheerfully as if she was actually enjoying this. Yes, she must definitely share DNA with Alison O’Kelly.
‘But just think, it won’t be long before you’re standing in Haworth Parsonage,’ Noah reminded her. ‘Where Emily and her sisters and that wastrel brother of theirs, what’s his name again, lived.’
‘Branwell,’ Nina said, although she wanted to use what breath she had left for walking not talking. ‘He was a wrong ’un if ever there was one. Ran up huge debts gambling and drinking – it was one of the reasons why the sisters turned to writing. Branwell ploughed through what little money they had.’
‘Are these relatives of yours?’ Mo asked with a little gleam in her eye as if she suspected that Nina came from a whole family of wrong ’uns.
‘No, we’re talking about the Brontës,’ Noah said politely. ‘It’s why we came to Haworth. Nina lovesWuthering Heights.’
If Noah could make an effort then so could Nina. ‘It’s my favourite book,’ she explained. ‘And I’ve always wanted to come here to see where Emily Brontë lived. Have you read it?’
‘I don’t have time to read,’ Mo said, a censorious expression on her weather-beaten face.
Usually those six smug words were a red rag to a bull but now Nina merely grunted as they were retracing their steps over the site of the old quarry, the slabs slick and wet, and she didn’t want to go arse over tit.
‘Careful.’ Noah took her arm without commenting on the non-grippiness of her boots. ‘Broken bones didn’t feature too highly in my plans for the day.’
‘I’m glad to hear that,’ Nina panted then decided she needed all of her energy for walking and not talking because the ramblers, despite the fact that they were all much, much older than her, were still cracking on at a punishing pace.
But the journey was much easier with Noah to lean on and soon the church spire came into view and not long after that, they were passing through the kissing gate again and saying goodbye to their companions.
‘Mark my words, you’ll be coughing and sneezing before the day’s out,’ was mighty Mo’s parting shot.
Nina waved her off, though her instinct was to flip her off instead.
‘I’m fine,’ she insisted when she saw the concerned look on Noah’s face. ‘Honestly, I’m not about to do an Emily Brontë.’
‘How does one do an Emily Brontë?’ Noah asked as they headed back to where he’d parked the car.
