Page 101 of Bea's Book Wagon
‘What?’
‘There’s work to do, that’s all,’ he shrugged noncommittally. ‘Best not to think about that now,’ he said, trying to reassure her.
‘You sound like Mum,’ said Bea, slumping back into the pillows. ‘Trouble is, I can’t think of anything else.’
‘No, I don’t suppose you can.’
‘Did Mum tell you? About the insurance? The other driver?’
‘Yep. That whole family has a lot to answer for, always causing trouble. If I come face to face with Trevor…’ he trailed off, his jaw clenched shut.
‘Let the police deal with him. I’m more concerned with how I’m going to get the wagon fixed, Nate,’ she whispered, her voice catching.
‘Hey,’ said Nathan, jumping up and cradling her in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder. ‘It’ll be okay. We’ll sort it. It’ll all be okay, Bea.’
‘Promise?’ she asked, as he wiped a tear from her cheek.
‘Promise,’ he nodded. ‘It’s going to be fine.’
‘Sorry,’ she sniffed, ‘I’m a mess.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ he said, passing her a tissue from his pocket. ‘You’ve been through a lot in the last twenty-four hours, it’s okay not to be okay right now, you know.’
‘All right,’ she said, blowing her nose hard. ‘Thanks, Nate.’
‘Listen, I’ve brought something that might cheer you up…’ he said, picking up a package from the floor where he’d left it. ‘I know it’s not your birthday until next week but—’
‘You’ve brought me a present?’ asked Bea.
‘I have. I thought it might keep you occupied,’ he said, passing her a book-shaped package, carefully wrapped in silver paper.
Bea tore open the wrapping paper and gasped at the antique copy of Northanger Abbey inside. The jacket was bound in red leather, the pages edged in gold. Bea carefully flipped open the front cover and saw that it was an 1898 illustrated edition, with beautiful pencil drawings.
‘Nate,’ she said, breathlessly. ‘This is…’ she couldn’t find the words to express how she felt.
‘Is it okay?’ he asked, nervously. ‘I know you love Austen and I thought… You don’t have it already, do you?’
‘A collector’s edition of one of my favourite novels of all time?’ she laughed. ‘No, I absolutely don’t,’ she said. ‘I love it, Nate, thank you.’
‘There is nothing that I would not do for those who are really my friends,’ he said, quietly.
‘You remembered?’ Bea murmured. She had quoted Isabelle Thorpe’s words constantly in sixth form.
‘As if I’d forget,’ he murmured.
‘It’s perfect, you’re perfect. Thank you.’
They looked at each other, their eyes locking. Bea could feel her heart rate increasing, her pulse thrumming. Did she really mean that? Was Nate perfect for her?
She swallowed hard. She couldn’t think right now. All she could do was focus on his face, those green eyes, his dark hair—
‘Lochlan!’ said Bea, her eyes wide with shock as she saw him out of the corner of her eye. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be in London?’
‘Hey, gorgeous,’ said Lochlan. He was carrying a huge bunch of flowers. ‘Jess called last night and told me what happened, so I drove straight back this morning.’ He cast a nod of acknowledgement towards Nathan. ‘Bloody hell! Your face,’ he said, examining her stitches. ‘Will it scar?’
‘It looks worse than it is,’ said Bea, placing a hand to her head self-consciously. ‘Nathan’s been great, he was with me last night, at book club. He called the ambulance. If it wasn’t for him, I’d have… well, who knows?’
‘Christ!’ said Lochlan, running a hand through his hair. ‘Thank God you were there, mate,’ he said, reaching across the bed to shake Nathan’s hand.
