‘Ah!’ William’s voice shook as he pulled a photograph from the envelope.
Harri caught sight of the image, faded with age, as William examined it closely. Two men, both in rolled white shirt sleeves, open collars and shabby trousers. One, unmistakably a young shaggy-haired Sabine, stood with his arms folded and legs apart like a school sports team photo, and seated nearby, on what Harri recognised as the steps of Clove Lore Castle on a summer’s day, was a thin, pale fellow in a Panama hat, a pipe in his mouth, slouched, a book open across his lap. Around him on the steps were piled numerous books, most of them open as though the men were reading all of them at once.
The mood in the Borrow-A-Bookshop fell as dark as the wintry afternoon outside now that the sun was setting.
With some difficulty, William rose to stand, the photograph still in his hand. ‘I’ll retire to the Siren now, if you don’t mind. It’s been a long day after all.’
Jowan signalled for Harri to find the man’s coat and the new woolly hat, scarf and gloves that one of the villagers, Caroline Capstan, the launderess, had knitted for him.
‘Come along, Aldous,’ called Jowan. ‘We’ll walk Mr Sabine down the slope.’
William didn’t thank him. He’d turned distant and sorrowful again, like he had been on the day he first arrived, only now that the medication was keeping his mind sharp, the pain was written on his face.
When Jowan held the door open for him, with Aldous zipped up inside his jacket for warmth, William asked that Harri leave the rest of the box for unpacking another day.
‘Mr Sabine?’ Harri said, before he was gone. ‘I’m not sure if anyone’s actually said it to you yet, but we’re all very sorry for your loss.’
William’s chest heaved but he was determined to maintain his dignity. ‘Thank you. It isn’t so sad. We had each other for a very long time. How many people can say that? Friendship is the most important of all relations.’
He passed down the shop steps and into the darkness, Jowan nodding a farewell, before closing the door, leaving Harri in the empty shop.
When he propped himself up behind the till and opened his book he found once more that he couldn’t get far in his reading as the older men’s advice – he’d been smart enough to figure their storytelling was giving advice about him and Annie – circulated in his brain.
Tell her before the wanting breaks your friendship apart. What if she meetsthe onewhile I’m debating what to do?
Don’t risk spoiling things.Friendship is the most important thing.
He pictured himself as an old man like William. He didn’t know where he’d end up at his age, the future was a blank for him, but he knew he too would live a life measured in books and coffee cups.
Imagine, he told himself now, how incredible things could be if he cherished Annie’s friendship, cherishedher, for all his life. Imagine if he worked hard on staying in touch. He could be her greatest supporter, and she for him. It could be wonderful. Wouldn’t that be just as special, and safer, than risking it all on a love affair that might burn itself out, especially with an ocean between them?
He didn’t absorb one word of his book or taste a note of his coffee that afternoon as these thoughts turned in his mind.
When Annie returned from her day at Austen’s, he had dinner ready for both of them. As they ate, she told him all about the email she’d sent the principal, letting him know for sure she was coming home to the school library after her leave of absence.
She’d let her boss know she was committed fully to participating in the community meetings to find a solution to their problems, and she’d made sure he understood she had no intention of shying away from a fight if the book banning was to escalate.
She was ravenously hungry and dreadfully tired. He’d listened to her, all fire and enthusiasm even though she was yawning her head off, and he topped up her tea and made sure she knew he’d be there supporting her through it all.
They’d read by the fireside after dinner until Annie was nodding off. She’d started on a new novel – an English translation of a story set in a dreamy Korean bookshop – devouring it as hungrily as she’d eaten her food. He’d noticed her yawning as she closed its covers with a satisfied smile and told her to head up to bed.
‘I’m gonna save the last chapters for tomorrow. Don’t want it to end too soon,’ she drawled, her eyes heavy-lidded, her head propped in her hand.
William and Nicholas would be so proud of them, he felt sure of it. Jowan and Minty, on the other hand, might have other opinions, but for tonight at least, it was very easy to ignore them.
Erring on the side of caution and friendship felt like the steady, comforting, kind thing to do for both of them.
That night he went to bed with something in his heart that felt close enough to contentment to allow him to sleep in peace.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Homesickness
The first flush of daffodils was spreading Down-along, lighting up the little gardens that lined the sloping path with a buttery yellow, made brighter still against the slender stems of white snowdrops. The village ravens, crows and rooks were busy repairing their nests and hungrily hunting for food all along the slope.
In the front garden of the Clove Lore Ice Cream Cottage, just a little way downhill from the turning into the Borrow-A-Bookshop, a single flame-red tulip streaked with vivid orange was opening its petals for the first time in the mild morning air.
It was a beautiful, bright, late-winter morning, but Mrs Crocombe wasn’t there to witness it. In fact, no one had laid eyes on the old matchmaker. The ice cream parlour was locked up, its shutters drawn, and the building as quiet as the grave.
