Page 47 of Me and Mr. Darcy

I feel a jolt of astonishment. Instead of the pages being full of printed text, they’re all entirely blank.

But how could that be? It’s impossible.

All at once I wobble and a tiny flicker of doubt catches alight inside me. Something very weird is going on here. I was just reading that book on the tourbus. That book was normal before, and yet now—

‘How did you do that?’ I gasp, snatching it from him.

‘I didn’t do anything,’ he says simply.

I’m thumbing through the book now, as if somehow expecting the rest of the story to reappear, but the pages remain resolutely blank. There’s probably a hundred or so of them. White, empty pieces of paper. I stare at them in disbelief, trying to think of a rational explanation. But there isn’t one. How can words from a page simply disappear? Vanish into thin air?

‘Is it some kind of trick?’ I gasp in confusion. I’ve seen my dad make playing cards disappear up his sleeve, but actual text . . . ‘Are you a magician or performance artist – you know, like David Blaine?’

He looks troubled. ‘I’m afraid I am not aware of this Mr Blaine, but I assure you I am Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy. Why will you not believe me?’

‘But then how . . . ?’ I trail off. ‘It just doesn’t make sense,’ I mutter, shaking my head.

‘Miss Albright?’

I’m suddenly aware of a shadow falling over me and I twirl round on the bench to see Miss Steane standing right beside us.

‘Have you heard a word I’ve been saying?’

How long has she been there? I’ve clearly been so transfixed by Mr Darcy that I didn’t hear her coming. I turn back to Mr Darcy, ready to explain—

Except the bench is now empty . . .

‘I was saying we’re due to leave any minute. If you don’t hurry inside immediately you will miss out on the opportunity to visit one of our most important literary sites.’

Where’s he gone? I feel a crushing disappointment. With my heart thumping I run my hand over the space next to me on the bench. It’s still warm from where he was sitting. I couldn’t have imagined him. And yet – I put my hands to my throat – his scarf isn’t there any more.

‘Miss Albright?’

‘Um . . . yeah, coming,’ I say, feeling all disorientated.

‘Well, come along now. Chop chop,’ she cheers, vigorously clapping her tiny leather-gloved hands together. ‘Even though I say it myself, I think you’ll find the stained glass fascinating.’ There’s a pause, and then she peers at me suspiciously. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Er . . . yeah . . . I was feeling a bit light-headed, but I’m fine now,’ I reply, trying to sound casual when I’m anything but. I press my throbbing temples. We didn’t even get the chance to maybe arrange to see each other again. I stand up shakily. That’s if he was even real in the first place.

‘Forgive me if I’m intruding, but I understand you were at the local drinking establishment last night.’

Gosh, what is it with everyone? I’m like the talk of the whole tour.

‘Um . . . yes, I went with Maeve. The two single girlies,’ I say jokingly.

If I’m expecting her to disapprove, I’m wrong. ‘Excellent. Friendship is certainly the finest balm for the pangs of disappointed love,’ she says wisely, then adds confidingly, ‘I would, however, advise staying away from the cider.’

Oh, my God, who told her?

‘Alrighty. Ready?’ she barks, advice over.

‘Um . . . yes . . . absolutely.’

Taking a deep lungful of fresh air, I stick my hands in my pockets, but as I turn to follow Miss Steane she cries, ‘Oh, look,’ and points at something half hidden in the grass underneath the bench.

‘What’s that?’ I ask, feeling a thump of excitement.

‘He must have dropped his scarf,’ she remarks, before continuing her brisk pace towards the cathedral.