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‘I’d love to.’ It comes out in a rush and it’s the truth. But thinking of Marnie, I’m torn. I sigh. ‘It’s just…’
‘Oh?’ He frowns.
‘I think it’s the timing,’ I say more slowly. ‘With Marnie ill, it feels wrong to go out and have a good time. She might need me.’
His eyes are warm. ‘Well, if she does, we can always reschedule.’
‘In that case…’ I smile at him. ‘I’d really love to.’
Everything I said to Birdy is true, that I want to break out of my small world, which makes no sense why I’m holding back. ‘I never used to be like this. It’s just that everything feels so upside down in my head right now.’
‘I do have an idea of how you’re feeling,’ he says quietly. ‘Well, look, in case you ever want to talk, I’ll give you my mobile number.’
‘Thank you.’ As he recites it, I type it into my phone, liking the idea that I can call him.
He glances at the book again. ‘Marnie’s really lucky to have you,’ he says quietly. ‘And I’ll bet you’re not thinking about yourself in all this.’
I swallow. ‘I’m well. I have nothing to worry about.’
‘But you’re worried. How can you not be?’ Our eyes meet for a moment. ‘Your book… Could you order me a copy?’
‘Sure.’ My heart lifts, because it means he’ll be back. ‘It should be here next week. Shall I text you when it gets here – now that I have your mobile number?’
‘Great! Maybe you should order a couple.’ His eyes are warm. ‘I think a lot of people would like to read it.’ He lingers a moment. ‘I’d better leave you to it.’ He gets out a bank card, holding it against the card reader.
Placing his Italian Riviera book in a bag, I pass it to him.
‘Thanks,’ he says. ‘You look after yourself.’
My eyes well up again. ‘Thanks – for listening. And for giving me your number.’
‘You’re welcome. Call any time.’ He pauses. ‘There are times all of us need somebody.’
No sooner has Jack left than Ernest comes in. As he mops his forehead with a large handkerchief, his eyes search the shop as he comes over.
‘Haven’t seen my son, have you?’ He seems lost. ‘He has a book for me.’
‘I don’t think so.’ I take in his red face, the shirt that’s sticking to him, worried that he’s dehydrated. ‘Would you like a glass of water?’
He looks grateful. ‘That would be very nice.’
Filling a glass, I take it over to him, watching as he drinks. ‘What’s his name?’
‘Er…’ His face goes blank for a moment, before it comes to him. ‘David. He’s always been good with books, David. He’s read all of mine.’ Fumbling in his pocket and pulling out a photo, his eyes gleam with hope as he passes it to me. ‘This is him.’
The photo is dog-eared, of a young man with eyes like Ernest’s, smiling at the camera. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ve met him.’
‘Oh, well…’ Ernest sighs. ‘You don’t know until you ask.’
‘Have you tried calling him?’
‘Call who?’ The vacant look on his face is setting off alarm bells. For as long as I’ve known him, Ernest has been vague, but I’m starting to wonder if it’s more than that.
‘David,’ I say gently. ‘Your son.’
‘David? Know him, do you?’ He looks at me hopefully.
‘Why don’t you call him?’ I suggest again. ‘If you leave him a message, he can call you back.’
