“Yes,” she said. “Yes it is. And I just want some romance in my life. Is that so wrong?”
Surinder shrugged. “There’s plenty of romance around here. Boys outnumber girls five to one. There’s a million guys to choose from. Only you could get yourself hopelessly hooked on one who passes through at midnight and can’t stop. It’s not about Marek. It’s about you.”
Nina felt her face make a defiant expression.
“Ha,” said Surinder. “You like to appear a pushover, but inside you’re as tough as old boots.”
“Everyone’s different from how they look on the outside,” said Nina.
“Not me,” said Surinder, and Nina was forced to concede that she might well be right.
“Listen,” said Surinder. The tone of her voice made Nina lift her head. She knew almost before Surinder said it. “Look. I have to go. They’re really going to fire me this time.”
They were meandering back from the pub, heading for the van. Nina suddenly felt overcome with exhaustion. She stopped suddenly in the road.
“No!” she said. “Do you have to?”
“Uh, all I’ve done since I’ve been here is eat toast and give you a hard time,” pointed out Surinder, not inaccurately. “I have to get back to work. Plus, watching how hard you work makes me feel guilty.”
“It’s been great having you here. What about the Gus?”
Surinder let a smile play about her lips.
“Well,” she said. “It’s nice to know he’s here. But also that I can do it, you know? It’s just nice to attract men I actually like.”
As they crested the hill in the van, the farm came into sight below them, its old stone walls golden in the light.
“I’m really going to miss this place,” said Surinder. “You’re so lucky, you know.”
“Do you think?”
“I do think,” said Surinder. “I think you’ve found what you should be doing, where you should be doing it. And most people don’t get that. They don’t get anything like that.”
“But I’m lonely,” said Nina.
“You’re making friends every day,” said Surinder. “Don’t rely on fantasy guys, okay? Meet real ones. There’s no shortage.”
They watched Lennox striding across the fields not far from where they were passing.
“You could even try getting it on with your hot landlord,” said Surinder.
“He’s not hot!” said Nina.
“Let me see. Six foot two, curly hair, long, lean body of the kind I totally know you like, muscles, blue eyes, jaw like an Action Man . . .” Surinder was counting off on her fingers. “Saves baby animals, strides about in a manly fashion, has a posh barn. No, absolutely nothing hot about that at all.”
“He’s not hot because he’s a dick,” said Nina.
“Well, so’s that boy you fancied at school,” Surinder reminded her.
“One, that was school, and two, he’s in prison.”
“Proves my point.”
Back at the house, Nina watched Surinder packing.
“Are you . . . is Marek giving you a lift down?” she couldn’t help asking eventually.
“Take your nap! And no, because I, for one, know when to leave well enough alone. I’m flying out of Inverness.”
“Invernish,” corrected Nina absentmindedly. A clutch of islanders had been passing through and had bought all her commercial fiction, and she’d picked up their pronunciation. “Do you need a lift?”
There was a honk in the farmyard. It was the Gus. Surinder ran outside and jumped up onto him, wrapping herself around his waist as he kissed her deeply. Nina sighed; she couldn’t help it. That was what she wanted. Just some lovely romance. Someone happy to see her. Why couldn’t it be Marek?
“Don’t go!” the Gus was saying.
“Come down to Birmingham,” Surinder said, throwing her bag in the back of his SUV.
“Oh, I’m not sure. I don’t do well in cities,” said the Gus. “They won’t let me bring my dog.”
“Entire cities?” said Surinder.
“Entire cities. And I can’t walk there. Too many people in the way.”
They kissed again as Nina went over to say good-bye.
“Get her to come back,” said the Gus, his freckles more comically visible than ever after all the sunshine. “Soon! Forever!”
“I can’t get her to do anything,” said Nina, smiling.
“Uh, excuse me, right back at you,” said Surinder, leaning out of the window. She touched Nina on the arm. “This is the place for you. Genuinely. I think you belong here.”
“So I’m never to darken your door again?” said Nina, grinning.
“Oh God, yes, you have to do that. We’re still not quite finished with ALL THOSE BLOODY BOOKS!”
Chapter Twenty-three
Summer vacation time meant masses of children’s books, and big fat summer novels; romances, but also a lot of serious fiction, as people carved out time for themselves to read books they’d been putting off for years. Nina found herself getting through a load of classics.
As she toured the little towns, everyone came to tell her where they were going on vacation, and what they were thinking of reading, and she passed on her recommendations and tips. She was asked so often if she was going to the midsummer festival that she almost considered it. She had also called social services about Ainslee and Ben—feeling quite horribly guilty as she did so—and they had sighed and said they would add them to the list but they were quite backed up so it wouldn’t be straight away. Nina had tried to ask Ainslee about her exams in a roundabout way, and that sullen teenage mask had come clanging down and she hadn’t been back to the van for four days. Nina hated the idea of her losing that too, so she didn’t say anything else, just snuck her as much money as she could spare.
She had other things on her mind, too. More specifically, a little note left in a beautiful carved wooden box on a branch of the old tree that said, simply, “Please come.”
She was torn. She didn’t want to miss her regulars, miss her busy selling days.
On the other hand she wanted to visit her old home to see if she felt different or if it had changed at all; and to see Surinder, obviously—everyone in the village had been asking about her; she’d obviously made quite an impression, and the Gus was quite lovesick with sadness and buying lots of books about lonely mavericks who lived lonely lives solving crimes on the road. Also, Griffin had tipped her off about some stock that was going up for auction in Birmingham, and she finally felt brave enough to do the long-haul journey in the van.