Happier Than She's Ever Been... (2 page)

At a young age, to try to do something special, she'd started to write. And ever since May had finished her first story and her teacher displayed it on the wall, she'd dreamed of getting a real novel published: one that would lead to great acclaim, fame and fortune. Then her father would one day see it in a bookshop window. He'd buy it, adore it, read all the reviews; he'd see how everyone else loved her. And he'd realise what an awful mistake he'd made, what a horror he'd been; then he'd drop everything and dedicate his days to finding her again.

Of course now that she'd self-published her book, and it was selling only in San Francisco and hadn't had a single review, good or bad, all those hopes about her father seemed very unlikely. But luckily she didn't feel the pain of his leaving as sharply any more. It had used to feel like a red-hot poker, branding lovelessness across her heart. And when Jake left her the sense of lovelessness scarred May deeper still. However, now with the certainty of Ben's love and, more importantly, her own, her father's absence had become an occasional cold breath that blew across her face.

Today May sat at her desk, legs crossed on her red leather chair. She chewed the end of her pen absently and gazed out of the window. Just then, a big fluffy ball of fur tumbled onto the desk, having jumped rather haphazardly from the top of a nearby bookshelf. It was Doughnut, her cat.

‘Hey, my gorgeous ball of nuttiness.' May smiled, running her fingers through his long grey-and-white fur. Doughnut purred loudly and pressed his head into the palm of her hand. She scratched his ears and he began drooling. May laughed.

She'd been back to England a few months earlier to renew her visa again, visit her wonderful cousin, Faith, and finally collect Doughnut, who she'd left in Faith's safekeeping. She'd also visited her mother's grave, placing a fresh rosewater and white chocolate cake by the headstone, as was her tradition, and smiling to see her again. May hadn't stayed in England long, and she hadn't been very sad to leave. Although she missed Faith, being an insular, introverted loner during her life in England, May hadn't made any other friends – with the exception of her ex-boyfriend Jake. And, given the heart-shattering disaster that had been, she hoped never to see
him
again. Nevertheless it was still a shock, given how scared she'd been to come to America, to realise how much like home this new country now felt.

Of all the places she'd been in America, and admittedly it wasn't many, San Francisco was the one she'd immediately fallen in love with. The place she'd known was hers. And so it was. A reward, a gift, after all those painful, lonely years of struggling so hard to become the woman she'd always wanted to be, San Francisco was her homecoming.

May stroked Doughnut, gazed out of the window and realised that no words were coming to her today. She would have to wait. In the past, when she had striven to achieve something, to justify her place in the world and prove herself worthy of love, May had found waiting for results absolutely agonising. But now she didn't mind at all.

‘Come on, you big beautiful ball of fluff.' May picked up the cat and carried him, floppy and content, down the short spiral staircase. ‘I know it's not Sunday, but I think it's a good time for blueberry scones, don't you?' Doughnut purred.

May loved Ben's kitchen. She loved the wooden doors of the cabinets, each painted a different colour: egg-yolk yellow, sea blue, blood red, leaf green. She loved the gas cooker and the cast-iron saucepans, the old oak chopping boards, the fifties-style heavy ceramic cream mixing bowls with blue trim. And she loved baking in it.

A few times a week, in addition to her own
Men, Money and Chocolate
evenings, May resurrected The Cocoa Café in that kitchen and created treats for Ben's bookshop events: talks by his favourite authors, or random readings of his favourite books. At the first one that May had attended, there were thirty kids, all under the age of ten. They'd been running around the bookshop, squealing up and down the aisles, terrifying May until she scurried into the Magical Realism section and hid inside a signed first edition of
Like Water for Chocolate.
But when Ben began reading from
Alice Through the Looking Glass
the children all flopped onto the floor and gazed up at him, rapt and immobile until, an hour later, he closed the book, promising to return with them to Wonderland next week. May had been enthralled along with them. Ben was the most captivating reader she'd ever heard and, watching how much he loved the story and how he cared about those children, May realised she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him.

This evening marked his monthly gathering of sci-fi geeks. They had proclaimed this the year of Neil Gaiman and were steadily working their way through each of his fantasy novels. May wasn't a fan of science fiction, so she left them to it, but had promised Ben that tonight she'd provide them all with sugary sustenance to see them through the opening chapters of
Stardust
. So she set to work.

An hour later, just before lunchtime, May descended the main spiral staircase to Ben's bookshop. Before his grandfather had converted it, the building had been a fire station and the staircase had replaced the emergency pole. Doughnut padded down the steps and followed May to Ben's desk, where he was hidden behind several boxes of second-hand books. He looked up as May approached.

‘Hey, beautiful.'

‘Hey, sexy, need any help?'

‘That'd be great.' Ben smiled. ‘Can you start early?'

‘Sure.' May nodded. Every afternoon she worked in the bookshop so Ben could visit buyers, do his accounts and run various errands.

He stopped unpacking books and held her gaze. ‘Still no words?'

May shook her head but smiled at him, happy that he knew her so well and cared so much.

‘They'll come back,' Ben said. ‘Don't worry.'

‘I know they will,' May said, nodding. ‘I just miss them a little, that's all.'

Ben stepped round the desk and pulled his girlfriend into a hug. She pressed her face against his chest, breathing him in. Doughnut wound round their legs, squeezing figures-of-eight between them.

May looked up at Ben. ‘I've made four batches of blueberry scones.'

‘That's wonderful,' he said, grinning. ‘The geeks will really appreciate them.'

‘Off you go then,' May said. ‘Go and do whatever it is you must do. I'll take care of everything here.'

‘Thank you.' Ben kissed her, grabbed a box off the desk and almost tripped over Doughnut as he hurried down an aisle of books towards the door.

That evening May leant against a bookshelf, watching Ben weaving between his sci-fi geeks, a plate of her blueberry scones in his hand. He was smiling at everyone, touching the shy people's shoulders to put them at ease, looking them in the eye, holding their gaze, listening so they felt like the only person in the room. How was it possible to love another human being this much? May sighed happily. Instantly a familiar fear rose up inside her: that it wouldn't last, that it'd all be taken away again, that she'd lose everything, even herself. This was the only thing that still troubled her, this fear. It caught her off guard, usually just after her happiest moments, and she didn't know what to do with it. She didn't want to talk about it, in case that only made it worse, nor did she want to think too much or over-analyse it. So instead she suppressed it, and picked up another plate of scones.

D
REAMS

Two weeks later May awoke in the middle of the night, her heart beating so fast she could hardly breathe. She glanced over at Ben sleeping next to her softly emitting little snores, put her hand on his bare shoulder and held it there. The touch steadied her, anchoring her in reality: Ben beside her and Doughnut snuggled in the folds of bright blue blankets, a big fluffy ball in a sea of sheets.

Gradually, as the minutes ticked by, May's breathing steadied and she sank back into her pillows with a sigh. She stared up at the patches of moonlight shimmering across the ceiling, trying to remember her nightmare. May glanced at the alarm clock – three thirty-three a.m. – and smiled slightly. Thirty-three: her lucky number, her birth number. Perhaps that was a good sign. Everything was fine. It was just a bad dream, nothing more. She was safe. And happy. And fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. May tucked her hands under the covers as Ben rolled over onto his stomach. She pressed her right palm against his bare back, closed her eyes and refused to admit she was slightly too scared to go back to sleep.

The next afternoon May reshelved the Science Fiction & Fantasy section. It was a quiet day. By teatime she'd sold a total of three books on Astrology and one Harry Potter book that Ben kept in the section on Witchcraft for Kids: Fiction. As May worked, slotting the books into alphabetical order, she started to remember last night. Single words and snapshot images floated into her mind, slowly settling into her consciousness like snowfall.

Fantasy. A woman's smile. Fairy tales. A string of pearls. Smiling eyes. Wrinkled skin. True love. Safety. Sitting on her daddy's lap. Snuggled in Ben's arms. Joy. Coming home.