The Secret of Happy Ever After (51 page)

If Anna had started feeling more like a mother to Becca, the illusion was instantly dispelled as soon as Sarah arrived. She was relegated to the background as rows and tears spilled out all over. The only spells of calmness came from Becca, who insisted, with a face like a Renaissance Madonna, that she was having her baby, that she refused to let it down. Her quiet confidence only made the whole thing more heartbreaking.

Anna ran around making sandwiches and keeping Lily and Chloe out of things while Sarah, Phil and Becca argued and wept, and then argued and wept with Owen and Michelle there too. Phil put up some token threats to smack some sense into Owen, but Becca refused to let him do anything of the sort, and his anger subsided back into bewilderment as the two beautiful young people sat holding hands in the kitchen, more composed than anyone.

Anna knew she should be standing up and marking her place in all this, since her life was about to be hijacked, but she couldn’t find the right words to express herself. She was overwhelmed by the force of Sarah’s pregnant presence, her taut bump only emphasising her position in the house: the mother. Becca’s mother, the one person qualified to help her through a pregnancy.

Anna felt disorientated in her own world. The only place she felt completely at home and secure was the bookshop, where she could lose herself, however temporarily, in worlds where there were happy endings, and rewards for self-sacrifice.

‘Still here?’ said Michelle, when she came to do the last hour in the shop. The light had started to fade into dusk outside and the table lamps in the shop were giving the place a cosy autumnal feel.

Anna moved a pile of Roald Dahl stories off the front desk and hoped Michelle hadn’t been watching her reading
James and the Giant Peach
through the window. Even the gulls on the cover were comforting now. The twenty minutes she’d just spent listening to Bach and the crackle of the log fire in the back room, imagining herself in the cosy centre of a giant fruit had been the highlight of her day, even though the shop had been deathly quiet.

At least the Peach got to New York, she kept telling herself. There’s always an end. Even if the two evil women were childless aunts who looked after poor James. Childless wizened aunts were leaping out at her a lot at the moment.

‘Go home if you want,’ Michelle went on. ‘I’ve got some things I need to do here. Kelsey’s covering next door. She needs the overtime.’

‘No, it’s OK, I can stay until closing today,’ she said. ‘Sarah’s taken the girls shopping, then out to a film. Thought I’d give them some time together.’

‘Really?’ Michelle’s eyebrow hoiked up. ‘That’s nice of you. Don’t you want to grab some time with Phil?’

‘And do what? Go over all the reasons Becca’s making a huge mistake by keeping the baby? No thanks.’

‘He’ll come round. When he sees it.’

‘I don’t know about that,’ said Anna. ‘Once he’s made his mind up he tends to stick to it.’

Michelle started refolding the blankets on the biggest display table. ‘How long’s Sarah staying? When’s she due?’

‘She’s due at the end of November. She’s enormous. I think that’s been more of a wake-up call for Becca than when we went to the clinic for her first check-up.’

One of the reasons Anna didn’t want to go home was that she couldn’t bear looking at Sarah’s enormous bump. She stroked it constantly, smoothing out her clinging maternity tops, talking to it, insisting on getting the girls to talk to their ‘new baby friend’. She was glad for their sakes that they were getting used to the idea of a new sibling – Lily, in particular, seemed to be fascinated, and had decided Mrs Piggle was also up the duff, father TBA – but that felt like just another thing Anna had to smile her way through, and the strain was getting unbearable.

‘Poor you,’ said Michelle, seeing her face.

‘It’s like having the Malory Towers Mummies in my own kitchen, but at least in here, I don’t have to join in and pretend I’m fine about it,’ Anna said. Michelle was the only person she could tell. ‘Sarah’s being really cooey about
Becca’s
bump, and how she’s going to send her weapons-grade cocoa butter for her stretch marks. All they talk about is birth plans, and how Chloe and Lily can be involved so they don’t feel left out. It’s all positive, which is great, but Phil’s retreated to his shed and I just . . .’ She bit her lip. ‘I just make the meals and nod a lot.’

‘And you organise Becca’s life for her,’ Michelle pointed out. ‘You do all the boring admin so she can
be
a barefoot student mummy.’

Anna had been helping Becca work through the system for deferring her place and applying for childcare at her college, trying to keep her focused and optimistic about the future when she panicked about everything heading her way. Anna didn’t let it show, but stacking up facts was equally reassuring for her, a handrail along a mountain road she daren’t look down from.

‘Yes, well, wasn’t it you who told me about the healing power of a good to-do list?’ Anna managed a grin, and Michelle smiled back sadly.

‘She’s flying back tomorrow,’ Anna went on. ‘She’s only allowed to fly for another forty-eight hours on her doctor’s note, so she was cutting it fine to begin with.’

‘I’ll bring in cakes. You’ve earned them.’

They didn’t have many nice moments like this any more, thought Anna. They were both worried about things they didn’t want to share: her broodiness, which she knew made Michelle impatient, and Michelle’s divorce, which she hadn’t mentioned again. She hadn’t told Michelle about the scan dates or the midwife Becca had met, feeling those details should come via Owen, but she also got the sense that Michelle wasn’t telling her everything about the shop either. She still hadn’t got back to her about the orders for their big Christmas promotions, and the bookshop website hadn’t been updated for several weeks, even though Anna was getting regular orders through it for the more specialist second-hand stock.

It had been easier when they used to talk about coffee and scarves and
The Apprentice
and Phil’s shed and Anna’s bookshop regulars and Pongo. There was no time for that now.

‘I miss our chats,’ she said suddenly, reaching out for Michelle’s hand. ‘So does Pongo. Lily says that he tells her Juliet doesn’t walk him as well as you do.’

‘Does he?’ Michelle looked pleased. ‘Well, maybe I could take him out for a run one weekend.’ She glanced down to Tavish’s box, where he lay curled up, his eyes invisible in the coal-black fur. ‘It’s not like this one demands much athletic input. He’s barely walked around my garden for the past few weeks. Even Rory’s noticed, and all he does upstairs is sleep anyway.’

‘He’s been really quiet all day,’ said Anna. ‘Really quiet.’

‘Ill quiet?’

‘No, just . . . He reminds me of some of the old folk up at Butterfields. He’s just lying there waiting for something.’ Anna felt a lump in her throat as Tavish raised his head slightly, then slumped back in his box.

‘Mr Quentin noticed when I took him up there the other day,’ she added. ‘He just sat on his lap, very quiet. Do you think he’s on his way out?’

‘I don’t know.’ Michelle bent down and stroked Tavish’s head. Tavish bore it with dignity. ‘I took him up to the vet’s, and George said he was just getting on a bit, couldn’t find anything wrong. But when a dog won’t eat hand-poached chicken shredded on a bed of steamed rice, then something’s up.’

‘Michelle! You fed him that?’ Anna was amused, despite her sadness. ‘Does Rory know you’re making gourmet dog meals?’

‘No. And don’t tell him,’ said Michelle. ‘I get enough lectures from him about how to look after a dog, as if I’d never had one.’

‘I didn’t know you did.’

Michelle looked a bit shifty. ‘Harvey and I had a spaniel. Called Flash.’

‘You never said!’ These days there seemed to be more and more about Michelle that she didn’t know. These bits of information kept drifting out like stray feathers from a cushion.

‘I felt bad about leaving him behind. I missed him for ages. I still do.’

‘That’s not surprising,’ said Anna. ‘Sometimes dogs love you more than people. They’re easier to love, too.’

Michelle seemed on the verge of saying something else, then picked distractedly at a roll of pink satin ribbon, left over from a recent book bouquet. ‘Look, I’m sorry if I haven’t been a great friend lately. You know you can always come over for a coffee if things get unbearable. We don’t have to talk about babies, or work, or anything. We can talk about books if you want.’

‘Oh,’ said Anna. ‘Can we really talk about books? Did you finish
Riders
?’

‘I did, yes.’

‘And did you enjoy it?’ Anna probed, determined to get Michelle to confess to liking a book. ‘Don’t deny it. I defy anyone not to love Jilly.’

‘It . . . brought back a lot of memories,’ said Michelle.

‘Brilliant! Then I’ll order you some more. In fact, why don’t I order in a whole load of Jilly Cooper novels and we can have an Orgasmic October promotion?’ Anna’s face lit up at the thought of her next display. ‘Or . . . Naughty November? We could make the window display look really steamy, and have bonkbusters in stacks – “Who needs central heating?” We haven’t got much planned for the autumn. I was going to talk to you about that anyway.’

‘I know, I needed to talk to you too,’ said Michelle, but Anna had waited a while to deliver her autumn pitch and she wanted to get it all out before Michelle talked over her. She’d been planning it in her head during her escape walks with Pongo.

‘If you move those blankets back into Home Sweet Home and free up my best table,’ she went on, ‘we could do an amazing display of pony books! Everyone loves pony books in the autumn. Rachel asked me today if we were going to replenish the Pullein-Thompson section . . .’

Michelle was winding the pink ribbon round her fingers, too tightly.

‘What?’ said Anna. One silver lining of recent events was that she’d lost any fear of bad news. How much worse could it be? ‘Go on.’

‘The books just aren’t making any money. We’ve had this conversation before. I’ve tried to balance it out, but it’s not going to work, not without some drastic reassessment. I want to be honest with you, I don’t think we can carry on like this. I’ve got to make a decision very soon.’

‘A decision? What are you saying?’ Anna’s stomach sank.

‘I’m planning to move some more bedlinen stock in here over the next few weeks.’

‘How much? Where’s it going to go?’ Anna’s eyes darted around the shop, alighting on all the corners and shelves she couldn’t give up – the colourful children’s section, the tatty green Penguins in the vintage crime shelves, the swooning white-gloves-and-cigarettes covers of the 1950s romances someone had given them from a house clearance. The reclaimed Welsh dresser with the coffee machine and cups on it. The rocking horse.

Anna loved all of it. That was the whole point – the bookshop had finally gone back to being the warm, alive place it needed to be, and she felt like flinging her arms around it all. It was the heart of everything she believed in – the happy ever afters and the broken children brought back to life with love. Everything she’d pinned her hopes on. If this went, how was she supposed to keep believing in her own dreams for a family, despite it all?

‘I can’t believe you want to change this,’ she burst out. ‘We’ve got it perfect. Everyone
loves
this shop. You know how many regulars we have these days.’

Michelle sighed. ‘I know you love it. I love it. But business isn’t about making something for yourself, that’s why Cyril went bust. It’s about making something for people to
buy
.’

‘That’s rich, coming from someone whose shop looks exactly like their own house!’

‘And this isn’t
your
fantasy bookshop?’ retorted Michelle. ‘Look, you’ve made the ultimate palace of books, just like I made the ultimate sitting room next door, but you’ve got to face up to reality, Anna – this isn’t some lovely Magic Bookshop. There isn’t a big trunk of doubloons in the cellar. There aren’t even any convenient priceless first editions! This is business.’

‘Why are you being so hard about it all of a sudden?’ Anna demanded, shocked at the way Michelle was talking about the dream they’d created together. ‘Why now?’

Michelle sighed, as if it were too obvious and annoying to explain; that wound Anna up even more. ‘Because there are lead times and orders to place now for Christmas. This is no reflection on what you’ve done. You’ve sold more books in the last three months than Cyril did in a year. But it’s not enough. It’s just the way the bookselling business is going. Bigger and better shops than this have closed. This is my livelihood, and I need to make it work. You’ve got Phil and the girls. They need your energy right now. Don’t get distracted by something you can’t fight.’

‘And
you’re
not using this as a distraction from
your
problems?’ Anna snapped.

‘No! No, I’m not. Are you? Because you’d be better off persuading Phil to have a baby than trying to make this place turn a profit on books alone. Seriously.’

Anna stared over the counter at her friend, and realised that up until now, she’d never seen the Steamroller Michelle that Gillian and Kelsey were so scared of. This Michelle had a way of speaking that made any sort of resistance seem futile, as if the decisions were already being rolled out around them as they were talking. If blankets had materialised on the shelves behind her, she wouldn’t have been surprised.