Jane Green - Bookends

I love getting to know my local community, because although I’ve lived here for years, I never really knew anyone outside my immediate social circle. I love getting to know the regulars, chatting about books with them, recommending things I think they might like, and then having them come back in a week later to tell me I’m right and they did love it. And I don’t mind in the slightest the fact that I am working late almost every night, and that whatever social life I might have had has flown out the window without a backward glance.

Lucy looks at me with a smile. ‘No social life? What are we, then?’ and she laughs. ‘The problem, my darling Cath,’ she says eventually, ‘is that I love it. I love Bookends and I love the fact that I’m a person again, not just Josh’s wife, or Max’s mother. I love the fact that I’m working with you and that I’m meeting people every day. I’m getting out there, achieving something, and Cath, I had forgotten, completely forgotten, what it was like to have a place in the world.’

‘So how do you think you can resolve it?’ I’m only slightly worried, because I know Lucy does love it, and, even though it’s difficult right now, I know she’ll stick at it and we’ll find a way of making it work. It just might take some time, that’s all.

‘On the rare occasions I’ve managed to catch Josh he’s said these are just teething problems. He says that hopefully we’ll be able to take on more staff soon and just be in the shop for normal opening hours. I hope he’s right, because I’m sure he’s finding it incredibly difficult, me hardly being here.’ Suddenly the light comes back on in her eyes and she flashes her megawatt smile at me. ‘Anyway,’ she continues, ‘that’s enough about my boring old life. I’ve been so wrapped up in myself I haven’t even asked you anything. So what’s all this about you and the lovely James going out next week?’

I called James back. I decided the best way of proceeding would be, rather than apologizing for slamming the door in his face and shoving the flowers back at him, to pretend that everything was fine and nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Obviously, as Lucy pointed out, I was running the risk of him thinking I was completely round the bend, but I’d prefer that to having him know I was furious because I thought he’d gone off with Ingrid.

He sounded guarded at the beginning of the conversation, but I can hardly blame him for that, and within the first two minutes I made him laugh by telling him about the dinner party he was supposed to have gone to, and then everything was fine.

He was astounded that Lucy had forgotten to ask him, which led to further tales of things Lucy has forgotten to do in the past, such as bring her passport to the airport with her on her honeymoon, buy Josh a birthday present for two consecutive years, and take a nightdress to the hospital when Max was born.

James tries to top my stories by telling me about his mother, who had a mental block with recipes and would always leave out a vital ingredient, so they’d sit down at night to Coq au Vin, without the chicken, Duck à l’Orange, without the orange, and Lancashire Hot Pot, without the potatoes.

We’re both laughing on the phone, and I realize that half an hour has flown by without me even thinking about it, and suddenly James asks me out for dinner, and, well, I find myself saying yes, which I suppose means I’ll be going out on a date.

A date! Why do I feel like such a teenager at the very mention of the word? But a date! I have to talk to someone about this, have to share it with someone.

Now, usually Si would have been my first port of call when asking advice, but right now he has done what he always does when he is dumped, which is immediately come round to me to have a good cry and get it all out, and then hibernate for a while to get his strength back. Once upon a time I used to feel shut out when he did that, but I’m used to it now, and I know that the only way to get the old Si back when he’s been truly hurt is to leave him be, as he spends his evenings alone, in his flat, listening to old love songs and feeling sorry for himself, until suddenly he snaps out of it and demands we accompany him to some club, or bar, or cabaret.

He’ll still take my calls occasionally, but in the hibernation period the answer phone goes on, and stays on, most of the time. If he is in the mood he will occasionally pick up, but more often than not we have to talk to the machine, knowing he’s listening and saying that we know he’s there and could he please pick up the phone, which of course he doesn’t do.

But, being the good friend that I am, I went out and bought the videos of Harold and Maude and Brief Encounter , and sent them on a bike, together with a box of Milk Tray, which Si and I always giggle about, although secretly we adore them.

His hibernation periods can last for anything from one week to one month, but, given the shortness of the relationship with Will, and the fact that despite what he said I’m convinced that Si knew he wasn’t The One, I’m expecting his cheery voice any day now on the phone.

But who am I supposed to share this with? This strange feeling in my stomach, which, unless I’m very much mistaken, feels peculiarly like butterflies, although it’s been so long since I’ve been excited about anything I could be completely wrong.

But whatever the feeling is I’m dying to talk to someone about it. Si is incommunicado, Lucy is far too busy with the shop to really pay any attention, and Josh? Josh seems a bit distracted right now. Apparently – and Lucy says this is the only reason why she doesn’t feel quite so guilty not getting home until late – he’s got some huge deal going on at the office, and he’s having to work all the hours God sends.

So I suppose the only person that really leaves, apart from Bill and Rachel at the shop – although I like to keep my work very separate from my personal life – is Portia.

‘Why don’t we have a long girly lunch?’ she says, when I phone her a couple of days later on the pretext of finding out how she is, but really to talk to her about James. I tried to keep it to myself, but two days was too much and now I have to talk to someone . ‘My treat.’

Well, how could I resist?

I arrive at Kensington Place at exactly one p.m., and I’m shown to a table next to the window, where I sit looking at my watch, wondering when exactly Portia will turn up.

At ten past one I order a glass of white wine, and at quarter past I start studying the menu, deciding what I’m going to order.

At twenty past one, just when I’ve given up hope, I look up to see Portia grinning at me outside the window, and I grin back and relax my shoulders because she’s finally here, although it appears it was a little early to count my chickens. Portia manages to take a good five minutes to actually walk through the restaurant, because it seems she knows everyone in here.

Every few steps she stops to kiss someone hello, or shake someone’s hand, or have a brief chat, and my smile of greeting becomes more and more strained, but I sip my wine and try to look as if I really don’t mind being kept waiting for half an hour.

Eventually she reaches the table and envelops me in a warm hug, apologizing profusely for being so late. ‘I was in the middle of a script for the new series,’ she laughs, ‘and I was so carried away I had no idea what time it was.’

‘Don’t worry,’ I say, not bothering to add that I only had a limited lunchbreak and already I had pretty much used it up, travelling all the way to Kensington.

She orders a sparkling mineral water and pulls a packet of Silk Cut out of her bag, lighting her cigarette with a tiny platinum lighter that is so smart it could only belong to her. ‘So,’ she says. ‘You look wonderful.’