Jane Green - Bookends

Yesterday a man came in and asked where he’d find The Guide to Natural Plant Life in Outer Mongolia . I checked the computer, because I knew he was the type who wouldn’t take no for an answer without actually seeing me check the stock, and when I said I could order it for him he flew into a deep rage and demanded to know why, given that we are a bookshop, we didn’t have it in stock. I tried to explain that we cannot possibly stock every book ever printed just on the offchance that someone should want it, and that with more obscure titles we do have to order them.

That really set him off. Obscure? he said. Obscure? And then he proceeded to go into a detailed rant about how he had read this book twenty years ago and it had changed his life. Rachel got the giggles, which nearly set me off, and eventually, feeling evil, I sent him off to Books Etc., knowing full well that they wouldn’t have it either, but figuring he could vent his fury on them instead, and I told him it was only a five-minute walk. Ha!

But, despite the occasions when people are just plain peculiar , I love it. We all do. And although we aren’t actually in profit yet, it won’t, according to Josh, be long now. It looks like I made the right choice after all.

I stand on the doorstep of Lucy’s house, place a hand over my heart to calm it down, and ring the doorbell. I hear footsteps, and Ingrid comes to the door, followed closely by Max.

‘Hello, Cath,’ she says, with what looks like, unless I’m very much mistaken, a suspiciously warm smile. Has this woman gone completely crazy? I peer at her closely, refraining from asking her if she’s feeling all right, and give her a faint smile in return.

‘Lucy has popped out to get some vegetables. She said she would be back by half past. How are you?’ she says over her shoulder as I follow her down the hallway, trying very hard not to step on Max, who is jumping from side to side in front of me.

‘Fine,’ I say slowly. ‘Umm, and you?’

‘Oh, fine,’ she says breezily. ‘Would you like a glass of wine? We are having one.’

‘We?’ I follow her into the kitchen, and I swear to God I’m not exaggerating this, but my heart threatens to leap into my mouth and I actually gasp because sitting at the kitchen table, as cool as a cucumber, is Portia.

I stand, frozen, in the doorway, and not sure whether to reverse immediately and run far away, or to walk in and pretend nothing’s wrong, although considering I’m doing a very good goldfish impersonation right here, I think that it would be fairly difficult to pretend there’s nothing wrong.

What the fuck is she doing here? Oh Christ, oh no. Please tell me she’s not here to confront Lucy, to do something awful like tell Lucy that she and Josh are in love and Lucy should leave. Oh Christ. Get her out of here. Get me out of here.

And then I notice that Portia’s expression is exactly the same as always, and she doesn’t have any qualms at all about sitting at the kitchen table of her lover’s house, and she probably isn’t going to confront Lucy, she’s probably here to see Josh before they go off to her flat for an evening of passion.

Christ. I could kill her.

I mean, does she have to be so obvious about it? Look at her, in her plunging shirt with her cleavage on view for all to see, what the hell does she think she’s playing at?

‘Hi, Cath,’ she says warmly – bitch – standing up and coming over to give me a kiss as I stand there like a statue, hardly moving. ‘I was just leaving.’

‘Here to see Josh, were you?’ The words are out before I have a chance to think about what I’m saying, and I can’t hide the sarcastic, bitter tone in my voice. Portia gives me a strange look, and you know what? I don’t care if she knows that I know. I want her to know because I will not play her game and I will not protect her.

‘What?’ she says carefully, looking at me strangely, and I know she doesn’t think I know. For a second I think she looks flustered, but no, Portia’s far too cool for that. ‘I was just passing, so I thought I’d pop in and see if Lucy was home,’ she says. ‘I brought her this recipe book from Italy I’d told her about,’ and she gestures to a cookery book lying on the kitchen table.

Ha. A likely bloody story. But what’s really weird is that I’ve heard of unfaithful husbands buying their wives unexpected gifts when they’re having an affair, but I’ve never heard of the mistress doing it. It’s the classic sign, isn’t it? The husband who never pays any attention to his wife, suddenly starts pitching up with roses and jewellery, saying that it’s his way of apologizing for working so late all the time, when he’s just trying to find a way to appease his guilt and live with himself.

I suppose the mistress isn’t usually friends with the wife. Maybe if she were, she’d be doing exactly the same thing as Portia. Maybe she’d be turning up with cookery books too.

Or maybe she’d be turning up with any old lame excuse just to see more of the husband. At least Josh is out and she’s had to put up with Ingrid, which is a punishment I wouldn’t wish on my closest enemy, except at this point in time I feel it would take a lifetime with Ingrid to inflict the sort of pain I feel would be appropriate.

‘Right,’ I say slowly, nodding at Portia to let her know I know she’s lying.

‘Anyway,’ she says, smiling brightly at Ingrid and slightly less brightly at me, ‘got to go. Big night out tonight.’

‘I’ll just bet,’ I say, and she stops and stares at me, then shakes her head as if I’m the one who’s mad, and Ingrid shows her to the door. I can hear the two of them whispering in muffled voices, and Jesus Christ, I can’t believe Portia is whispering about me to the bloody bitch of an au pair girl, but I don’t care, at least I kept my dignity this evening.

‘Are you certain you are feeling okay?’ Ingrid says, walking back into the kitchen after the front door slams, and pouring an orange juice for Max.

‘I’m not the one you should be asking,’ I say pointedly, and Ingrid shrugs nonchalantly and goes out to call Max just as – thank God – I hear the key turn in the front door and Lucy walks in, only to be practically knocked over by Max jumping into her arms.

‘That wasn’t Portia I just saw driving off, was it?’ she says, cuddling Max as she walks into the kitchen.

‘Yup. She was dropping off a cookery book.’ I point to the book as Lucy shrieks and immediately starts flicking the pages.

‘Oh, she’s such an angel! I can’t believe she remembered this, how lovely. I must remember to phone her and thank her. Honestly, Cath,’ and Lucy looks up at me, smiling, ‘I cannot tell you how thrilled I am that Portia has come back into all of your lives, that she’s now a part of mine. We’re all very lucky, you know,’ and she covers Max’s face with kisses as he giggles and flings his arms round her neck, kissing her in return.

Oh bugger, I think, using Lucy’s favourite expression. If only you knew.

A week later and I’m convinced Lucy thinks I’m completely mad. All day yesterday she kept catching me watching her with, as she put it, these big worried eyes, but every time she asked me what was wrong I just sighed, apparently, and said it was nothing.

Just before six o’clock I start telling people that we’re closing, but, as usual, they all suddenly seem to have gone deaf, which I suppose can only be a good thing, really, given that there appear to be five deaf people currently in Bookends, which is infinitely preferable to no people at all.

‘I’m sorry, but we are in fact closing now.’

‘I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.’