Page 9 of Love Walked In

CHAPTER SEVEN

Leo

Sounds fun, maybe later . Why were Mari’s insouciant words playing on repeat in my head as I stood on a Tube train heading north, like a particularly obnoxious jingle?

She had left the shop after saying them, though. And for a moment, her mouth had trembled, like her expression of bravado hadn’t been earthquake-proof. That if I had said any more harsh words, she would have crumbled.

And I had been harsh. No wonder she’d gotten away from me as quickly as she could.

Something about those empty spaces on the shelves, the books Alexander had loved stacked unwanted in boxes, had reminded me too much of the empty space inside me.

I knew that Mari was fundamentally right, that there would always be new books to replace the old and we needed to make room for them.

But I didn’t have anything to fill the gaping holes in my future, so I found myself looking backward instead, clinging to sepia-toned images of my teenage self sitting in a big leather chair next to Alexander in Tony Buller’s office, wrapped in their tobacco smoke and feeling utterly safe.

Maybe I should have told her that story, instead of telling her to fuck off. Though honestly, there was no “maybe” about it. Graham had made that abundantly clear when he’d come back from following Mari.

She’d gone out without a coat in January, just to get away from me.

Now another refrain started as I left Hampstead Station, my steps on the pavement leading toward home beating out What have I done, what have I done, accompanying thoughts of Mari’s slumped shoulders, her hazel eyes muddy with defeat.

Once I’d unlocked and opened the front door, I could smell something savory and herbal and rich wafting up the stairs from the kitchen, and my stomach cramped hard.

I couldn’t bear the thought of trying to eat in front of my mum right now.

Maybe I’d slip down much later tonight, warm up leftovers in the microwave when hunger finally got the better of me.

I leaned against the wall and carefully pulled off my boots. If my luck were good, I could sneak down the front hallway and up the stairs to my room.

I froze when a figure appeared at the top of the kitchen stairs, then relaxed when I saw who it was. My younger sister walked toward me, tangling the fingers of one hand on the drawstring of her bright red Arsenal hoodie, her eyes totally focused on her phone.

“Soph,” I whispered.

I held my arms open when she looked up, and she ran up to me, grinning. “Oof,” I exhaled as she wrapped her wiry arms around me tightly.

“You always give the best hugs,” my little sister said into my chest.

I relaxed for what felt like the first time today, simple affection like a balm. “You make it easy.” Her long black hair left a damp spot on my chest from her post-football shower. “Good practice today?”

She smiled up at me. “Really good. We worked on set pieces and I scored on a corner kick.”

I squeezed her shoulders, pride stretching my mouth into a full-on grin. “Well done.” I looked behind her for her twin. “No Gabs?”

“String quartet rehearsal tonight.” She sighed. “I’m glad she’s out, to be honest. I’ve been hearing bloody Schubert in my sleep.”

I nodded in sympathy. Gabi was a Level 8 musician who we suspected would have taken her cello to bed with her like her teddy if there were any possibility of playing while she slept. “What about homework, then?”

Her thick, dark eyebrows shot up. “You think they haven’t already asked?”

I shook my head ruefully. “Sorry, ignore me.” I knew I wasn’t an ordinary older sibling; fifteen years was far too wide a gap. But it wasn’t my job to be a third parent. My job was to be fun, even though it felt like someone had drained the fun out of me in the last year.

“Are you all right?” she asked, her forehead wrinkled. “Did something happen at the shop?”

How had it come to this, that I was the one who caused all the concern?

She was the teenage girl and I was the thirty-one-year-old.

I should have everything figured out, not be floating in nothingness.

My hand found the back of my neck and massaged the tight muscles there.

But I didn’t want to overburden her. “There’s someone new working there.

She tried to do something to help the shop without asking me first and it made me really angry. ”

Soph thought for a moment. “But was she actually helping?”

I sighed as she hit the bull’s-eye. “Yes. I didn’t like it, but yes.”

I got a very teenage eye roll in response. “Then it sounds like you need to make it easier for her to ask.”

“You’re absolutely right.” I tilted my chin toward her phone. “Show me something silly?”

She flicked through the video app she and Gabi loved. “Oh yeah,” she said with a smile. “This one.”

We had thirty seconds of joy as a Siberian husky dog threw a screaming tantrum at being made to get out of its owner’s bed. “Thanks,” I exhaled when it ended. “I needed that.” Needed that burst of uncomplicated happiness.

Sophie jogged up a few steps toward her room, then turned around.

“Can we go see Arsenal Women soon?” The question spilled out like she’d been holding it back for ages.

“Because Dad keeps saying he’ll take me, but he forgets the way he does about anything that isn’t work, and we haven’t gone in so long.

They’re playing at the Emirates more now, so we won’t have to go all the way to Borehamwood. ”

I scrubbed my fingers through my hair, feeling a wave of regret that she even had to ask me to take her to the football, that I hadn’t organized it and made it happen already. “Of course; we’ll go soon.”

She paused. “Promise?”

The single soft word reached into my rib cage and twisted, another reminder that I was dropping every single ball I was trying to juggle.

“Never mind,” she said before I could answer. She came back down the steps and gave me another huge hug. “I love you no matter what.”

I sighed, soaking in that affection while feeling like she should be giving it to someone who deserved it. “I love you, too.” I held her away from me. “I’ll look up the fixtures tonight and make a plan, all right?”

She nodded, but her face was more kind than eager.

As I followed Soph up the stairs, I resolved that I would be the grown-up tomorrow. I’d find Mari, apologize, actually listen to her ideas.

“Mari’s off today.”

I blinked at Graham, who was conspicuously looking at the register screen instead of at my face. “What?” I said brilliantly.

He glared at me as he picked up his phone and held it out. “She messaged this morning. Said she’s not feeling well.”

I squinted at his message chain with Mari. Clearly they’d been getting on like a house on fire if it was so long after only meeting two days ago.

Hi friend, I read. I think I caught a bug on the plane. I’m feeling pretty bad and I don’t want to give anyone else my germs, so just text or send a carrier pigeon if you need anything .

I checked the timestamp. She’d last been seen on the app at just before 5 A.M . What had she been doing awake that early? “Has anyone looked in on her?”

“What, to make sure she’s really ill?” he scoffed.

I replayed the memory of yesterday, this time muting my anger.

I remembered the redness of her cheeks, the hoarseness of her voice.

The way she’d been pressing her fingers to her temples like they pained her, how she’d been rubbing her arms like she was cold even though the heating was blasting away. “No. I believe her.”

“Maybe you need to give her some space,” Graham said neutrally. “Let her decide when she wants to talk to you again.”

I rubbed my face, chagrined. “I suppose.” So I had to wait to apologize to Mari, but there was something I could do right now. “I’m really sorry for what I said yesterday, when you defended her.”

Graham nodded. “Thanks.” He paused, then said, his voice a little awed, “I’ve never met anyone else like her. Have you?”

I shook my head in answer, ignoring the thin needle of jealousy in my chest at his tone. “I’m going to write returns notifications to some of the publishers,” I said now. “Would you please help me pack more books when those are approved?”

His face relaxed into a smile. “Course I’ll help. You only have to ask, you know that.”

As I worked on my laptop in a quiet corner of the first floor, snowflakes fluttered and drifted outside the shop windows. A few bundled-up figures braved the whitening pavements, but I was fairly certain we wouldn’t earn enough today to have made it worth putting the lights and heating on.

At least it was pretty.

“Hello? Anyone here?” an elderly man’s voice called from the other side of the floor.

“Just a moment,” I called. I cursed Jonathan’s too-long tea breaks as I jogged through the rooms to the nonfiction till.

I almost tripped when I caught sight of a dingy beige trench coat I hadn’t expected to see back so soon.

Normally Mr. Gissing would come in twice a week to browse the history section and very occasionally buy a paperback.

Alexander had always said he looked like he’d escaped from a spy novel, with his nondescript clothes, thick 1970s glasses, and general air of furtiveness.

I rounded the counter and woke up the register. “Mr. Gissing, hello.”

“Hello, Leo,” he said, his voice a degree warmer than usual. “Everything all right?”

Another surprise. He hadn’t ever used my name before, or asked about my well-being. “Fine, thank you,” I answered in the way he expected. Was he about to initiate an entire conversation? I wasn’t sure I could cope with that level of unexpected familiarity.

He put his hands on the counter and leaned toward me. “Now, I’ve borrowed The Confidence Men from the library and started to read it, and it’s absolutely terrific. Have you read it?”

The Confidence Men ? Wasn’t that the book Mari had been trying to push on him? “Er, no, I haven’t.”