I don’t know if I’m ready for all that yet.
Hi E,
Put me off! How could you put me off when you’re so clearly describing how I feel most of the time? I think it comes down to this: I want to be invited and included in literally everything everyone is doing. But I don’t want to then have to go do any of it. Does that make sense? Because I don’t think I’m trying to make sense. Most of life makes no sense to me. This, here – writing notes to a stranger – makes no sense.
But I look forward to it as much as you, I promise.
It’s so strange to think of you being here, in this library at different times from me. Or maybe even the same time? Maybe we’ve passed each other in the stacks and not known. Does that blow your mind like it does mine? It feels sometimes like I’m talking to you from a parallel universe.
Oh god, this isn’tThe Lake House,is it?
And since you mentioned it again (you should really go through this with a therapist), I think – if we ever meet – we should go to a tiger sanctuary to resolve your issues. We’ll take a variety of food, à laThe Very Hungry Caterpillar, and see what takes their fancy. I’ll help you win them over with one shortbread, two chocolate Hobnobs, three digestives, etc. I’m not going to write it all out again, my hand is killing me only three biscuits in. I don’t think I’ve written this much by hand since I was a kid. But I like it. Looking forward to hearing from you again soon, even if Jessica Fletcher kicks Columbo’s butt every time.
J x
PS Read page 312, where they have the most cathartic argument I’ve ever read. I want us to fall out just so we can have a conversation like that.
I’m interrupted by a deep, familiar voice as I sign the final full stop.
‘Aarav!’ I stutter, standing up and flushing beetroot. He stands tall and broad before me, always taking me by surprise with his bigness. I’d forgotten why I was here. Work. Our interview. ‘Um, take a seat.’ I gesture wildly across from me, shoving my note to one side. He grins, flashing that too-charming smile. ‘Can I get you a drink?’ I ask, nodding at the water cooler in the corner, and he shakes his head, looking amused by my flustered greeting.
‘I’m fine, thanks, Jemma. Are you OK?’ His handsome face creases lightly with concern.
‘Yes! Er, yes, totally fine!’ I exclaim, my voice too high. Aarav makes me nervous at the best of times, never mind when I’m caught writing secret love letters to anonymous strangers.
‘Can I getyoua water?’ he offers, smiling nicely again, and I cough lightly.
‘Actually, yes, that would be fantastic, if you don’t mind?’ He grins at me and heads towards the cooler. I examine his bum – it hardly moves as he walks away. Those mountains must be such a good workout. Maybe I should take up climbing? I watch him filling the cup with water, enjoying his dark hair and stubble. He has this wide back and you can see the muscles move under his shirt. It’s so—
Ugh! Stop it! God, what is wrong with me? These notes seem to have awoken some beast inside. I’ve been celibate for so long, I think I’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel things. To feel likethis. I forgot how mad it makes you feel.
But I have to admit, I quite like it.
I try to order my thoughts. No more onToo Good to Be Trueor my note writer for now. I can obsess again later. Now I have to work. Aarav is my focus.
Chapter NineteenCLARA
So this is the magical, mystical, legendary library.
I’m not sure I get the big deal. It’s kinda… blah? Grey carpet, beige walls. And just loooooads of books. Rows and rows of books. I mean, I do understand that it’s a library, but ugh, get a better hobby.
I take in the flaking paintwork and smile. I couldtotallyupcycle this place.
I feel a little pulse of guilt at that thought. Not just because this is Jemma’s sanctuary, but also because my upcycling plans have sort of stalled. Stalled in the hallway, in fact. The chest of drawers we wrestled home a few weeks ago – Amanda’s ex’s chest of drawers – ended up being too big to fit up the stairs. So right now, it’s sitting in the entrance hallway, just inside the front door, blocking everyone’s way. Not that there’s space for it in any of the bedrooms anyway, because that’s where I’ve started storing my other WIP furniture. And the cupboards are all paint cans, floor to ceiling.Salma and Harry say they don’t mind but it’s pretty obvious the whole thing is driving Jemma mad.
It had started to feel like we were getting somewhere, with us living together, but this has definitely been a step back for our sisterly relationship.
I approach a weird-looking woman behind the counter. She’s wearing a Christmas jumper with a unicorn on the front that’s dancing in the snow. Are unicorns festive? Seems like they get to shine the rest of the year, and it should be the reindeers’ turn to get some attention. Who even invented the unicorn anyway? I’ve never understood the obsession. It’s literally a horse with a massive, vicious-looking spike driven into its head. It’s basically a glittery zombie horse. Except if it was a zombie horse, a spike through its head would kill it.
Anyway.
‘Hiya!’ I greet the strangely dressed woman, and she starts, like no one ever comes in here. ‘Er, I’m looking for my sister – do you know her? Jemma Poyntz?’
She stares at me, wide-eyed. ‘You’reJemma’s sister?’ she asks and I wonder what she means by that. Am I so repulsive that she can’t imagine how we could be blood related?
No, it can’t be that. I’m hot.
The woman beams. ‘I’m Anita! I’ve known your sister since she was quite young.’
