Twilight Song. Cressida McLaughlin
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shook her head. ‘Not at all. If he had been, he would never have agreed to tonight. He is misunderstood a lot, I think. Especially after what happened at the Page Turner awards.’
‘You’ve got a soft spot for him,’ Rosa said gently. ‘How soft is it?’
‘Getting softer,’ she admitted. ‘It’s complicated, though. There’s the reserve, which I need to put more effort into, and Jack’s life, he’s … nothing’s simple, Rosa.’
‘Feelings get complicated when people try to deny them.’ She shrugged.
‘I wish that was all it was,’ Abby said, but the words resonated. If she gave into her feelings, stopped overthinking everything, would all the barriers between them dissolve into insignificance? ‘Anyway, tonight should be good. Jack Westcoat in one of his natural habitats. Have you seen him yet?’
‘He arrived about ten minutes ago and was immediately herded into the anti-chamber by Octavia.’ Rosa grinned.
‘Uh-oh. I’d better go and see what’s happening. Speaking of soft spots, Jonny was asking after you. I showed him that new Belkin range, but I’m not sure how taken he was.’
‘Oh?’ Rosa frowned. ‘That’s a good make. I wonder why he didn’t like them.’
‘Because they’re not you. Haven’t you noticed?’
‘What?’
‘Jonny is never going to buy anything from your shop because then he’d run out of excuses to see you, and that would break his heart.’ She squeezed her friend’s arm and then left her, lips parted and eyes wide, as if the wind had changed and she’d got stuck.
When Abby knocked and pushed open the door of the library’s small office, Jack was sitting in a chair with a cup of tea, and Octavia was behind the desk, calmly writing notes on a piece of paper. They both looked up when she walked in, Jack’s taut expression relaxing into a smile.
‘Hey,’ Abby said, allowing herself a moment to drink him in. He was wearing a simple grey shirt and smart, navy blazer, dark jeans that emphasized his long legs, and tan boots. His hair was slightly tamer than usual, and she wondered if he’d had it trimmed for the occasion and, if so, where he had gone to get it done.
‘Hi, Abby,’ Jack said. ‘Glad you could make it.’
‘Of course she was going to make it,’ Octavia replied. ‘She’s organized half the thing. Whizzing about on the Facebook page, leaflet-dropping the entire village, and solving my last-minute chair problem. Now Abby, I’ve written down a couple of questions in case nobody has any.’
Abby stifled a laugh. ‘I honestly don’t think that’s going to be a problem, do you?’
‘Be prepared. The scouts had that part right. Jack,’ Octavia turned to him, ‘obviously in the course of promoting an event like this, we don’t know who’s picked up on the fact that you’re here, but I haven’t seen any media types out there – large cameras, trench coats, anything like that.’
‘Me either,’ Abby added. ‘And I only promoted it on local Facebook pages.’
‘Exactly,’ Octavia continued. ‘But, of course, we can’t guarantee that it won’t have caught the attention of a wider audience.’
‘I understand that Octavia,’ Jack said. ‘I always knew there was potential for the press to pick up on it, but I appreciate you considering it too.’
‘Good.’ Octavia beamed. ‘Aren’t you a sweetie? The audience are going to eat you up!’
Jack laughed. ‘I hope not.’
‘Right then. Fifteen minutes to go. I’ll do a final round of checks, ensure the mic is working. Abby dear, could you stay here? You can be Jack’s fluffer.’
Jack choked on his tea, spraying a mouthful onto his jeans, and Abby stared at Octavia, trying to work out if she’d heard her right. Oblivious, the older woman swept out of the room, leaving an awkward silence behind her.
‘So …’ Abby said, heat rising up her neck.
Jack wiped at his trousers. ‘Do you think she knows what that means?’
‘On balance, I’d say yes.’ Abby sat next to him and gave him a sideways look. ‘I’m not doing it, though, if that’s what you’re wondering.’
‘I honestly wasn’t. God. Could you imagine?’
‘Octavia has a good heart,’ Abby said, trying very hard not to imagine it. ‘And a very individual way of doing things.’
‘She’s distracted me from my nerves, at least. And she’s been very kind to me, considering I wasn’t that hospitable when she came to track down the badger.’
‘That’s because she barged in unannounced. You were perfectly polite. Do you really get nervous?’ She turned to face him, her embarrassment fading.
‘I do. Nerves are healthy, and it’s been a long time since I did anything like this. The last time I was in a public arena was … that night, and so there’s more pressure than usual, a heavier weight on my shoulders despite it being off the beaten track.’
‘Octavia’s sold over fifty tickets. You’re a popular man, even in the sticks. What are you going to do? Read something from one of your books, talk about your writing?’
Jack nodded. ‘A bit of both. Then the Q&A, which I’m dreading.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ she said quietly.
‘I’m glad you’re here. Thank you for coming.’
‘Of course,’ Abby said, but her mind flashed back to the phone conversation she’d overheard. She should be at home, working on her event schedule, wracking her brains to come up with this game-changing membership initiative that had, so far, failed to materialize. She looked into Jack’s blue eyes, at his smooth, stubble-free jawline, and felt hopelessly conflicted.
‘Showtime!’ Octavia said, appearing in the doorway. ‘Ready, Jack?’
‘As I’ll ever be.’
He followed Octavia out of the room, Abby taking up the rear. When Jack walked into full view of the makeshift auditorium, the cheers and applause were enough to lift the roof. He raised a nonchalant hand, slightly bashful in the wake of so much attention, and took his seat at the table. Abby slipped into a chair against the wall, side on to the stage, as if she was an usher rather than a member of the audience. But she was at the front, her view was good, and she watched as Jack greeted everyone in his deep, smooth voice and then picked up the book that Octavia had placed on the table. It was a copy of his latest novel, The Fractured Path, the one Abby had ordered from Amazon and read in only a few days.
He riffled through to a spot marked by a bookmark and started reading.
The crowd was pin-drop quiet as his sonorous voice filled the room, the rhythm of the words gripping and comforting all at once. It was mesmerizing, and Abby found herself getting lost in it, able to remember the passage he’d chosen and its point in the book, wishing he would continue to the end, however long it took. She had to blink herself back into the present when he finished and the audience clapped once more.
Then he launched into a talk about the process of writing, the research he’d done, a particularly gruesome, no-holds barred visit to a morgue that made him realize he could never be a murderer himself, because he didn’t have the stomach for it. He was funny, humble and disarming. Abby could sense the audience warming to him, wanting to reach out and gather him close. It could have easily been an act, his public persona, except that it was how he was with her – or at least, was starting to be.
Abby could see that Rosa was rapt, councillor Savoury’s expression was a mixture of interest and affection, and Flick was smiling proudly. It was obvious that some people had noticed the television presenter; that