Page 26 of An Enchanted Moment on Ever After Street
His covered face looks around, as though he’s trying to work out where to sit, and I jerk my foot towards the doorstep, offering him the best and only seat in the garden, apart from Mum’s old bench that looks like it would collapse if so much as a butterfly sat on it.
‘I’ll take the hogweed up to the incinerator in the castle gardens tonight.’ He says it as he sits down, probably to hide the pained grunts that escape without him even realising it.
I put the tray on the ground in front of him and then because the doorstep is barely big enough for two, I sit beside him, perching on the edge, and his head turns sharply towards me. I don’t think he expected me to sit so close, and he inches as far across as he can, although whether he’s trying to give me more space or get away from me is up for interpretation.
He leans over to take his mug from the tray and out of the corner of my eye, I’m watching as his gloved hand comes up and wriggles the scarf down just far enough for him to take a sip. Idesperately want to turn towards him, to catch even a glimpse, but he’s obviously self-conscious and I get the sense that he didn’t think things through before agreeing to sit down with me and now he’s regretting it.
‘I looked up knotweed contractors online.’ I’m keeping my eyes averted and trying to sound conversational and pretend not to have even noticed the way his scarf is pulled down as he dunks a Malted Milk biscuit into his mug. ‘Their suggested pricing is well into the thousands. You don’t have any insider connections that would do it a bit cheaper, do you? Because I cannot afford hundreds, never mind thousands.’
‘You’re making me want an ice cream.’
I laugh but it does nothing to ease the knots in my stomach about how much I’m going to have to shell out for this knotweed removal.
‘I’ll see what I can find out.’
‘Thank you.’ I nudge my elbow against his and he pulls back and looks at me, and if I could see his face, I think there’d be an aghast look on it at my nerve for not only daring to sit so close but actually having the gall to touch him too, no matter how innocent a touch it is.
‘So, how was your day today?’ I ask conversationally, really because I’m not sure if he’s about to leap up and stomp away at the injustice of an elbow bump and asking him a question might give him something else to focus on. ‘Do you have—’
‘Are you lonely or something?’ he interrupts before I can finish. ‘Why are you always trying to talk to me?’
‘Why shouldn’t I talk to you? We’re neighbours, aren’t we?’ I’d best not suggest that we might be friends again. It didn’t go well the last time.
At least that’s a question that he can’t deny. We unequivocallyareneighbours. He’s saved from having to thinkof an answer when the back door creaks and Mrs Potts slinks her way through the gap.
He makes an indisputable noise of joy, and pushes his scarf back up so he can give her his full attention, and she immediately climbs onto his lap, making a series of delightedprrrups.
‘I am lonely.’ I nibble around the edges of the Malted Milk biscuit and then dunk the remaining bit with the cows on it in my tea. ‘Talking to you has made me realise how I don’t have anyone to talk to. I always convinced myself that my life was full of friends, but not the kind who are there for you when you need them.’
‘But the kind who expect you to be there whentheywantyouthough, right?’
‘You too?’
‘Kind of. My life was riddled with people who pretend to be friends until you’ve outlasted your usefulness to them and then drop you like a stone.’
‘Pulverising your self-worth in the process?’ I finish for him.
‘Something like that.’
‘I don’t know how to make new friends,’ I admit quietly. ‘I’m shy and awkward. I don’t like talking to people. Or, well, I do like talking to people but I get self-conscious and always think I’ll say the wrong thing, and then I spout something stupid and people laugh at me, and it makes me not want to talk to people. When we started A Tale As Old As Time, I thought it would be a great way of meeting more book-loving people. People really connect over books. It’s easy to chat to someone about books they love, and there’s always a joy in finding someone who’s loved the same book as you. Everyone takes something different away from each book they read. I thought A Tale As Old As Time would be full of people wanting to chat about books and make new friends who enjoy the same things I do, but peopledon’t want that. And I’m the professional; I can’t bounce up to a customer and say, “Hey, I like you, will you be my friend?”’ I think of my U.N.Known-loving customer, who I’m sure I’d get on with. ‘It would be weird and creepy and a little desperate. I don’t know how people make friends as adults. It’s easy when we’re kids. Making friends is as simple as “that’s a cool Barbie, let’s be friends”, but as adults, it’s a minefield. Even if you get on with someone, at our age, people already have their friends, and jobs, families, children, responsibilities. They have no room in their lives for new friends.’
‘Or you could just accept being alone forever and never having to change yourself to fit other people’s opinions of how you should act, and never having to worry that people only want you for what they can get from you.’
That bitterness tinges his voice again, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that he’s been hurt by people who were once close to him. ‘Well, you’ve made a new friend over the past couple of nights.’ I nod towards Mrs Potts who is sitting on his lap and keeping a paw on one of his gloved fingers in case he dares to stop stroking her.
‘The kind of friend everyone needs.’ He says it in the baby-talk voice he uses for Mrs Potts and then switches back to his normal voice. ‘It’s a shame friendships aren’t like romantic relationships. You meet someone, go on dates with the intention of getting to know them and moving onto the next level of a romantic relationship, but there’s nothing like that with friendship. Which is a shame because I’d totally go on a date with a cat. We could hold paws across the table and share longing looks over pouches of Whiskas and exchange our best mouse-catching tips.’
‘Oh my God!’ It’s like a lightbulb pings on in my head. I put my hand on his knee in excitement and then quickly remove it when he flinches. ‘Darcy, you’re a genius!’
‘I am?’ He sounds confused. ‘I’m not sure pouches of Whiskas are much to get excited about or that I have any mouse-catching tips that a cat would be interested in.’
I laugh, but his words have set an idea in motion. ‘Everything you just said is right. It’ssohard to make friends as an adult. I can’t be the only one who doesn’t know how. Whyaren’tthere such a thing as friendship dates? Whydon’twe go on dates with potential friends to see if there’s a spark of friendship there? If people want to make friends, why don’t they spend time together to see if they’re a good match – if they have similar interests, laugh at the same things, or enjoy doing the same activities? Why isn’t it normal to say, “I’d like more friends in my life and I don’t know how to find them?”’
‘Er, I don’t know…’ He sounds caught between laughing and being concerned for my sanity.
‘And what do people connect over like nothing else? Books!’
He shifts around, murmuring an apology to Mrs Potts for disturbing her, and turns towards me, pulling back until he can see my face and making me extra aware that I can’t see his. ‘So, what, you want to match up potential friends based on what books they like, and… send them on friendship dates?’
