Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

Aron was enjoying a rare moment of downtime. It had been nonstop since he’d got off the plane. He was back in the sunroom, taking in the view of Granny’s pristine garden. Aron had many happy memories of playing with action figures out there.

Today, it was yet another grey day in London. Most of the shrubs had been cut down for winter. Granny did as much of the gardening herself as possible. However, she’d always employed a gardener for the heavy stuff.

Aron had had a crush on one of them. As a spotty teenager, he wouldn’t have known what to do if the feeling had been reciprocated.Even so, Bill had been so dreamy and the subject of many daydreams for a hormone-ruled Aron.

What ever happened to him? Probably married with a hundred kids now.

Unfortunately, due to Granny’s precise demands, gardeners didn’t usually last more than one summer.So Bill had joined the long list of the rejected and had been replaced by a portly retiree who tried to persuade Granny to cover the whole garden with concrete slabs. He’d called it brutalist and she’d called him a cab. And so the dance went on.

His phone rang, cutting through his reminiscing.

Aron groaned. Granny had gone to a nail appointment. Surely she hadn’t had another bright idea in that time?

He grabbed his mobile and frowned. It was an unknown number. An unknown UK number. Terror gripped him.

Is it Mum?

It would be typical of her to want to get the first word in before they met. As tempted as he was to let it go to voicemail, that would be seen as obstructive. He refused to play into her hands like that.

Instead he pressed Answer.

“Hello.”

“Could I speak to Aron Wimpole, please?”

It wasn’t his absent parent. This woman had a cut-glass English accent. Not like his mother’s broad accent, which betrayed her Welsh roots.No matter how many elocution lessons she’d taken when first moving to London.

“This is Aron Wimpole.”

“Oh, hello, Aron, my name is Jane Nelson.”

Jane Nelson???

Aron gripped the arm of the chair he had been lazing around in.

Jesus fuck, what does she want? And how did she get my number?

“Aron?”

“Yes, I’m here.”

“I’m not sure if you’ve heard of me…”

“The Chair of the British Library Board?” Aron stammered. “Yes, I’ve heard of you.”

“That’s good. It will save us a lot of time.”

Jane sounded so friendly. Aron instantly warmed to her.

“How did you get my number?”

“Easier than you’d think. Let’s say we have some friends in common. I saw on Instagram that you’re in London at the moment.”

Jane Nelson followed him on Instagram? How had he not noticed?Social media had never really been his thing. Still, he wasn’t averse to the odd selfie here and there. He’d posted a few since he’d been home. Mainly as a reminder to Calvin that he was actually away and couldn’t respond to the ridiculous amount of emails he’d been sending. Getting back to work would be fun.

“It’s my grandmother’s wedding so I came home to help her. Not that she really needs me but anyway, yes I’m here.”

He’d started rambling. Something he always did when nervous.

Try to be cool for fuck’s sake.

“How lovely. I’m sure she’s very grateful. I understand that you must be very busy and I’m being cheeky. I wondered if you could find time to join me for coffee?”

His heart raced.

“Of course. I would love it.”

Stop squeaking.

“That’s wonderful. How about Thursday at ten? I’ll message you the details.”

“I’ll be there.”

“I’m so pleased. I’ve been wanting to meet you for some time. Until Thursday then.”

“Until Thursday.”

He terminated the call and stared up at the ceiling. What on earth did Jane Nelson have to talk to him about over coffee?Aron glanced at the garden once again. Gone were the memories of being a little boy. He’d never felt more grown-up in his life.

Then he remembered. He had Granny’s hen do on Thursday as well. It was going to be quite a day.He would keep this to himself for the time being. He should suss out Jane’s intentions before letting certain people’s imaginations run riot. Still this could be something very interesting indeed.

Later that day he found himself in the Professor’s house. He had come bearing bad news. Granny had partially rejected the hamper idea.

“What does she want as well?” Paul asked.

“She likes the idea of a keepsake.”

Paul scrubbed his face with his hands.

“I get that,” he said. “Fucking hell, she’s exacting, isn’t she?”

Aron roared with laughter. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“Have you spoken to Dad?”

Aron nodded.

“And?”

“At first he suggested book tokens,” Aron replied. “Then he had the bright idea of an engraved pen.”

Paul nodded. “Not a bad idea. Hang on, he told me he had to wait at your granny’s for a Harrods delivery today. I presumed he meant the hampers.”

“He did,” Aron replied. “He convinced her to have both. He’s finally worked out how to deal with my grandmother.”

“Give her everything?”

“Precisely.”

Paul frowned at him. “Are you okay?”

Aron straightened up. “Yeah why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know. You seem preoccupied.”

Aron had no intention of disclosing who had contacted him earlier that day. If the tiniest peep found its way to Granny, she would announce his homecoming and have a house purchased in record time.

“It’s a bit mad, isn’t it? I think I’d rather organise a deep clean of the New York Public Library than this wedding. It would be far less hassle.”

“Are you enjoying it?”

Aron didn’t need to look up to know that Paul would be staring hard at him.

“It was always my dream to work there. Ever since I watched Ghostbusters .”

Paul grinned. “And it’s working out? Sometimes dreams don’t always feel like you’d think they would.”

That sounded like it came from experience.

“I’m perfectly happy, thanks. How about you? Still content to be a rolling stone?”

Paul stretched. “Who knows? I suppose I’ll always be a nomad at heart.”

“Where are you based now?”

“Sydney.”

Of course, Aron knew that already. That being said, he had no intention of dragging up Paul’s fleeing to the farthest city from Queens Crescent he could find without becoming a settler on Mars.

“Never been,” he replied with a sniff.

“You should.”

“Maybe one day. You’ve been there as long as I’ve been in New York. You must like it then?”

Paul glanced at the outside world again. “I suppose I must.”

Why did it feel like a stalemate when they weren’t even arguing? Paul got up and walked over to the window.

“Does the sun ever come out in London these days?”

Aron joined him. Paul was right, London hadn’t been gripped with this much grey since Dickens’ day, when it was full of smog. The Professor would probably approve. He’d call it atmospheric.

“Now it’s my turn to ask you if you’re okay,” Aron said.

“Yeah. You know me.”

“Mr Impenetrable.”

“If only.”

Despite everything that had happened between them, Aron didn’t like to think of Paul suffering in any way. Behind the banter they had shared over the last few days, Aron had begun to suspect that Paul wanted to connect on a deeper level.

Whilst he wasn’t sure if he would want that, he couldn’t deny his curiosity. People were coming out of the woodwork left, right and centre on this trip home. He half expected Giles Finnegan, the classmate Aron lost his virginity with, to knock on the door.

“Talk to me,” Aron said quietly.

“I don’t really deserve the chance.”

“True. I’m giving it to you anyway. It would be rude to throw it back in my face a second time.”

Paul fiddled with the leaves of a plant that the Professor had in the window. Of course, it was housed in a Dickensian pot. Aron examined a little closer and instantly recognised the character of Pip from Great Expectations dashing across the marshes at the beginning of the story.

“I guess it feels weird seeing Dad remarry,” Paul said. “And please don’t think I have anything against your grandmother because I don’t. I love her very much.”

Aron reached and took hold of Paul’s arm. “Hey, don’t beat yourself up. It’s perfectly natural to feel odd about it.”

“Is it? Mum died years ago and I’m hardly going to be affected by them getting together. I’m very much a fully grown adult, as you’ve made clear on more than one occasion.”

Aron still gripped Paul’s arm. It was the most physical contact they’d had in years and he found he quite liked it.

“Ah now you’re trying to apply logic to an emotion. I gave that up a long time ago,” he said. “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure Granny ever truly loved Grandpa. They got on well and were an ideal couple, but love? Didn’t see a huge amount of that. Your mum and dad were completely different. Anyone could see they adored each other.”

Aron remembered Paul’s mother vividly. She had always been full of fun and it had broken his heart when cancer had claimed her life far too early.

“Yeah. She loved Mrs W too so there’s no fear that she wouldn’t approve. I’m being silly.”

“No you’re not. I hate to tell you this. You just identified a feeling and shared it.”

“Don’t tell anyone, will you?”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

Paul moved closer. Aron’s heartbeat thudded in his ears. He should stop this. It wasn’t part of the plan. Yet he remained frozen to the spot.

Their breath almost mingling, Aron stared into Paul’s eyes.

There is nothing but trouble there. Abort.

With a show of self-control that he didn’t realise he possessed, Aron sprang back.

“Fuck. Is that the time?” he said, glancing at the clock. “I’ve got a date with my own mother soon and I want to look spectacular.”

Paul ran his hand through his hair and exhaled.

“If you identify any emotions that you need to share, give me a shout.”

“I will. Thank you.”

Aron sped out of the room and the house. Once on the street, he tried his best to walk as calmly as possible. He knew full well that Paul would be watching him from the window as he retreated to Wimpole HQ.

What the fuck had almost happened there? The plan that Aron had perfected ever since he’d known he would be returning to London had almost dissolved in front of his very eyes.

I can pull this off. Can’t I?