She also wondered how she’d break it to Jess that she was as sure as she could be now that Noah and Jo were very much a couple.
12
On The Road
To his credit, Noah was not at all surly when he picked Libby up outside the shop on Saturday morning. He’d offered to drive round to her parents’ house to pick her up – but she had declined, still feeling guilty enough that he’d had to be persuaded to do this trip in the first place. She didn’t want to put him to any more trouble than strictly necessary.
She insisted on paying for a fill of diesel for the van, for any coffees or drinks they may need and for lunch, as well as buying breakfast before their 8 a.m. start – a couple of Ulster fries and a pot of slightly over-stewed tea from the local greasy spoon, which they ate in relative silence – both of them still a little bleary-eyed.
Noah declined Libby’s offer to work a few hours in the pub to pay him back in some way, which, to be honest, she was glad of because her previous, very limited, experience behind a bar had not been successful. She still cringed when she thought of the disaster she’d made of pouring a pint of Guinness.
As they set off, Noah was the one to break the ice. ‘I had a look at that catalogue online. There are some great pieces; I might get a wee something myself for the flat, you know.’
Libby nodded. ‘Where is it you live?’
He glanced over, a little bemused. ‘We live in the flat upstairs above the pub. Directly opposite you, as it happens. I can see right into your front windows from the living room.’
If Libby thought she’d hidden the look of mild horror on her face, she was wrong.
‘You’ve no need to worry, Libby. I’m not a peeping Tom or anything. I hope you’re not one either.’
Flustered, Libby started to protest her innocence until Noah burst out laughing.
‘I’m only teasing you,’ he said. ‘Jo says my dodgy sense of humour will get me in trouble one of these days.’
‘Jo’s a nice girl,’ Libby said.
‘She’s the best,’ Noah said with a smile. ‘She’s my best friend, you know. I’m lucky to have her.’
A little pang of regret or sorrow hit Libby. Neither she nor Ant would ever say the other was their best friend.
She had taken a few days to think about their situation, just as Jess had urged her, but, if anything, it had only made it clearer in her mind that her relationship with Ant had run its natural course. The lack of a ‘good luck’ message, or even a ‘how are you?’ text from him that morning had solidified those feelings further.
To try and push down the emotions rising up in her, she just nodded and reached into her handbag to take out the bag of brandy balls boiled sweets (best before date unknown) which Harry had pressed into her hand that morning. She popped one in her mouth and offered one to Noah.
‘Harry said we had to have sucky sweets for a long journey in the car,’ she told Noah with a smile. ‘He said it would stop the car sickness. He then gave me chapter and verse on which sweets had saved his car when his sons were younger and not at all great travellers. Brandy balls, barley sugar and Everton mints are the best ones apparently.’
Noah took a sweet and smiled. ‘Barley sugars remind me of being sick as a child. My mum used to force them and Lucozade into us if we were ill, as if they had the same healing powers as an intravenous antibiotic drip.’
He popped his sweet in his mouth and Libby laughed. ‘God, Lucozade was the cure-all, wasn’t it? And you only ever got it when you were sick.’
Noah nodded. ‘And now people drink it just for the craic!’ He laughed and Libby laughed too.
‘Harry’s a character though, isn’t he?’ Libby said. She’d already grown fond of Harry and his harmless rants.
‘He’s the best,’ Noah said. ‘Part of the furniture. He’s been a part of Ivy Lane for as long as I can remember.’
‘You’ve been there long, then?’
‘Not with the pub. I only took that over a few years ago. But, yeah, I grew up close by. My grandparents used to live on the Lane. They minded me after school, so I spent a lot of time there. I’ve a great fondness for the place. I suppose that’s why I took the chance at the pub when I got it. Made me feel a little closer to them.’
Feeling a lump in her throat – one that had absolutely nothing to do with boiled sweets – Libby nodded. ‘I know what you mean,’ she said, when she could speak without fear of it coming out in a strangled sob – then she kept her eyes firmly on the passing fields and hedgerows. ‘My grandad always dreamed of opening a bookshop one day, but he never had the confidence, or maybe the means, to do it. The shop is kind of my tribute to him. He gave me a great love for reading.’
‘He sounds like a good man.’
‘He is. Well, he was. He passed away two years ago,’ she said, still focused on the fields they passed.
‘I’m sorry,’ Noah said quietly.
‘Thanks,’ she replied and they fell into what was, this time at least, a companionable silence. After a while, Noah reached over and put the radio on and both of them spent most of the remaining journey deep in thought about the people in their lives they had loved and lost.
Once they arrived at the vintage market, the mood in the car changed. Noah seemed to have switched into peak mansplaining mode, which, on another day, might have annoyed Libby. This time, however, she felt amused at how excited he got explaining the auction process to her, and showing her what the other sellers had on offer.
He delighted in telling her she should never offer the ticket price on an item, and that she should never, under any circumstances, look too interested, because the vendors would take full advantage of her vulnerability. ‘You want to do this for as little money as possible,’ he said, ‘because whatever you think this project of yours is going to cost, you might as well add at least twenty per cent on as a contingency – one that will be eaten up quickly. There will be something you’ve not thought of, trust me. So keep your cool.’
Libby reminded herself he was trying to be helpful and not necessarily a condescending arse. She also reminded herself that her twenty per cent contingency had already been eaten in to and she’d take whatever advice she could get to stop it disappearing altogether.
She was impressed when he produced a notebook and pen and eyed up what was available with the appearance of someone who knew exactly what he was doing and what he was looking at. He took notes and measurements and thoroughly inspected the pieces for any signs of wear and tear. He was exceptionally thorough.
He gave her a thumbs up when he spotted an ercol desk that had not been listed on the auction catalogue and which was going for an absolute steal. While normally a vintage ercol would sell for anywhere between four and six hundred pounds. This one was a bargainous three hundred and fifty pounds.
‘I think you should take it,’ he said. ‘The auction price won’t go as low as that.’
She could see other people starting to sniff around, so she nodded to Noah. ‘Yes, I think I should take it too.’
‘Do you want me to do the talking?’ Noah asked, as they approached a rather elderly and aloof-looking gentleman, complete with neckerchief and tweed jacket. His nose hair was as bushy as the hair on his head.