‘Oh God, no, perish the thought.’ Noah grimaced and Jo swiped at him with the drinks menu she had been using as a makeshift fan.
‘You’d never get that lucky,’ Jo teased and Libby watched as they descended once again into their usual banter – jokes and fake insults flying back and forth between them. It seemed so obvious now, she wasn’t sure how she hadn’t seen it. But then, she hadn’t been looking. She reminded herself that, honestly, Noah Simpson was not of any romantic interest to her and that she’d only been checking out his relationship status for Jess. Jess, who she hadn’t spoken to in four whole days. Her mood dipped and she stared into the bottom of her glass.
Jo excused herself to go to the bathroom and after a minute of fairly awkward silence, Noah spoke. ‘So, you thought Jo and I were an item?’ he asked, a slight hint of amusement in his voice.
Libby shrugged her shoulders. ‘You seemed… I don’t know… close.’
‘We are. As I’ve said, she’s my best friend. But nothing more.’ He pulled a face, and laughed. ‘She must have told you about the worst snog in the world ever? It was like snogging my granny. Just plain wrong. Actually, you’re the only coupled-up one among us three. And you’ve still not managed to drag your boyfriend in here yet.’
Libby’s mood dropped further. ‘No. Well… it’s complicated,’ she said.
‘It’s none of my business,’ Noah said. ‘But if you want to talk, Jo and I make for good listeners. Even Paddy here is a good man for sounding off to. And he never judges. Nor do Jo or I, for that matter.’
‘Ant works hard. He’s very busy at the moment,’ she said, knowing, of course, that was only the tiniest part of the problems they were facing.
Noah nodded. ‘You really don’t need to explain anything to me, Bookshop Libby,’ he said, his voice soft and his gaze warm. ‘But sometimes you have to look at where you stand in a person’s life. I’m an all-or-nothing person when it comes to relationships and nothing in the world comes before my friends or family, never mind any prospective partner.’
Libby nodded, unable to speak. So much came before her in Ant’s life, and, if she was honest to herself, Ant was quite far down her list of priorities too. But two bottles of cider in, she didn’t want to think about serious things. She was delighted to see Jo walk over to them with another round of drinks.
‘One for the road?’ Jo asked with a smile. ‘You’ll not be driving anyway, so you might as well make the most of this lovely weather and our dazzling company and have one more.’
Libby nodded and Jo doled out the drinks, including a bottle of beer for Noah. She’d definitely go home after this. No question about it. It was too risky to sit here while her emotions were spinning, and, more than that, it was definitely too risky to stay here when everything she heard or learned about Noah was making her see him in a whole new light.
She could feel the headache that had been nagging at her all week come back. And the cider didn’t taste as sweet as it had before. Her little Ant-free bubble had been burst and she couldn’t shake the thought of him, or of Jess, from her mind.
And all the while, every time Libby looked at Noah, at his warm smile, the dark hairs on his arms against his tanned skin, the strength evident in his hands, she felt herself pulled towards him. This handsome man, with some sort of tragedy in his past, who loved his community, and rescued his dog, and who was looking at her with a very quizzical expression on his face.
‘Are you okay there, Libby?’
She jolted to attention. ‘Yes. Of course, yes.’
‘You seemed to zone out there for a bit,’ he said. ‘And you look a little pale.’
Did she? She didn’t know. But, yes, she was distracted. And her head was actually verging on really sore now, and her throat felt scratchy. Probably hay fever, she thought. That would teach her for sitting out in the beer garden. She swallowed the last of her drink.
‘Actually, I just think I need to go home now,’ she said. ‘I do feel a little out of sorts.’
‘Noah will call you a taxi,’ Jo said, her expression soft and warm. ‘I think an early night and a good sleep will do you the power of good.’
Libby nodded. An early night sounded blissful. As did a long sleep. She could escape all her worries when she was dreaming.
20
Girl, Interrupted
Libby was feeling slightly nauseated by the time the taxi reached home. The sweaty driver, who reeked of cigarette smoke, had insisted that she keep the windows up through the entire journey, despite the blistering heat, and that he didn’t need to put the air con on, as, according to him, it wasn’t that warm.
Libby sat feeling progressively worse, while she felt sweat roll down her back and between her boobs, making her feel like a horrible, smelly, sticky mess.
Her legs were even a little shaky as she walked up the front path and put her key in the front door. She felt more than a little light-headed as she made her way to the kitchen and filled a pint glass with tap water and added some ice. She stood for a moment, letting water from the cold tap run over her wrists in an effort to help her cool down quickly. She lifted the pint glass, now slick with condensation, held it first to her forehead and then to the back of her neck, before downing half of it without so much as taking a breath. Still feeling wobbly, she made her way to the kitchen table and sat down, stretched her arms out in front of her and lay her head on them.
She drifted off within seconds, waking a short time later to the gentle nudge of her mother. ‘Libby, pet. Are you okay?’
She lifted her head – which felt heavy and thick with the need to have a proper sleep – and blinked at her mother.
‘Are you sick? Your eyes are all red and you’re an awful colour,’ her mother said, and placed her cool hand on Libby’s forehead just as she used to do when she was a child. She looked concerned. ‘You’re a bit warm.’
Libby found she didn’t have the energy to tell her mother it was probably because she had spent the best part of half an hour in the sauna-like environment of the smelliest taxi in the world.
‘Pet, why don’t you go on up to bed. I’ll bring you some iced water and some paracetamol. I knew this would happen. I was only saying to your dad I was worried you’ve been working too hard. Not just now, but with all the prep, and you’re not looking after yourself.’
‘I’m not sick, Mum,’ Libby muttered, a wave of nausea leaving her feeling a little unsure herself. ‘But I think I will go to bed.’
‘I’ll bring a basin up too – just in case,’ her mother clucked. ‘And maybe the fan from the living room in case you feel too hot.’
Slowly, as if her limbs were stuck to the very furniture around her, Libby extracted herself from her seat at the table and used every last ounce of energy she could find to traipse up the stairs. Just as she reached the landing, the creeping nausea that had been nagging at her from the moment she got in the taxi turned into a tidal wave. She made it to the bathroom just in time before she was sick.
A glimpse of herself in the hall mirror on the way back to her bedroom did not paint a pretty picture. Her hair was damp with sweat and plastered to the side of her face. A grey pallor gave her a less than attractive look and her eyes were red-rimmed. She hauled herself into her room and on top of her bed, where she fell asleep before her mother came into her room.