black water, first to make Cameron love her, then to least remember who she was. Then five years ago sheâd begged for her heart to stop aching when heâd gone away.
Today, as the ice and frost fought for supremacy on the tips of the rocks which stuck out above the play of the water, Charlieâs brain replayed all the years sheâd hidden in Aliceâs shadow. While there was a certain safety in hiding behind a brighter, more confident, prettier friend, the time to extract herself from that shadow had long passed, and somehow Charlie had missed it. This current situation was her own fault.
The cold had forced the fish to the bottom of the water, and as she stared, straining to locate any sign of life, Charlie was surprised that it wasnât Cameronâs face reflecting back at her in the ever-changing shape of the river as usual, but that of the new owner of the bookshop.
âShould I be going out with him tonight?â
Charlie whispered the words into the water, aiming them, as she always did, at the highest point on the riverâs horizon. She could imagine them tumbling through the granite assault course until her troubles and emotions were washed away by the occasionally tranquil, but frequent ferocity of the river, leaving her lighter somehow.
As her latest question bobbled beneath her feet, the image of Gervase, his grey-speckled brown hair, his blue check shirt rolled to the elbows, revealing arms which werenât thick with muscles like Cameronâs, but were pleasantly shaped. His six-foot frame, tall, slim, and yet broad, towered over her five feet four. The overall impression Charlie had got from Gervase was genuine interest. Not just in âErinâ and her books, but the real her.
The river echoed into Charlieâs head as she stared downwards. âHe knew about your first book. Thatâs a man worth talking to if nothing more.â
Charlie inclined her head at the bubbles on the rivers surface, âBut he could be pretending to be nice to get a better deal for the bookshop during the festival.â
This time the reply tumbled faster over the rocky course. âHe isnât Alice.â
The thought was abrupt and echoed around her head as Charlie concentrated on the depths. âAlice is my friend. Weâve had so much fun together over the years. Iâm just hurt that she didnât believe me about how Cameron blanked me, thatâs all.â
âAmbition has dulled her generosity of spirit. Itâs your turn now.â
âMy turn?â The idea seemed so fresh, that Charlie found herself holding the side of the bridge tighter as the water offered one final instruction.
âHelp Alice. Sheâs become lost.â
âRelax, woman!â Charlie told herself as she wrapped a dark red cashmere scarf around her shoulders instead of her usual tatty blue one.
Brushing her hands down her jeans, she pulled on some knee-high boots. The necessity of having sensibly soled boots for the frosty pavements meant they had to be flatties. The lack of high heels added to the âthis is not a dateâ angle she was aiming for; an aim which was at odds with the excitement Charlie couldnât deny was rising inside her as she walked towards the pub. Telling herself firmly to stop acting like a teenager, she plunged her gloved hands deep into the pockets of her duffel coat.
The night sky was so black and clear that the stars shone like suspended snowflakes. The beauty of it instilled Charlie with a flicker of hope. Perhaps it was a good omen that her first ânot really a dateâ in six years would go well. In fact, it had been seven years since sheâd had any sort of proper date.
âCameronâs fault,â she muttered up to the constellations, but even as she said it, Charlie knew that wasnât true.
It was her fault. Sheâd been hurt, but rather than deal with it like a normal person, sheâd put it all in a book.