the room, facing the bookshelf; he is reading the first few pages of a thriller, rocking gently on the balls of his feet as he reads.
But before we start assuming this must be fate, I have to point out that although Ben likes Jemima, he doesn’t like Jemima, so perhaps now is not the time to start jumping to conclusions.
But it is rather strange that both of them should be in Waterstone’s at exactly the same time. Ben, it has to be said, comes to Waterstone’s once every couple of weeks, but rarely does he take advantage of the fact that Waterstone’s is open until 10 P.M. , rarely does he venture into this bookstore after work. Ben usually makes his journey on a Saturday, he will pop in on his way to meet some friends for a drink at a sidewalk café.
p. 54 Tonight, however, Ben is not going out. Nor is he watching the news. Tonight Ben has nothing to do, and this is why he is in the same place as Jemima Jones, at the same time. And because Ben didn’t jump in a cab, he got the tube, Ben has only just arrived.
So here they are, Jemima and Ben, these two colleagues, both with their backs towards one another, both lost in their respective handheld worlds of academia and dodgy dealing in the City, both completely unaware of their proximity.
All it will take for Jemima to turn around and see Ben is a tiny twist of fate, a decision to buy the book, to add it to the first, to perhaps turn and look for another one, and, in turning, note that the man of her daydreams is standing opposite her. But fate can be cruel, or possibly in this case understanding, because what, after all, would Jemima do if she saw Ben?
And Ben? Ben would be surprised and pleased to see her, as he would if he bumped into any of his colleagues unexpectedly, but that would be the sum of it.
Luckily we don’t have to worry about what either will do, because neither has the slightest idea the other is there. Jemima carries on reading, while Ben closes his book firmly and takes it to the till. He gives the dowdy girl behind the till a winning smile, and she takes the book and places it in a plastic bag, melting while she does so. Please come back in again, she thinks, please come back tomorrow, when perhaps we’ll have a conversation, which may lead to coffee, which may lead to . . . anything. Everything.
But Ben just pockets the book and walks out, with not a backward glance. Jemima decides to buy the book, and then looks around for one more. She goes to yet another table and suddenly her eye lands on the perfect book: The Idiot’s Guide to the Internet.
Well, I may not be an idiot, but flicking through the book I realize that there are hundreds of things I don’t know, thousands of sites I might want to visit. Yes, this is the final book. Time to go.
p. 55 I wander over to the till and hand my pile of three to the dowdy girl looking bored. I try and catch her eye to give her a friendly smile, but she’s not interested, she doesn’t even look at me when she hands me my books, safely encased in a plastic bag, and when I thank her she just scowls and turns away. Honestly. Some people are just so rude.
I walk back outside, and linger for a moment on the pavement, because I’m not ready to go home and it’s such a beautiful evening, and for the first time in ages I don’t care that I don’t look like the beautiful people milling around me, I want to do something, go somewhere, have a life.
I don’t know quite where to go, so I wander down the hill, looking in every window I pass, all the main street chains that line the main street, and even though the windows are filled with garish, high-fashion clothes, size 6 bits of cloth that would normally serve only to emphasize my inadequacies, tonight I don’t care, and anyway, a girl can dream, can’t she?
On the other side of the road strolls Ben Williams. He too is looking into shop windows, admiring the shirts, the suits, wishing he had a bit more money so he could afford them,
But before we start assuming this must be fate, I have to point out that although Ben likes Jemima, he doesn’t like Jemima, so perhaps now is not the time to start jumping to conclusions.
But it is rather strange that both of them should be in Waterstone’s at exactly the same time. Ben, it has to be said, comes to Waterstone’s once every couple of weeks, but rarely does he take advantage of the fact that Waterstone’s is open until 10 P.M. , rarely does he venture into this bookstore after work. Ben usually makes his journey on a Saturday, he will pop in on his way to meet some friends for a drink at a sidewalk café.
p. 54 Tonight, however, Ben is not going out. Nor is he watching the news. Tonight Ben has nothing to do, and this is why he is in the same place as Jemima Jones, at the same time. And because Ben didn’t jump in a cab, he got the tube, Ben has only just arrived.
So here they are, Jemima and Ben, these two colleagues, both with their backs towards one another, both lost in their respective handheld worlds of academia and dodgy dealing in the City, both completely unaware of their proximity.
All it will take for Jemima to turn around and see Ben is a tiny twist of fate, a decision to buy the book, to add it to the first, to perhaps turn and look for another one, and, in turning, note that the man of her daydreams is standing opposite her. But fate can be cruel, or possibly in this case understanding, because what, after all, would Jemima do if she saw Ben?
And Ben? Ben would be surprised and pleased to see her, as he would if he bumped into any of his colleagues unexpectedly, but that would be the sum of it.
Luckily we don’t have to worry about what either will do, because neither has the slightest idea the other is there. Jemima carries on reading, while Ben closes his book firmly and takes it to the till. He gives the dowdy girl behind the till a winning smile, and she takes the book and places it in a plastic bag, melting while she does so. Please come back in again, she thinks, please come back tomorrow, when perhaps we’ll have a conversation, which may lead to coffee, which may lead to . . . anything. Everything.
But Ben just pockets the book and walks out, with not a backward glance. Jemima decides to buy the book, and then looks around for one more. She goes to yet another table and suddenly her eye lands on the perfect book: The Idiot’s Guide to the Internet.
Well, I may not be an idiot, but flicking through the book I realize that there are hundreds of things I don’t know, thousands of sites I might want to visit. Yes, this is the final book. Time to go.
p. 55 I wander over to the till and hand my pile of three to the dowdy girl looking bored. I try and catch her eye to give her a friendly smile, but she’s not interested, she doesn’t even look at me when she hands me my books, safely encased in a plastic bag, and when I thank her she just scowls and turns away. Honestly. Some people are just so rude.
I walk back outside, and linger for a moment on the pavement, because I’m not ready to go home and it’s such a beautiful evening, and for the first time in ages I don’t care that I don’t look like the beautiful people milling around me, I want to do something, go somewhere, have a life.
I don’t know quite where to go, so I wander down the hill, looking in every window I pass, all the main street chains that line the main street, and even though the windows are filled with garish, high-fashion clothes, size 6 bits of cloth that would normally serve only to emphasize my inadequacies, tonight I don’t care, and anyway, a girl can dream, can’t she?
On the other side of the road strolls Ben Williams. He too is looking into shop windows, admiring the shirts, the suits, wishing he had a bit more money so he could afford them,
Similar Books
