Life Isn't Meant to Be Easy, It's Meant to Be Lived
Accidental Hero #2 : A Romance Novella with One Foot in the Past
Continues from Ep. #1 where tennis star Ben meets Verity, the aloof girl who he fancies, in her uncle’s antique shop
“What kept you?”
Patrick, my tennis partner, was twirling his racquet and pacing when I rushed into the changing rooms to exchange my shoes for the ones I wore on court.
“Homework.”
Don’t share too much, my head voice warned.
“What can matter so much this late in the year?” Patrick spoke arrogantly, as always when I did anything without him.
“If it’s worth doing,” I pushed my fringe off my forehead, “it’s worth doing well.”
“God, you sound like my Aunt Agatha!” Patrick teased, his humor returning. “C’mon, let’s win this match.”
Just after 1:30, I nosed my ride into the weed-troubled car park behind the antique shop. It had been a rush to return here on time. My hair was damp from a hasty shower. I was shocked at how completely Verity had occupied my thoughts all morning. It had affected my concentration, to the point that Patrick and I struggled to beat the doubles team from Breckridge Academy, our rivals in the tournament.
It had been almost as challenging to extricate myself from Patrick afterward. He had plans for us to join the gang at the multiplex for a film followed by pizza. I was evasive about meeting Verity and what we were doing—he never had anything nice to say about her, and I didn’t want to waste my time arguing with him.
I realized I had little appetite for food or my friends’ company. I was hungry to get closer to Verity and, if I was honest, learn more about the origins of that medal. The tutor who had paired us up had done me a favor, in more ways than one.
Don’t fuck up the opportunity reverberated in my head.
When I stepped on the shop floor, I was again struck by the musty smells: Dust and old leather, now overlaid with a lavender fragrance, probably polish. I guessed Verity had been cleaning. She was conversing with a couple in their forties who seemed interested in a bureau with many tiny drawers. The wife stroked the inlaid leather writing surface with a loving hand, while the husband attempted to haggle down the price.
I stood back and watched Verity work. She was cool and calm, unwilling to budge much from the item’s ticket price while seeming to listen and empathize with the man. Eventually, an amount was agreed upon, and delivery was thrown in. Verity recorded their contact details in a large black book. The wife looked delighted with their acquisition. When they left the shop, the bell on the door jingled.
The slanting afternoon sunlight lit Verity’s hair with gold. This girl had no idea how stunning she was. She gave me a rare grin, and I imagined those coral lips close enough to kiss: Her eyelids fluttering closed, as she sighed into my mouth, while the tips of her breasts pressed their warmth against my chest.
Snap out of it, you’ll have a creepy look on your face, my subconscious scolded.
“You’re a tough negotiator,” I told Verity.
“Not always, but I know what that desk is worth and I could see she loved it,” Verity shrugged.
“So the guy was haggling just for show?”
“Pretty much. She’d never have let him hear the end of it if he’d walked away.”
Verity placed her feather duster, cloth, and polish under the counter then pulled over a dining chair with a balloon back. She cleared a space next to where she was seated, for my laptop.
“I have to mind the shop, but I doubt we’ll be interrupted by more than the occasional browser.”
I pulled up a site to help us research records of British military medals. Verity reached for a large burgundy book to check the entries and find out how the medal had been acquired.
“My uncle often does house clearances. When somebody dies, their relatives call him in to give them a price for the removal of the contents. They know he’ll sell anything that counts as antique. The more mundane items he’ll take to charity shops or landfills.”
She was running her finger down acquisitions listed in her uncle’s cramped penmanship, only looking at those with a star in the column for jewelry/curios. For an illicit moment, I imagined her running that same finger over the contours of my chest and down my stomach to brush against my happy trail. The idea raised goosebumps.
Was she as inexperienced as me? I’d never heard of Verity dating anyone, but this girl could give Greta Garbo tips on aloof.
I shook off my reverie to say, “You ought to load this onto a computer, that book is like a spreadsheet, but much slower.”
“You’re preaching to the choir,” Verity grumbled. “I’ve been suggesting that to Uncle Colin for ages.”
She flipped to another page. “This could be it.” She spelled out the surname while I typed it into the website’s search box.
“That doesn’t take us anywhere,” I sighed, reading the text in the sidebar. “It says here that not all the old, paper records have been transferred to a database. Let’s start out trying to identify what kind of medal it is because it says recipients of the medals were announced in the London Gazette.”
Verity was sitting close to me, reading the screen over my shoulder. I felt a tingle on my skin where her red-gold hair brushed my arm. We narrowed it down to 1914–1918, an award earned during World War I.
“The site guide says we need to know the approximate month and year when the medal was awarded, and we don’t.” She rolled her eyes. “Thank goodness this was a relatively short war.”
Facing her, I noticed green flecks in her clear blue eyes. “I didn’t expect this to be easy, to tap a few keys and the soldier’s full history opens up for us. It’s going to take some effort and application. Let’s think of places to search for more information, and divide the tasks between us.”
I earned that sweet smile again. It was like being bathed in sunlight on a chilly day, and parts of me strained toward the warmth.
While Verity pulled over a lined pad and wrote down tasks as they occurred to her, I scrolled through images of medals, looking for a match of shape, insignia, and ribbon color.
The shop had no more customers, so there weren’t any interruptions. By the end of the afternoon, I was pleased with our progress. Also, I was amazed at how absorbing and companionable the research had been.
Our medal was the type awarded for conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty.
An insignia on the box depicted what appeared to be a wheeled cannon with a crown above it. On its fancy ribbons, the Latin inscription read:
Ubique
Quo fas et gloria ducunt
Using Google Translate, we deciphered:
Everywhere where duty and glory lead
Verity had compiled a long but comprehensive list of things to do. She divided it between us. Her first action was to quiz her uncle regarding the person that sold him the medal.
“I’d better go,” I said. “My mother is expecting me for supper. What plans do you have for the evening?” I shut down the laptop and folded my list of tasks into a pocket-sized wad.
“Uncle Colin won’t be home till late,” she shrugged. “I’ll probably knock up something quick to eat and watch an old movie.”
That sounded bleak, and I guess my expression betrayed my thoughts because Verity stiffened. The haughty look she wore at school returned.
“Modern films are so crass, dependent on violence, special effects, and sex,” she stated. “I prefer movies from the ’40s and ’50s, with actors like Grace Kelly, Gregory Peck, Audrey Hepburn, and James Stewart. They’re more romantic or suspenseful. Currently, I’m watching a box set of Alfred Hitchcock thrillers.” She threw me an arched eyebrow, perfect Lauren Bacall.
Verity smouldered when she was irritated, and attraction crackled like static at the nape of my neck, down my spine. The blue of her eyes was glacial. What’s wrong with you? My subconscious harangued. Are you excited now she’s frosty?
“We could meet tomorrow,” I suggested, rubbing my neck, “if you’re free.”
Part of me counseled playing it cool, but maybe I only had until this project was finished to spend time with Verity. I should make the most of it.
“I live near St Leonard’s church.” I pressed on. “It’s on your list, we could talk to the verger if he’s about, and look around the graveyard.”
Verity seemed to thaw a little. I let out a breath and threw my dice. “My mother cooks something fancy on Sunday nights, she’d love you to join us.”
“Oh, I couldn’t …”
“Of course you could, and you should! My sister often brings friends to supper; although tomorrow she won’t be there, because she’s visiting her German exchange student.”
“I didn’t know you had a sister.”
“Yeah, she’s three years below us,” Selina was a cute little squirt. “I’m walking Selina’s dog while she’s away. Oh, crap!” I checked my watch. “I’m late for that. Poor Binky will be at the back door with her paws crossed.”
“Go then, I don’t want to be the cause of a puddle on the floor.” Verity chuckled and tucked a strand of red gold behind her ear. “Thanks, I’d love to come to dinner. Let’s meet tomorrow, at the church.”
“Great! But better if I pick you up at 2.00. We can do research, then combine Binky’s walk with a visit to the churchyard.”
I hurried out to my car but took a moment to punch the air. This was going so much better than expected. Verity had been flashing on my radar for months. Finally, I’d found an opportunity to talk to her properly, and she seemed to be thawing. Although I sheepishly admitted, her ice queen persona was exhilarating.
[to be continued]
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Thanks to the Long, Long Trail for helping me research medals and the National Archives for outlining the process of keeping soldiers’ records. Prequel/teaser here
on Medium
This mini-series has an anchor in truth. It was originally hosted by
So tender and emotional! The descriptions of Verity are fantastic!
Interesting start! Well worth a recommendation.