Everything is Beautiful by Eleanor Ray (best classic romance novels txt) 📕

the perfect time to make her escape. ‘Hey Amy,’ said a voice. Amy spun around and found herself face to face with Liam, the new head of marketing. ‘I haven’t seen you out for drinks before,’ he said, smiling at her.

‘I’m usually busy,’ she replied, stepping backwards. ‘And actually, I need to—’

An arm snaked round her waist from behind. Before Amy had time to react, she felt a wet warmth by her ear. She spun round again; people from the office kept sneaking up on her. Thank goodness at work she had a desk with its back to the wall.

‘I’ll miss you,’ said Emma, her voice already a little slurred as she leaned into Amy. Amy smelt Red Bull and Jägermeister on Emma’s breath and was suddenly reminded of the Christmas party she’d been forced into attending two years ago. Emma looked at Amy’s expression and laughed, giving her a wet kiss on the cheek. ‘You’re special.’

‘Yes,’ said Amy, disentangling herself. ‘Indeed.’ Carthika appeared, and Amy successfully transferred Emma across. They swayed together in what Amy assumed was meant to be some kind of dance. ‘Just nipping to the loo,’ she said, as she saw Liam approaching her once more.

The swarm around the bar was four people deep, but the rest of the pub was quiet. It was a warm day in early July and people had chosen the pavement rather than the dark pub room. An abandoned wine bottle sat on a sticky round table, with two empty glasses for company. Amy paused and glanced at the bottle. It looked almost black in the dim light of the pub, but Amy could tell it would have a beautiful green translucence if held to the light: like the limeflavoured boiled sweets Tim used to enjoy.

Amy climbed the steps to the loo and sat down in the cubicle, thankful for a few moments to herself with the weight off her feet. She thought about the bottle again. It had a perfect shape to it: a long elegant neck and straight body. Symmetrical. Perfect. It couldn’t just go in the bin. It wouldn’t be right.

She went back downstairs and discovered that the bottle still sat there. Empty. Forlorn. Amy made sure no one was watching. Thankful for her large handbag, she grabbed the bottle and popped it inside. The neck peeped out like a little lapdog, but Amy didn’t think anyone would notice. She fought the urge to take the glasses too. They looked so sad, sitting there. No. That would be stealing.

But the bottle wasn’t stealing. No one wanted it.

She’d make sure it was taken care of.

Amy found she was glad she’d come after all.

Normally, the train home on Fridays was less busy than the rest of the week. People paused for drinks after work, spreading the usual five p.m. commuters thinly as butter across the evening.

Not today.

Two trains in a row were cancelled. Amy joined the throngs of people staring up at the departures board as if it were a movie screen. Every once in a while a new number appeared, and a portion of the throng separated and rushed to their platform. A collective sigh of disappointment was released by those left behind.

Finally, Amy’s train was announced and Amy allowed herself to be carried along in the commuter current. She boarded, spotted a single seat in a group of four, made her way towards it gratefully and sank down. The train filled up, and she noticed a man near her. He was standing a little awkwardly, and Amy looked at him more closely.

His arm was in a sling.

Of course, there was only one right thing to do. Amy immediately stood up, stepped to one side and gestured with a silent half-bow that he should take the seat. It was only fair. Before he could, a young woman with a nose ring pushed past him and hurled herself into the new vacancy. Somewhere a whistle blew and the train started to move.

Amy looked at the man. He was maybe in his late forties, about ten years older than Amy herself, and he seemed tired. She noticed that his shirt was wrinkled and she felt a little flicker of recognition in her heart. He had no one to iron it for him while his arm was out of action.

The man caught her gaze and gave Amy a good-natured shrug, accompanied by a little ‘the youth of today’ eye roll. He stoically held on to a pole with his good hand.

Perhaps it was the warm Prosecco. Perhaps the blister developing on her heel. Perhaps the way the wrinkled-shirt man just accepted his fate. Amy found she just couldn’t bear it.

‘Excuse me,’ said Amy, her voice polite. The woman was peering at her phone, completely engrossed. She didn’t look up. Amy coughed. ‘Excuse me,’ she said more loudly. Some of the other commuters glanced at her. Still the woman ignored her. Amy stepped forwards, entering the sacrosanct space between the facing seats. Knees on both sides of her recoiled as if they were snails retreating into their shells.

‘She can’t hear you,’ said a man sitting next to the nose-ring girl. He was wearing a pretty floral shirt. ‘She’s got earphones in.’

Amy looked. Sure enough, the woman had bright white wireless earphones nestling snugly in her ears. Feeling bold, Amy reached forwards and tapped the woman on the shoulder. Finally she looked up.

‘What?’ the woman asked. She removed one of the earphones and frowned at Amy.

‘That man has a broken arm,’ said Amy. ‘I gave up my seat for him. And you sat down.’ She waited for the woman to jump up and apologise.

‘This isn’t a disabled seat,’ said the woman, not moving.

‘I’m not disabled,’ ventured the man with the sling. ‘I just fell down some stairs.’

‘That’s not the point,’ said Amy. ‘It was his seat. I gave it to him because he needed it.’

‘I don’t see his name on it,’ said the woman. The other commuters, sensing the start of some unexpected drama,