How to Find Love in a Book Shop (19 page)

Sixteen

A few days later, Bea laid a presentation folder in front of Emilia with a proud smile.

‘I tried really hard not to get
too
carried away,’ she said.

She had made it into the shape of a book. On the front it read
Nightingale Books
, in silver writing on navy blue. She’d designed a logo – N and B entwined, with a tendril of roses and a tiny nightingale perched amongst them.

‘This is the logo – you can use it on all your social media, your bags, the sign outside. A really strong visual that people can recognise and identify with.’

‘It’s sweet. We could have T-shirts.’ Emilia felt a swirl of delight.

‘Exactly. This is about creating a brand as much as creating a really immersive shopping experience.’

‘OK …’ Emilia wasn’t used to jargon, but Bea thrived on it.

The first page was a CAD drawing of the shop divided up into sections, using double-sided bookcases. There was a four-sided counter in the centre of the floor space, allowing whoever was serving to see all around the shop.

‘I wanted it to feel as if it’s got different rooms. Different rooms with different feels,’ Bea explained. ‘There’s so much wasted space, but this gives you twice as much shelf space as well as more room to browse.’

Each section had a page and Bea had created a mood board for each one. The pièce de résistance was the café area on the mezzanine, which also had an area selling cards and wrapping paper and small gifts. There were just three wooden tables, and a marble-topped table with three cake domes.

‘Oh!’ breathed Emilia. ‘Do you think we can do it? It looks absolutely gorgeous. Sort of the-same-but-different.’

‘I wanted to keep the spirit of what your dad had here, but move it on a bit. Make it modern but nostalgic. Somewhere people can explore their imaginations: step back into the past if they want, or into another world, or into the future. That’s what a book shop should be, after all – a gateway to somewhere else. But books aren’t enough – you have to give people a helping hand.’

Emilia leafed through the drawings. Bea really had been clever. She had kept everything that was important, but showed it off to much greater effect. The colours were softer: the walls pale grey, the shelves painted white, which made the shop seem bigger.

‘I love it all. I love the lights!’

At the moment, the shop was lit with old-fashioned strip lights, harsh at best. Bea had put in some very cool chandeliers: white twisted glass with red wire threaded through them.

‘Well, those are probably very expensive, but it gives you an idea of what could be done.’

Emilia sighed. ‘How much do you think it will cost? Because of course, that’s the rub. None of this looks cheap.’

Bea made a face. ‘Well, you get what you pay for. But some of it can be done with MDF and magic. And we can work with what we’ve got already. If we rip up the carpet, we can use the floorboards – put a nice chalky paint effect over them. And then painting everything pale colours will give the illusion of more space. And you don’t have to do it all at once!’

‘But I want to do it all at once,’ laughed Emilia. ‘And how long do you think it would take? We’d have to close while it was being done.’

‘I’ve done a timetable,’ said Bea. ‘I reckon two weeks, with all hands on deck. As for price, we’d have to get quotes. It’s mostly carpentry; a bit of wiring. Decorating. But of course, as we all know, once you start taking something apart, then you uncover all sorts of horrors.’

‘It’s a total refurb,’ said Emilia, shaking her head. ‘There’s no point in being half-arsed about it. We’d have to take all the books out and put them somewhere. And I need to put in a new computer system while I’m at it. And security.’ She put her face in her hands. ‘I’m so excited. But I’m scared. I’ve got to make the decision and I don’t know what to do. It would be so easy to walk away and go back to my old life. Or sell up and start a new one. Either of those would be easier!’

‘But not as rewarding?’

Emilia looked around the shop. She imagined everything Bea had outlined brought to life, and how exciting that would be.

She just had to find the courage from somewhere.

And the cash …

‘I’ll get some quotes. There’s no point in getting excited until I know what it’s going to cost.’

‘I’ve got some good guys who did my house. They’re reliable. And fast. And good. They have to be, to work for me.’ Bea laughed. ‘I’ll ask them for a quote.’

‘And will you help me do a window display for Mick Gillespie? He’s coming at the weekend, remember.’

‘Of course!’ Bea’s eyes sparkled. ‘Can I have carte blanche?’

‘Carte blanche and a fifty quid budget,’ said Emilia. ‘And as many copies of his book as you can stuff in the window.’

‘It’ll be glorious,’ promised Bea. ‘Maud is at nursery on Thursday afternoon. I’ll come and do it then.’

‘I can’t pay you much.’

‘Listen, it’s stopping me going mad with boredom. Just give me a signed copy.’

‘You’re amazing.’

‘I know.’

Emilia smiled as her new friend left the shop. Bea made her feel as if things were possible, then put a layer of glitter on the top. She was one of those special people. She was lucky to have her goodwill and her talent, but she wasn’t going to be able to rely on her long-term. Bea was way out of her league.

Later that week, Jackson came back to Emilia with his verdict on the Moomins.

‘I’ve decided, I’m going to try and be more like Moominpappa,’ said Jackson.

‘Well, that’s a very good resolution,’ said Emilia. ‘But you might need to put on a bit of weight.’

‘Don’t! My ex kept going on about how fat they all were. But at least they’re happy. Not making kale smoothies and freaking out if they have an extra raw almond.’

‘Is she a bit of a health freak?’

‘She’s turned into one. She never used to be. She’s doing a triathlon and she’s obsessed with her heart rate and her body fat and how often she can go training.’

‘Sounds awful.’

‘I don’t mind. It means I get to have Finn more while she goes on endless bike rides. So – what shall I read next?’

‘I’ve just got the perfect book in. I’m trying to build up the children’s department and I think you should read this.’ She led him over to a display table and held up a picture book. ‘I don’t know anyone who can’t learn something from
The Little Prince
, though you probably need to read it a few times to get the full meaning.’ She handed it to him. It was a slender book, with a picture of little blonde boy dressed in blue on the front, standing on a planet. ‘It’s a funny book,’ she went on. ‘Funny peculiar. But it explains things. It’s my favourite book in the world.’

‘I thought the Moomins were?’

‘After the Moomins.’ She grinned. ‘OK. I admit it. I have lots of favourites. That’s the trouble with books. You can never choose your favourite. It changes depending on your mood. But I really think you’ll like it.’

‘I’ll give it a try.’ He handed over the money. ‘Finn’s really loving being read to. It’s made a big difference to our relationship. I think he just saw me as the one who messed about with him in the skatepark, but we’ve been having some really good chats.’ He looked a bit emotional. ‘It’s good, after everything that’s happened. I don’t feel like such a bloody failure …’

‘I’m sure you’re not a failure,’ said Emilia.

Jackson looked embarrassed. ‘Sorry. I’m oversharing …’

‘Listen, it’s part of the job. Everyone comes in here to overshare. I’m part bookseller, part therapist.’

She handed him the book. As he took it, Jackson spotted the poster behind the counter, advertising the evening with Mick Gillespie.

‘Mick Gillespie? Is he actually coming here?’

‘I know, right? I’m so excited.’

‘Have you still got tickets? How much is it?’

‘Five pounds – but you get nibbles and a Silver Moon cocktail for that. I’ve got someone doing special Irish canapés. It’s going to be amazing.’

‘Mia would love that. She’s obsessed with Mick Gillespie. She bought me one of those Aran jumpers for Christmas one year. I looked like an idiot in it.’ Jackson shrugged ruefully. ‘Can I have two tickets?’

‘Of course!’ She took two tickets from the drawer.

‘She is going to be so made up,’ grinned Jackson, pulling out a tenner.

Bea emerged from the window, dressed in a boiler suit, a glue gun in one hand. She smiled at Jackson, and looked at Emilia, enquiry in her eyes.

Emilia had no choice but to introduce them.

‘Bea, this is Jackson. Jackson – this is Bea. She’s doing a window display for the event.’

The two of them nodded hello at each other.

‘If you ever want anything done,’ said Jackson. ‘I’m quite handy.’

Bea held up her glue gun. ‘I’m good. But thanks.’

Jackson turned to go, putting a farewell hand up to Emilia.

‘Thanks for everything. See you soon.’

Bea watched him go out of the door. ‘I bet he’s handy all right. What are you waiting for?’

‘Bea!’ Emilia feigned shock. ‘He’s not my type. Although he is cute. But he’s totally obsessed with his ex. He’s just bought tickets to the Mick Gillespie event for her.’

‘She’s his
ex
!’ said Bea. ‘Come on! You need to have some fun. And he needs to get over her. Ask him out.’

‘He’s a customer! I’m not going to ask him out.’

‘Why not? It’s not like you’re a doctor. You’re not breaking some Hippocratic oath. There is nothing that says you can’t have a relationship with one of your customers.’

Emilia was suddenly reminded of her father and Sarah. So many questions had been whirling round in her head. How had their affair started? In the book shop? Sarah might tell her one day, she supposed.

In the meantime, she needed to get Bea off her back. Jackson wasn’t an option. She could see it in his eyes.

‘You’ve got glue in your hair,’ she said, and walked away.

Dillon had been in to see Alice every day after work. He’d brought in her laptop and she was jubilant.

‘Don’t tell my mum,’ she warned him. He didn’t think it really mattered, her having access to her emails. She had nothing much else to do in the hospital.

‘To be honest, it takes my mind off the pain,’ she told him.

He was steaming ahead with
Riders
. He was actually starting to enjoy the story and wanted to know what happened next. It was like being in a little bubble, just him and Alice in her private room. The nurse brought them pinky-brown tea in green cups, and he brought in more chocolate.

‘I’m going to get so fat,’ complained Alice. ‘I won’t fit into my wedding dress.’

Good, thought Dillon. He wanted Alice to get better, but he’d been hoping and praying that the wedding would be postponed because of her injuries. She seemed determined though. Even though she was in terrible pain, she pushed herself to do her physio.

‘I’m walking up that aisle without crutches if it kills me,’ she told him.

It exhausted her, though she tried to pretend it didn’t. She was lying with her eyes shut as he read. He wasn’t sure if she was asleep but it didn’t matter. He could always go back and read the chapter again.

He stopped.

She opened her eyes.

‘Do you want me to carry on?’

‘No.’ She sat up. ‘I want you to do something for me.’

‘Anything, you know that.’

‘I’m going to take off the bandage on my face and I want you to look at my scar and tell me how awful it is. I can’t look at it myself. But I need to know if it’s too bad to get married.’

‘OK.’

She picked at the tape holding the gauze in place.

Dillon tried not to show his distress. ‘Careful.’

Gently she pulled back the dressing. Underneath was a livid red gash, a v-shaped wound on her cheekbone.

‘It should go down and the redness should go and it will fade a bit,’ Alice was gabbling. ‘But is it really horrific? Is it Frankenstein stuff? Do I look like Herman Munster? All I’m worried about at the moment is not looking awful at the wedding. If it’s really bad I’ll have to call it off. I want you to be really honest.’

Dillon looked long and hard at the wound. His mind was racing. If he told her it was terrible, then maybe, just maybe, she would postpone the wedding. And in the meantime, he would get a chance to bury Hugh, somehow. Get him to show his true colours so the wedding would be called off for ever and ever. Maybe he could get some coke off Pogo, then offer it to Hugh. Offer him a better deal. He wasn’t sure he’d make a very convincing drug dealer, but he thought it would probably suit Hugh to have a supplier on the premises at Peasebrook …

No, thought Dillon. He wouldn’t be able to pull it off. Hugh would be instantly suspicious.

He couldn’t do it to her, though. To him, it wouldn’t matter if her whole face were scarred: she was beautiful.

‘It’s just a bit red and swollen,’ he told her.

‘Really?’ she said. ‘I mean, I can have my hair over my face and I’ll have a veil …’

‘Honestly,’ said Dillon. ‘No one will notice it.’

She sighed. ‘You’re the only person I can trust to tell me the truth. Everyone else is just lying to make me feel better. And none of them wants the wedding to be cancelled. But I know it doesn’t matter to you either way.’

That couldn’t be further from the truth, thought Dillon. If anyone wants that wedding stopped, it’s me.

‘Hugh keeps telling me not to worry and I don’t want to go on about it because it just make him feel more guilty about the accident.’

Dillon felt so angry he almost couldn’t breathe. The bastard hadn’t felt a moment’s guilt.

‘Are you OK?’ asked Alice.

‘Fine. It’s just a bit stuffy in here.’

‘I know. It’s awful at night. I can hardly sleep. But I should be out of here soon.’

‘That’s good news.’

‘I’ll go mad if I have to stay in here much longer. I’d go mad if it wasn’t for your visits. Mum nips in every day, but she and Dad are so busy with Peasebrook and Hugh’s working like a lunatic so he can get time off for the wedding and the honeymoon—’

‘Please,’ he interrupted her. ‘I don’t want to hear any more about the wedding.’