The Bookshop of Second Chances Jackie Fraser (ebook reader macos .txt) 📖

‘I guess we don’t have much choice. It’s not like we can phone anyone, with no signal.’

‘If you want to go home, we could walk round to the caravan park and call someone from there – I’m sure Jenny would come and pick you up. Or you could get a cab.’

I stare at him. ‘That would cost a million pounds, surely.’

‘Probably not a million pounds. But maybe forty. I’d pay for it, obviously, since it’s my fault you’re trapped here.’

I think about this for a while. I don’t really want to walk for half an hour in order to beg for a lift like a teenager.

‘Oh well, sod it. It probably won’t kill me not to clean my teeth for once.’

He laughs, but says, ‘Sure? I don’t want you to feel like I’ve kidnapped you.’

‘Pfft. I’ve had less to drink than you, I could probably drive your car, eventually. Maybe.’

‘Have you? Would you like to try?’

‘Is it hard to drive?’

He looks at me, evidently considering whether or not I’d be capable of this feat. ‘No power steering.’

‘Yeah, that’s what I thought. Well.’ I look out to sea for a bit, and then back at him. I’m fairly confident this isn’t part of some kind of convoluted plan to compromise me. Ha ha, compromise – I think I’m past being compromised. ‘What’s wrong with the bed?’ I ask.

‘Oh, try it if you like. I should probably get a new mattress for it. But because I never sleep in there, and rarely bring anyone else to stay, I only ever think about it when I’m actually here.’

I head through to the bedroom. Edward follows me. It’s dark.

‘Hang on,’ he says, ‘there’s a torch… Here you go. T-shirts are in the second drawer.’ He clicks on the torch and hands it to me.

I open the drawer, feeling around the neat piles of fabric, and pull out a T-shirt, shaking it one-handed to unfold it.

‘Okay,’ I say, holding it against my chest, ‘that’s enormous.’

He laughs. ‘Too big even for me,’ he agrees. ‘That’s why it’s here, I guess. All the clothes here are a bit random.’

I turn it round so I can see what it says. Two stick figures and childlike writing: ‘Joanna’.

‘Who’s Joanna?’

‘Oh, no one. It’s a band. My friend’s band. He made the T-shirts as well.’

‘Are they any good?’

‘I wouldn’t say good, exactly. They were okay.’

‘Good enough to buy a T-shirt?’

‘Ha ha, yeah, I didn’t buy it, he gave it to me.’

‘Well, I reckon it will fit me.’ I turn to look at the bed, pale in the gloom. ‘So what’s wrong with this?’

‘Try it,’ he says. I hand the torch back to him and he directs the torchlight at the headboard.

I turn back the duvet and lie down, cautiously. The mattress makes an unusual sproinging noise and something – probably whatever made the noise – digs into my kidneys. In addition to this, it feels very much as though my feet are higher than my head. I turn onto my side and it makes the noise again. The spring is no longer stabbing me but there’s the faint sensation that it might tip me out onto the floor.

‘Right,’ I say, sitting up, ‘yeah, you should buy a new mattress.’

‘Awful, isn’t it? Luckily the sofa’s really comfortable. Bring the duvet,’ he adds, opening the wardrobe and rummaging about. We drag bedding back through to the other room and pile it on the sofa. He goes back for his sleeping mat and pillows, and, yawning hugely, I open a packet of fancy crisps and empty them into a bowl.

‘Should I open this wine, then?’ I ask him.

‘Did you want some?’

‘Not really.’

‘Can’t drink the whole thing myself.’

‘You can take it home with you, can’t you?’ I unhook the corkscrew from the hook on the side of the cupboard, and open the bottle. I pour a glass for him and, after some consideration, a glass of fizzy water for me. I lean against the sink and watch him as he potters about, lighting candles in the big glass storm lanterns. I’m really quite tired; it feels as though today has lasted for ever. In a good way – I’ve definitely enjoyed myself. Lunchtime feels like weeks ago. It’s almost ten o’clock, still not really dark, of course. I yawn again, and eat some crisps.

‘Are you really going to sleep outside then?’ I ask him.

‘I might. Or for a while at least. The moon will be behind us for ages, but eventually it will be over the sea, and that’s pretty special. And it’s clear.’ He walks to the door and steps out onto the grass, looking up at the sky. I go to stand beside him. There are stars already, even though it’s not yet fully dark.

‘You should stay out and look at the stars,’ he says, ‘at least for a bit. But we could get your bed ready.’

Back in the Shed he fumbles with the large sofa. ‘It folds down,’ he explains, ‘but I can never – oh, there you go.’ He billows the sheet at me.

I look at the sofa bed. It’s pretty big; bigger than a double bed, probably. Now he’s flung the duvet over it, I have to say it looks enticing.

‘It really is pretty good,’ he says, and lies down, patting the space beside him. ‘Try it.’

‘Er–’

‘Plenty of room, you can get two people on here easily.’

Bloody hell. I have a sudden sense of vertigo, almost panic. Maybe this whole thing was a massive mistake. I wish I was at home. At Uncle Andrew’s, I mean.

‘I don’t think… Look, if you’d rather, I can sleep on the floor,’ I say, ‘I mean, it’s not really fair, is it, if you’d come by yourself–’

A moth flies through the doorway and flings itself into one of the candles, sizzling unpleasantly and distracting us both.

‘Damn,’ he says. ‘I should put the curtain up.’ He gets up quickly, and pulls a large rectangle of folded fabric from