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

to rain since this morning. Edward’s away; I was half expecting him back this afternoon, but he never arrived. This is not uncommon; he’s often away, buying books and selling them, engaged in his mysterious social life. I’ve cashed up and done the catalogue and am waiting patiently for one of our regulars, Mrs Drummond, to return from whichever corner of the shop she’s disappeared to, so I can lock up. Once I had to go and look for her, and she was dozing on one of the sofas, surrounded by poetry books. Not today, though; she’s drifting back into the main room with a pair of green Penguin Agatha Christies. I deal with this and wish her a good evening and follow her to the door with my keys. Before I can lock up, though, an elegant blonde woman turns into the doorway and pushes through. I step back, slightly startled. It’s not as though she can’t see me.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, ‘we’re just closing.’ She looks vaguely familiar, although I can’t quite place her.

‘Oh, that’s all right,’ she says dismissively. ‘Edward’s just coming.’

And indeed, there he is, close behind.

‘Evening, Thea,’ he says. ‘Good day?’

‘It’s, er, yes. Not bad. You’re back then,’ I say, rather foolishly. ‘I assumed you weren’t coming back today.’

‘Change of plan,’ he says.

I try not to stare at the woman. I’m pretty sure it’s Sophie, who I met at Charles’s party. But not one hundred per cent certain. She’s wearing the most ravishing dress/jacket combination – raw primrose silk, like something I might think about wearing to a garden party if I was ever invited to one, but would then decide against it because it’s just too pale and effortless. She’d be very pretty, even beautiful, if she didn’t look so irritated.

‘Hello,’ I say to her, ‘did we meet before?’

‘I don’t think so,’ she says, the implication in her tone being that it’s most unlikely.

‘You look familiar. We didn’t meet at Charles’s?’

‘No.’ She glances from me to Edward.

‘Oh,’ he says, ‘sorry – this is Thea, she’s… We work together. And this is Lara,’ he tells me.

‘Hi,’ we both say, equally unimpressed.

‘Maybe you met Lara’s sister? Sophie?’

‘Ah, yes. That’s right. You’re very alike.’ She looks even more annoyed, if that’s possible. ‘I’m just off,’ I add. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

Edward ignores this and says, ‘What are you up to this evening?’

‘Oh, nothing much, I shouldn’t think.’ I’m uncomfortable, conscious that Lara wants me gone, and sharpish.

‘You could join us for supper,’ he says. ‘I thought we’d go to Mario’s.’

Mario’s isn’t exactly a restaurant: it’s only open three nights a week, and it’s basically in Mario’s front room. There are only five tables. The food’s good, but I can’t think of anything I’d like to do less. I glance at Lara. I’ve rarely seen a person look so pissed off. She’s settled rapidly into irritability and sighs heavily as I say I hate playing gooseberry – making an assumption there that he doesn’t correct, so I guess I’m right – and he reassures me that I wouldn’t be. I put my keys away in my bag and go to fetch my cardigan from the kitchenette.

‘Are you sure?’ He follows me and adds, lowering his voice, ‘I could use the company.’

‘Oh my God. Why’d you bring her here then?’ I whisper.

‘Long story.’

‘I think you’ve made your bed. I don’t want to be a third wheel.’

For all I know, he was already spending lots of time with Lara, and just never mentioned her. After we’ve met, however, he mentions her quite often, and I’m pretty sure that whenever he goes up to Edinburgh, he sees her. I take it she’s one of these ‘not girlfriends’ of his, with whom he has an arrangement of some kind. He doesn’t bring her to the shop again, anyway, and I’m relieved about that – with no interest in exploring why.

A Friday afternoon, late August. Edward went to an estate sale this morning – somewhere round Gretna, I think – and I was expecting him back this afternoon, but yet again there’s no sign of him. I’ve already locked up and am taking some pictures of soft autumn light on rich leather bindings for my own amusement, and for the shop Instagram, when he calls.

‘Won’t be home this evening after all,’ he says. ‘I think I left the kitchen window open. Can you check? And put some food down for Holly Hunter?’

‘Okay, no problem. Anything else I should do?’

‘Maybe check all the windows? I can’t remember if I left any open and the forecast says it’s going to be windy. Is it?’

I peer out of the window. ‘Hm. It’s just started raining. And it’s hellish dark for five-thirty. But doesn’t look too windy yet.’

‘Can you check? D’you mind?’

‘No problem.’ I want to ask him where he is, but it’s none of my business. With Lara? Shut up, Thea, so what if he is? He’s allowed to–

‘Thanks. Want me to bring you anything from the big city?’

Ah, so it’s okay for me to say, ‘Where are you?’ in response to that.

‘Embra,’ he says. ‘Pretty cold here, and miserably wet.’

‘Did you buy anything this morning?’

‘Not much. Couple of first edition Ballards, one signed.’

‘Well, that’s cool. Did you text Malcolm?’ Malcolm collects signed Ballards, which is handy.

‘Not yet. You could. Concrete Island and High Rise. The signed one is Cocaine Nights.’

‘Oh, that’s annoying.’ It’s newer, and not worth as much.

‘Beggars can’t be choosers. Anyway, I don’t know when I’ll be back. Sunday probably. What shall I bring you then?’

I laugh. ‘Something shiny.’ That’s what I always used to say to my dad, when he went away for work. ‘Have fun.’

‘I shall endeavour to do so. And I’ll bring you something shiny.’

‘Ha, you needn’t really, I was joking. I’ll see you when you get back.’

When I’ve put my photos on Instagram, I go upstairs. I don’t go up there often and it always feels a bit odd. I’ve never been invited up for a