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

mutter to myself, and stand up, stretching. My back aches and I’m exhausted. I suppose I’ve had more excitement in the last twenty-four hours than I’m used to. I might go and make a cup of tea. Or I might just sit down on the sofa for a moment.

‘Thea. Thea. Wake up.’

‘Not asleep,’ I mumble. ‘Resting m’eyes.’

‘Of course you are, sweetheart. Now come on, wake up, I’ve made you a nice cup of tea.’

‘God, have you?’ I open my eyes and try to raise my head. I’ve slumped down onto the arm of the sofa and my neck is as stiff and uncomfortable as it’s possible to be.

‘All right?’ Edward’s crouching on the floor beside the sofa, a mug of tea in his hand.

‘Urgh.’

‘Yes, I expect so. Now sit up, and drink your tea.’

I smile at him. ‘Thank you. I was going to come and make one.’

‘I wondered where you were. When it got to half past three I thought you might have died or something.’

‘I’ve only been asleep for a moment. Is it really half three?’ I take the mug from him. ‘Oh God.’ I close my eyes. ‘Thank you, that’s wonderful.’

‘Are you okay?’

‘Yeah, I’m just tired, and I’ve got a bit of a dake,’ I say. ‘Dake’ is a shop word, it means headache. I expect everyone who works in a very small team has a private language; we’re just developing one. If we carry on working together, eventually we’ll be impenetrable to outsiders.

‘Taken some pills?’

I nod.

‘Want me to take you home?’

‘Don’t be silly.’

‘It’s gone four. I’ll take you home and come and get you in the morning.’

‘That’s mad.’

‘No it isn’t, you look rough as biscuits.’

‘Oh, thanks.’

He laughs. ‘Drink your tea. I’ll go and cash up.’

I bleat feebly, but he’s already gone. I lean back against the cushions and close my eyes again. The thought of being driven home is extremely tempting. I could drive, of course, but it’s nice not to have to. I sigh and finish my tea and tidy up, checking the hotplate’s turned off, removing my apron, collecting my bag and locking the workshop door behind me.

‘All ready?’ asks Edward as I come back into the front of the shop.

‘Yes. Are you sure you don’t mind? I’m perfectly okay to drive. And you’ll have to come and get me in the morning. It all seems too tedious.’

‘It’s no problem. Come on.’ He holds the door open for me. ‘You’re very pale; are you sure you’re not coming down with something?’

‘No, no, it’s just… you know.’

‘No, what?’

‘It’s time to choose from a colourful variety of euphemisms,’ I say, yawning.

‘What?’

‘For the shedding of the lining of one’s womb,’ I say. ‘Isn’t womb a funny word?’

‘Oh.’

‘Yes, isn’t it horrid, actually menstruating in your shop. I know you hate that.’ I laugh.

He tuts. ‘Is it bad?’

‘Quite bad today for some reason. It’s a bit random at the moment. Too much information; I do apologize.’

He opens the car door for me and I climb up into the seat, closing my eyes once my seatbelt is fastened.

‘Very kind,’ I murmur, but he ignores me.

I must have been dozing in the car; I jerk awake as we crunch to a halt on the gravel. Opening my eyes, I blink at the front door of the Lodge with a feeling of relief. It’s nice to be home.

‘Keys,’ says Edward.

‘Hm?’

‘Keys, give me your keys. So I can open the door.’

‘Oh no, I’m sure I can–’

He holds out his hand, sighing.

I paw meekly though the contents of my handbag, extract the keys, and hand them to him. He gets out of the car and comes round to open the passenger door. This isn’t down to feebleness on my part, but because there’s something wrong with the lock. He releases me and I clamber awkwardly down and follow him as he unlocks the front door.

‘Thanks for driving me,’ I say.

He waves this away irritably, and drops the keys onto the hall stand. ‘Are you all right? Got pills and so forth? What are you having for your tea?’

‘I’ve no idea. Did you want a cuppa?’ I feel I should ask, although I’d rather just lie on the sofa for a bit and not think about entertaining.

He looks at me, considering. ‘I’ll make it. Stuff’s all logical, is it? In the kitchen?’

‘Logical?’ I wonder if it is. ‘I think so, yes.’

‘Go and sit down, then,’ he says, and puts one finger against my shoulder, pushing me into the sitting room. I don’t know why, but this makes me laugh. ‘All right,’ I say, ‘no need to bully me in my own home.’

‘Just do as you’re told for once.’

Dropping my bag by the door, I lean against the wall and take off my shoes. Late afternoon sunshine puddles on the mossy green carpet and I sink, exhausted, onto the sofa. I can hear various bangs and rattlings from my kitchen as he looks for teaspoons and mugs. I close my eyes for a moment.

‘Here you go,’ he says.

‘Thank you. Two cups of tea you’ve made me today – I could get used to this.’

‘I make you tea all the time,’ he objects, frowning. ‘Honestly.’

I bend my head over my cup to hide my smile. ‘I know you do. Thanks.’

He doesn’t sit down; instead he’s wandering about, looking at the things I’ve rearranged on the bookshelves, poking at a pile of DVDs and videos. Then he’s over by the table.

‘What’s all this? Are you writing a book?’ he asks.

‘Oh, God no. No, that’s all Andrew’s stuff. His memoir, or whatever. Did you know he’d written loads of notes?’

‘About what?’

‘About his life’ – I wave a vague hand – ‘and so on. Stories about his parents – my great-grandparents. And their parents. You know the kind of thing.’

‘Oh, right. He did say something about that. Said he had loads of diaries and bits and pieces.’

‘Yes, there’s loads of it. My great-grandmother kept a diary; it’s a bit weird really.’

‘Weird how?’

‘Oh, I don’t know, I think – I