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

‘No, but it’s inappropriate, is my point. Not the object, in this case, but the cost. Can’t you see that?’

‘You’re boring me now,’ he says.

I laugh, but it won’t change my mind. ‘Anyway,’ I say, ‘I’ve put them in the safe. And when will you be back?’

‘About half an hour.’

‘Really? You’re not driving, are you?’

‘No, I’m at the farm shop. Want anything? I suppose you’d accept a cabbage, would you, or some artisan bread?’

‘Oh yes. If they have the sourdough, can you buy me some? I’ll pay you back.’

‘Jesus.’ I hear him sigh heavily. ‘See you later.’

Nineteen

It’s a perfectly normal Wednesday, or at least, a perfectly normal Wednesday in my strange new perfectly normal life. I’ve been at work about two hours, we’ve had our first coffee, Edward’s shown me some books on the internet that will be in a sale later in the month and we’ve talked again about whether we should move Local History to the front of the shop, which I’ve been arguing for since I started. When my phone pings I don’t have a premonition of disaster or anything. I pull it from the pocket of my jeans and look. A message from Xanthe.

I open it. Susanna’s pregnant, it says.

I feel the strangest feeling in my belly, from right down at the core of my being. A huge visceral expulsion of air and pain and – like puking, only not. And a strange noise, like a huge dry sob, which I don’t at first realize has come from me.

‘Are you okay? Thea?’

The phone pings again.

Sorry. Didn’t know how to tell you. Phone me, says Xanthe. I put the phone down carefully on the counter.

‘Excuse me,’ I say, and try to walk unhurriedly to the curtain in the hallway that conceals the kitchenette and the loo. There’s a customer standing right beside it, though, looking at Children’s Fiction (Collectable, 1890–1950).

‘Sorry,’ I manage, ‘I need to…’

The toilet is at the end of a short corridor, beyond the sink and kettle. It’s a narrow windowless room, lit with a horrible low watt bulb. There’s an ancient sink and an old-fashioned loo with a high-level cistern. I manage to close the door and lift the seat before I’m sick.

Objectively, I’m rather surprised at my reaction. I can’t think of anything else that I’ve ever reacted to so physically. And I’d thought of it, after all. I’d wondered that day at the Shed about this happening. I was sort of testing myself though. I didn’t think it really would. Chris has never wanted to have children. Or has he? It seems I’ve no idea, and the fact that I don’t know, that I can’t know, that he’s as mysterious to me as anyone, when once he was the person I knew best in the world, makes me cry. I pull the clanking chain to flush the loo and wash my hands and face in the tiny sink, drinking water from my cupped hands, but I don’t stop crying. I stare at myself in the cracked mirror.

‘Look at you,’ I mutter. ‘No wonder. No wonder. Jesus Christ.’

‘Thea? Are you okay? What’s happened?’ Edward’s voice is muffled by the door. Oh shit. Nothing’s ever private, is it? Nothing happens in isolation. You’re always exposed, forced to explain.

‘Nothing, I’m fine,’ I say, splashing at my face.

‘Are you sure?’

I don’t know what to say, so I ignore him, and continue to cry, trying not to make too much noise. I blow my nose and wash my face again.

Maybe this time I’ll never stop crying.

I knew it was over. I’ve known that since January. I’ve never expected him to change his mind. I’ve never thought that one day it will all be okay, or at least not for months. I’ve been getting better, haven’t I? Getting over it? Or have I? I can’t believe it. Chris is forty-seven. When this child’s at university he’ll be nearly seventy. It will be the youngest of four and surely its siblings will hate it.

But that’s none of my business. I don’t need to worry about it, don’t need to be concerned for the poor child. It’s nothing to do with me. I’ll just be ‘Dad’s first wife’, if they even ever tell it about me. I don’t know why this makes me cry even harder, but it does.

‘Thea? Come out, please.’

‘I don’t want to.’ I squeeze my eyes shut, as though that might stop the tears.

‘There’s no one here, or hardly anyone. I’ll close up.’

‘Don’t be silly. I’m fine,’ I tell him through the door.

‘Thea, please.’

I unbolt the door unwillingly and pull the string, turning the light off. The short piece of corridor is shadowy behind the curtain.

‘Sorry,’ I say, ‘I must have, um–’

‘Are you all right?’ He peers at me in the gloom.

‘I was sick. Sorry.’

‘Shit, were you? You should go and lie down.’

‘No, I’m fine.’

‘Don’t be stupid. Go upstairs and lie on the sofa. I’ll lock up.’

‘You don’t need to close the shop, honestly. I’ll be all right in a moment. I just… I had a bit of a shock.’

‘Upstairs,’ he says, ‘now.’

We stare at each other for a moment. I think about arguing. But then I think I’d like to lie down.

‘Okay. Sorry.’

‘Don’t apologize, for God’s sake. Just go upstairs.’

I climb the wide and elegant stairs and unfasten the gold-painted childproof stairgate on the landing, ignoring the notice that says PRIVATE NO ENTRY. Anyone coming up here to pick through the Engineering/Naval History section can basically see into Edward’s sitting room on the left, the kitchen on the right and up the third flight of stairs. I’ve still only been up here alone, to feed Holly Hunter when Edward’s away. I go into the sitting room, which is bright and sunny and quite unlike my mood. I sit down in the corner of the sofa and allow myself to cry some more. Why not, eh? But Jesus, I’m tired of all this. Tired of it. I don’t want to