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

‘Jesus Christ,’ I say, ‘you need to get a grip. What’s it to you anyway?’ I step backwards again. ‘And who the hell do you think you are, shouting at me in my own home? You’ve got a bloody nerve.’

‘Why was he here? Are you sleeping with him?’

‘Oh my actual God.’ I grip the top of my head with both hands. ‘I suppose that would make me more appealing, would it?’

I surprise myself, with this. I guess I’m still angry with him. It’s inflammatory though. He basically growls at me and I retreat further.

‘He pretty much asked me if I was sleeping with you as well,’ I add. ‘How about I’m not sleeping with either of you and have no fucking wish to? Jesus. He just came round to see if I was okay.’

‘Why wouldn’t you be okay?’

‘Jesus Christ. I had a bloody awful day on Monday, didn’t I?’

He steps forward again, and I step backwards. I’m not frightened, but he’s quite wet.

‘How does he know that? Did you phone him?’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever phoned him. He gave me a lift from the bus stop.’

‘The bus stop? What?’

‘Stop asking me questions!’ I glare at him. ‘I left my car in town.’ I blink rapidly and press my lips together. I’m sick of weeping. I’m not going to cry. I cried for hours yesterday, and I’ve done quite well today, hardly any tears at all. No.

‘You left it in town?’ He’s incredulous. ‘You expect me to believe that? And how come you’re in your dressing gown?’ He jabs a finger towards me.

‘You don’t have to get dressed if you don’t have a job,’ I say. ‘What’s the point of getting dressed? And I don’t care whether you believe me or not. It doesn’t change the facts. I came home on the bus on Monday, and I got very wet walking from the bus stop, and Charles drove past and stopped to pick me up.’

‘Why on earth did you come home on the bus?’ He looks almost as astonished as Charles was. It must be nice to live the sort of life where buses are just like trees or pigeons. They exist, you see them, but they’re just part of the scenery.

‘I was a bit upset,’ I say, sarcastically. ‘I got sacked, and someone was really bloody rude to me. So I ran off.’ I flap my arms, miming someone running pathetically. ‘And cried in a bus stop, and then I forgot I had a car, so I got on a bus and came home. But I had to walk, like, half a kilometre with no shoes on, and your brother kindly stopped and gave me a lift. If you must know.’

‘With no shoes on?’

‘I broke a heel.’ I scowl at him. ‘Weirdly I wasn’t dressed for a hike in the country.’

He’s calmed down a bit. Now he’s just staring at me.

‘So what the hell are you doing here anyway? Lurking in the bushes to see who comes to the house? You’re soaking.’

‘No, I… No.’

‘Great, very helpful. Such a way with words.’

‘No, I… Look, Thea–’

‘Look, Thea,’ I mimic. ‘I don’t want to look. I don’t know why you’re here. I don’t want to talk to you.’ I think of something else. ‘Who’s minding the shop?’

‘I closed early. I wanted to see you,’ he says, crossly. ‘You didn’t answer your phone – I was worried–’

‘How odd that I didn’t want to speak to you. Anyway, what do you care? I thought I was sacked. None of your business, is it?’

‘Thea–’

‘What? Stop saying “Thea”.’

‘Oh Jesus,’ he says. He pushes his hands through his hair. ‘This is all wrong. Look, I’m sorry. I came to apologize–’

I almost laugh. ‘You came to apologize? You’ve been yelling at me since I opened the door.’

He briefly puts his hands over his face, and then looks up at the ceiling. ‘I know. I’m such a… I’m sorry. Can we start again?’

‘Good grief, you’re very stupid. Go and sit down.’ I gesture towards the kitchen. ‘And take your coat off, you’re dripping all over the floor.’

I watch him, arms folded, as he hangs his coat on the hall stand, and then follow him down the passage.

He sits at the splay-legged kitchen table. It seems like a long time since he was last here, when he gave me a lift home that time. We sat in the sitting room, then, so it’s odd to see him here in the neat kitchen with its ice-blue Formica cupboards and speckled worktops, the yellow table with its jolly red vinyl chairs.

The shouting has warmed me up, so I take off my dressing gown and hang it over the back of a chair.

I roll up the sleeves of my old man pyjamas and put the kettle on. Edward watches me gloomily. I get myself a glass of water, make a pot of tea, fetch milk from the fridge. After a moment’s thought, I bring out the box of caramel wafers from the cupboard. I’m not sure why I think he deserves one. I shake the remaining five onto a plate – biscuits on a plate is a thing from my youth, and I like to follow this tradition in honour of aunts and old ladies long dead.

I put the plate on the table in front of him and sit down opposite. ‘Have a biscuit.’

He hesitates, probably thinking it seems wrong to have one after the shouting, but tempted.

‘Go on,’ I say, ‘I know you want one.’ Finally, a smile. I shake my head at him. ‘Okay then,’ I say, ‘so you came to apologize. About something specific, or generally?’

‘Oh God. I suppose it should be generally, shouldn’t it? I mean, for everything.’

I shrug. ‘Off you go then.’ I close my eyes for a moment. ‘I can’t believe you accused me of sleeping with your brother.’

He groans and rests his head in his hands. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I don’t even like your brother. As I keep saying. Although maybe