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

I don’t think so? Am I? I’ve really never been jealous of anyone. And I think – I think – I’d trust Edward not to sleep with someone else, even if he went to stay with someone he’d slept with before. Would I?

‘I usually stay with Alan and his wife. Or Davey. You’ve seen a picture of Davey,’ he says. ‘He’s the one with the spliff in that photo on the dresser.’

‘Aw,’ I say, distracted by the thought of Edward’s university pals. ‘Where do they live?’

‘Alan and Trix live in Putney. Davey lives in Wandsworth. If I stay with one, I see the others. And usually some other people.’

‘From college?’

‘And a couple from school.’

‘I thought you didn’t have any friends from school?’

‘I’ve a few.’

‘You don’t talk about them.’

He shrugs. ‘Henry. He’s a consultant at the Royal London. He’s often too busy to meet. Kirsty, she works for the BBC, she’s married to Raj; they live in Peckham. Their house is great, they bought it when houses in Peckham were very cheap. They pretend it’s Camberwell,’ he adds. ‘Puts three hundred grand on the asking price.’

‘Blimey.’

‘Yes. So. Do you want to come with me?’

I’m startled by this invitation. ‘To London?’

‘That’s where I’m going, yes.’

‘But what about the shop?’

‘Admittedly, sometimes it seems inconvenient that you work here. By which I mean you could easily come with me if you worked somewhere else.’

‘Short notice,’ I say, pretending to consider this.

‘Apart from that.’

‘Well, I–’

‘And maybe spending a week in various spare bedrooms having to meet a bunch of strangers when we’ve only been together ten minutes would be…’

‘Stressful?’

‘Dull, is what I was thinking.’ He smiles at me.

‘Oh, it doesn’t sound dull,’ I say. ‘It does sound stressful, though. I’d be, er, I might feel weird about meeting people, you’re right. When it’s only been ten minutes.’

He leans towards me and puts his hand to my face. ‘I don’t really want to spend a week without you though.’

I laugh. ‘You can do it.’

‘I suppose so, grudgingly. But I don’t think I can cancel, really.’

‘You shouldn’t anyway, even if you could. I’m not sure I should be the reason you change your plans.’

He looks at me for a long moment. ‘If anyone would be, it’s you.’

I’m flustered, again. ‘Yes, but–’

‘But I should probably go.’

He’s hired a car because the Land Rover is old and noisy and not ideal for seven hours plus of motorway driving. It’s half past six, Friday morning, and we’re standing on the pavement outside the shop. He looks strangely more like Charles today; I think it’s the car, actually, an unnecessarily large, clean grey Volvo; and also he’s dressed more smartly than usual. He’s selling things, too; there’s a large box of carefully wrapped books in the boot, along with his suitcase.

It’s cold, and the sun won’t rise for another hour. Even though I’m not travelling myself, I slept badly and have an unsettled feeling.

‘Right,’ he says, ‘better get going. I’ll call when I get there.’ He hesitates. ‘Will you stay here? Sleep at the flat?’

‘What, tonight? I should think so. Hadn’t really thought about it. Yes.’

‘Okay. Speak to you later.’

We hug, awkwardly, and kiss, hoping (at least I am) none of the neighbours are unexpectedly looking out of their windows. No one knows yet that we’re doing this. Not that it’s a secret. But I’m being discreet about it until I’m used to the idea myself.

‘I love you, Thea,’ he says, serious. ‘Please take care.’

‘Oh God, and you. Drive carefully, won’t you? Don’t try to drive the length of the country in one go or anything. Look out for other drivers – they’re not to be trusted.’

He laughs. ‘I promise to be careful.’ We kiss again.

‘Go on then,’ I say, ‘it’s freezing out here.’ I touch my finger to his nose. ‘See you soon.’

And then he’s folding himself into the car, pulling away, looking back to wave. I wave too, vigorously, until he turns the corner and is gone.

I feel very odd, and go back into the shop, locking the door behind me. I’m used to working by myself, of course; he’s frequently away. It’s not that. I’m not sure what it is. My day is confused, though, because I’m up so early and I’ve already had my breakfast. And it’s cold down here in the gloom, amongst the books. I’m not sure what to do with myself.

It’s very quiet in the shop. The weather is grim – icy rain – and we only have three customers all day. However, there are parcels to post from online sales, and I go to the post office at lunchtime. There are rumours they’re going to close the post office, which would be very inconvenient. If I have to go into Newton Stewart, it will be tiresome. I pop in to see Jilly and Cerys, and then go back to the shop.

I sit in Edward’s green chair (such luxury!) and read my book as the rain blatters against the windows. The wind’s getting up, too. I wonder what I might have for tea and I also wonder why I feel so peculiar. He’s not even been gone twelve hours; it can’t be that. It had better not be – it’s dangerous to become too attached to people. I think about Paul McCartney. He and Linda never spent a night apart during their marriage. Did that make it easier, I wonder, when she died, or much harder? No one could tell you, could they? I always think it must be worse. I shiver and look at the clock. I had a text at two, saying he’d arrived safely, so at least I can stop imagining car accidents. It’s nearly six now, so I may as well close the shop and go upstairs.

‘Hey,’ says Edward.

‘Hello.’

‘How’s your day been?’

‘Oh, very quiet. How was the drive?’

‘Surprisingly okay, at least until I got to Luton. Traffic was bad from there, but I can’t complain really.’

‘How are your friends?’

‘Yeah, they’re good. Toby – their son – is