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

Victorian Shopping Fest.

Oh Jesus Christ no.

:D :D It’s OK, you don’t have to do it.

I’m not going to.

No, I didn’t think you would. :D

You see, it’s fine. I speak to him, it’s fine; we FaceTime and I look at him and think, Yes, this is a real thing that’s working, it’s fine. I’ll talk to him when he gets back and… and then I feel sick and nervous and unsure. I don’t want to, but I know I can’t be with someone who would happily cheat.

Friday morning, and he’s home. He drove through the night despite the weather being awful. At 6.30, he’s banging at the front door, to my surprise and astonishment, brandishing a lovely-looking bunch of flowers.

I peer blearily at him, and open the door wider. ‘Those aren’t from an M&S at the services. Fancy London flowers?’

‘Of course. Hello.’

‘You should have phoned; I’d have got up.’

‘You are up.’ He grins, enfolding me in a bear hug. ‘Anyway, I wanted to surprise you.’

‘I am surprised. I thought you wouldn’t be back until this evening.’

‘Yeah, seemed pointless going to bed, so I didn’t. God, I’ve missed you,’ he says, his face in my hair.

‘You smell of the city,’ I say, nose pressed against his shirt.

‘Do I?’

‘Well, I assume you do.’ He seems very solid and real, standing in my hallway, and I wonder exactly how I’ve managed to create another version of him in my head. Is that what I’ve done?

He kisses me and I immediately feel less tense and more…

‘Oh God, Thea,’ he says. ‘Darling Thea.’

‘All right,’ I say, ‘calm down. Are you hungry?’

‘Famished.’

I fiddle with the thermostat and turn up the heating. It begins to clank and thump. I think I should probably get a new boiler, but the rule with boilers is to wait until it’s Christmas Eve or another equally annoying day before they go wrong enough to replace, and then live with no hot water for four weeks.

‘Did you stop on the way?’

‘Had a coffee at Tebay.’ He yawns, stretching, and follows me into the kitchen.

‘Oh,’ I say, distracted, ‘are they open all night?’

‘A bit of it is. No scones or artisan bread though, sorry.’

‘Well, come and have some breakfast. What do you want? Porridge? Bacon and eggs?’

‘Is there bacon?’

‘There is. Also tomatoes, if you like?’

I put the kettle on, and he takes off his jacket and subsides onto a chair.

‘God, it’s nice to be back,’ he says.

‘But you had a successful trip?’

‘Oh yes, very successful. I’ve spent money but also made money.’

‘Hurrah.’ I cut three tomatoes in half and put them under the grill, break eggs into a glass.

‘Are you having some?’

‘It’s a bit early, but I’m up now. So yes.’ I make two mugs of coffee and place his before him. He slowly stirs a spoonful of sugar into it and closes his eyes. ‘I’m quite tired,’ he says.

‘I should think so. Are you going to go home to bed?

‘Got to drop off the hire car’ – he yawns again – ‘and pick up the Land Rover.’

‘Yes, and then?’

‘Might have a lie down. We don’t need to open, do we?’

‘Don’t we?’

‘Well, I don’t know. I’ll see how I feel.’

‘I can run the shop without you – I’ve been doing it all week.’

‘Yes, but you’ll be needed upstairs,’ he says, blinking at me.

I laugh. ‘Oh right. Stocktake?’

‘Don’t do that until January,’ he says, pretending to take me seriously, ‘you know, after the Christmas rush.’

‘Expecting a Christmas rush?’

‘It’s usually pretty busy.’

‘Even though you don’t do the Victorian Shopping?’

‘I’m open,’ he says, ‘just not dressed up.’

‘Boo. I think you’d look good as a Dickensian shopkeeper.’

‘It’s a ridiculous thing.’

‘Chamber of Commerce seem to think it’s very successful.’ I turn the tomatoes round and lay four slices of bacon in the frying pan. ‘Toast?’

‘Oh, yes please. I’ll do it.’ He gets up and unswathes the bread before cutting four slices. He drops them into the toaster. ‘They would say that, though, wouldn’t they.’

‘Well, anyway,’ I say, ‘I’m going to dress up. Your top hat fits me perfectly.’

‘Are you going in drag?’

‘Yep.’

‘Hot,’ he says, which makes me laugh.

‘I’m planning impressive facial hair,’ I say.

‘Even hotter. Mutton chops, or a moustache you can twirl?’

‘Oh, actually that sounds appealing. I was going for sidies, but who wouldn’t want a twirly moustache?’

I pour the eggs into the pan, and he takes plates from the cupboard.

‘I know two weeks is hardly long enough to get into a domestic routine,’ he says, fetching the butter from the top of the fridge, ‘but one of the things I’ve missed is messing about with you in the kitchen.’

I turn to look at him as the toaster pops. He jostles the toast onto a plate and begins buttering it. He catches my eye and winks at me.

My stomach tenses again. This is all very well, isn’t it, but I’m supposed to be talking to him about stuff. Admittedly, I wasn’t anticipating his arrival before 7am. We should at least eat our breakfast. There must be something in my face, though, because he says, ‘Okay?’

‘Mm, yes, do you want brown sauce?’

‘No. Are you sure? You look…’

‘What?’

‘I don’t know, tense?’

‘No,’ I say. I turn the bacon over again, and plate it up with the tomatoes and eggs, bringing the plates to the table. I extract cutlery from the drawer and we both sit down to eat.

‘Sure?’

‘Eat your food,’ I say, and crunch though half a slice of toast.

I’m washed and dressed and driving behind Edward on the way to the shop. He has to go via the car hire place, so I get there before him and open up. I didn’t say anything to him while we ate breakfast, or afterwards for that matter. I don’t know if I’m putting it off or if it’s just more sensible to wait until he’s rested. I wouldn’t want someone landing a big serious conversation on me when I’d been up all night.

I hear the Land Rover outside and notice, with some cynicism, that just the noise