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

‘He seemed… What did he want?’

‘Oh, I dunno. I’m not sure he knew himself. It’s all getting a bit real, isn’t it, and he’s freaking out.’

‘I suppose that’s understandable. It is quite old to start being a parent. I wouldn’t fancy it much myself.’

‘No, me neither.’

After a while, he says, ‘Did he ask you to go back to him?’

I’m astonished, and turn again to stare at him.

He nods. ‘Thought so.’

‘How the hell did you guess that?’

He shrugs. ‘It’s a long way to come to talk about mortgages.’

‘Well, but–’

‘What did you say?’

‘I told him to fuck off, obviously.’

‘Did you?’

‘Oh, come on. What do you reckon?’

He shakes his head. ‘I don’t know. Maybe you’re thinking about it?’

‘Edward.’

‘You might want your old life back.’

‘Wouldn’t matter if I did, would it? That’s not what I’d be getting.’

‘Near enough.’

‘Edward.’

He opens the drawer and rattles about, looking for the rolling pin.

‘That’s not… You don’t really think–’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Yes you do, don’t be stupid.’ I empty peelings into the compost bin. ‘Seriously.’

‘Well, but–’

‘You’re not, like, my second choice, you idiot,’ I say. ‘Jesus.’

‘Am I not?’

‘Fuck’s sake.’

This makes him grin, but then he’s serious again. ‘I’d understand if I was. Sort of understand. I mean, he did seem to be a twat, so…’

I look at him. He has a noble expression on his face, which is how I know he doesn’t quite mean it.

‘He’s all right, mostly, usually for about, um, fifteen years, and then he starts shagging your mate,’ I say.

He opens the cupboard beside the oven and crashes through a selection of roasting pans and cake tins, retrieving a fluted flan dish. We’re having quiche.

‘Did you ask him about that then?’

‘Yeah. Four years they’ve been seeing each other.’

‘Shit, really?’

‘Mm.’

‘That’s… that’s ages.’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘Are you okay?’

I shrug. ‘Makes no difference, does it?’

‘No, but–’

‘Anyway, he didn’t exactly ask me. Or he didn’t exactly mean it, anyway. He’d have been terrified if I’d said yes.’ I sigh. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done if he’d asked me, I don’t know, nine months ago.’

‘You’d have thought about it?’

‘No, no, I don’t think I would have, I’m not a total idiot. But it would have upset me.’

‘But you’re not upset now?’ He flips the pastry neatly over the flan tin, pushing the rolling pin across the top, and then pauses, looking at me.

Wrinkling my nose, thoughtful, I say, ‘I feel a bit smug actually.’

He laughs. ‘Do you?’

‘Well, my life’s quite… I don’t like to say it’s brilliant, because that’s asking for trouble.’ I plant my hands firmly on the chopping board, touching wood for all I’m worth. ‘But you know. It’s pretty, er, great.’

‘Is it? Earning minimum wage in a dusty bookshop in the back of beyond?’

‘Yeah, and sleeping with my boss because who else would I sleep with?’ I grin at him.

‘You could probably find someone.’

‘Maybe.’ We look at each other. An intense moment. I smile and lean over to kiss him. ‘Ah. I’m pretty happy with what I’ve got, to be honest. Suits me fine.’

Time to go home. To Sussex, I mean. I’ve given notice to my landlord and I need to fetch my things. I’m going down on the train, so I can hire a van when I get there rather than driving down in an empty van, which would be annoying. I’ve shifted things round at the Lodge to make room, and been up in the loft, which is, fortunately, boarded over.

Edward is still saying I should properly move in with him, but I’m not certain. I’m at the flat more than I’m at home because it’s convenient. It’s not just that though. I like being there, with him. Sometimes we go to the Lodge, and occasionally I sleep there on my own, but he doesn’t really like it. I mean, I do as I please, but if I’m honest, I don’t like it either. It seems wasteful when we could be together. He says he’s waited a long time for me, and so he wants to make the most of it. And fair enough; I doubt anyone ever lay on their death bed and wished they’d had less sex.

Finally I’ve had the money for the house, from Chris. I’m not paying the mortgage anymore, and now I won’t be paying rent on the flat, I’ll be quite a lot better off. I’m hoping that if I buy a flat in the new development, the mortgage on it will be barely noticeable.

I’m looking forward to seeing Xanthe and Rob, and the kids, and Angela. I’m not going to see Chris though. I got Xanthe to go and pick up the box of photographs, the ones we couldn’t sort out last year. I have no idea if he’s kept any of them. I don’t care much.

I don’t imagine Edward will want to come with me, and I’m surprised when he says he does.

‘I’d like to see where you’re from,’ he says.

‘But we’ll have to go on the train.’

‘I can handle that.’

‘And it will be tedious. Moving furniture.’

‘I can handle that as well. Unless you don’t want me to come with you?’

‘It just didn’t occur to me that you’d want to.’

‘Why wouldn’t I?’

‘The shop–’

‘I do go on holiday sometimes, you know. I can close. It’s February – not busy, are we?’

‘I suppose not. Are you sure you want to come? The flat’s horrible.’

‘Does it have a bed?’

‘Yes.’

‘And will you be there?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then I want to be there.’

‘Okay. Thanks. It will be better,’ I say, ‘if you’re there.’

‘At last she admits it,’ he says, and we smile at each other.

It’s funny being in Brackwell with Edward. I show him various places: my schools, the flat I lived in when I came back from university, the flat Chris and I lived in when we first got together. We drive past Mum and Dad’s, and, cautiously, past Chris’s house; Susanna’s old Renault Espace parked (badly) outside it. There’s a tricycle upside down in one of the borders, which is odd – none of her children are young enough for a tricycle.