Читать книгу Confessions of a Bookseller - Shaun Bythell - Страница 38

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Nicky was working in the shop today, a clear, sunny day. She was ten minutes late, as usual, and slung her bag in the middle of the floor of the shop.

As it was Foodie Friday, she produced pakoras and some revolting-looking chocolate pastry thing that could honestly have been anything from an éclair to a body part.

A foreign couple came in just after Nicky. The woman asked, ‘So, this is a library?’

Me: No, it’s a bookshop.

Woman: So does that mean people can just borrow the books?

Me: No, the books are for sale.

Woman: Do you buy the books? Can people just come with a book and give it to you and take another one away?

[will to live seeping away rapidly]

Woman: Do you sell these old ones over here, or are they just for display?

We were low on change, so I went to the post office to get some. Normally Wilma, who works there, is quite happy to oblige on this front, but today must have been her day off and I was left to deal with miserable William, who flatly refused my request and told me, ‘We’re not a bloody bank.’

After lunch I drove to Ardwell House, near Stranraer (25 miles), with Anna, my American partner of the last five years, to look at books. The house belonged to a couple called Francis and Terry Brewis, both of whom died last year. Terry was the Lord Lieutenant of Wigtownshire. It’s a beautiful large house full of fine furniture and paintings, and with some interesting antiquarian books on the shelves, but sadly they weren’t the books they wanted to sell. We picked out about six boxes’ worth from the library and gave Chris, Francis’s brother (who has inherited the house), £300. He asked if we could take away some of the books we didn’t want, so that doubled our load. I will take them to Glasgow and dump them on Monday when I take Anna to the airport: she’s returning to the States for a while. Sadly, and through no fault of hers, our relationship hasn’t worked out, and despite her love of Wigtown and the area, and her many friends here, she feels a break from the place would be a useful thing for her.

The drive back, along the west coast of Luce Bay, with its mix of shingle beaches and sandy beaches, was stunning with the long shadows cast by the low winter sun. I could see Anna looking wistfully across the bay towards the Machars, the landscape she has inhabited for most of the past seven years.

Nicky stayed the night.

Till Total £83

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