Читать книгу The Little Bookshop of Lonely Hearts: A feel-good funny romance - Annie Darling - Страница 9

By five o’clock that afternoon, Posy was coasting a wave of anxiety as she battled with her flip chart and the stand it was meant to clip to.

Technically, she was the boss now so what she said went, but she didn’t feel like the boss. Although Nina and Verity were the same age as her, Posy had always felt like an underling. Still did, but now she had three employees; three people who were relying on Posy to keep paying their wages so they could afford rent, utilities, food and maybe a cheeky glass of wine and an occasional trip to the cinema.

Posy swore under her breath each time the flip chart refused to cooperate with her plans. How could she hope to take over an ailing bookshop and turn it into a successful, flourishing business when she couldn’t operate a flip-chart stand?

‘You have to do it like this,’ said a voice behind her, and Sam relieved himself of the burden of his bulging schoolbag simply by dropping it on the floor so he could help her. Within seconds he had the flip chart firmly attached and was shuffling out of the back office. ‘I only got a B for my rap in iambic pentameter, Pose. You’ll have to do better next time.’

Sam was walking with strange pincer-like movements and showing even more sock than he had a couple of days ago. Posy made a mental note to take him shopping that weekend for new shoes and trousers. Maybe she could also buy some herbal supplements that would stop Sam growing at such an alarming, expensive rate. Because it wasn’t only the Bookends staff relying on Posy’s vision, it was Sam too. The shop was as much his legacy as it was hers, so it was up to Posy not to screw this up.

On cue, she heard the shop door close, then the key turn in the lock and Nina and Tom, followed by Little Sophie, the Saturday girl, and finally Verity trooped into the back office. They came with a hot beverage apiece and cake. It was quite hard to launch into her exciting, revolutionary plans for Bookends when people were tussling over a box of Mr Kipling’s French Fancies.

‘So, right, OK. Welcome to the new and improved Bookends,’ Posy said with a jerky gesture as she revealed an inept drawing of the outside of the shop rendered in blue and green marker pen. ‘A one-stop shop for all your romantic fiction needs.’

Everyone but Verity, who’d already heard the headlines, stopped fighting over who was going to get stuck with a pink French Fancy and looked up at Posy. This was good; she had their attention, though they didn’t need to stare quite so hard, and Tom didn’t need to look as if Posy had started to speak in tongues.

‘What is romantic fiction?’ Posy mused. It was a rhetorical question, so she ignored Little Sophie’s hand, which had shot up. ‘It can be high literature, like Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet or Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. It can be commercial fiction like One Day or Bridget Jones’s Diary. It could be a bodice-ripper or a bonkbuster. It could be a novel about a woman in charge of her own destiny who opens a small cake shop in a delightful village or …’

‘Hang on! Back up!’ Tom, who’d got stuck with the pink French Fancy, reared back in his chair. ‘We’re only going to sell chicklit? Ow! Don’t hit me!’

Nina already had her hand poised to strike again. ‘Nothing wrong with chicklit,’ she announced. ‘The only thing wrong with it is that novels primarily written for women about women by women are sneeringly and dismissively called “chicklit” as if they have absolutely no merit.’

‘I didn’t mean it like that.’ Tom made a big show of rubbing his head. ‘I meant: are you seriously going to get rid of the children’s room and the self-help section? The cookery books? The thrillers? You’re going to stop selling them?’

‘We never get any children in the shop these days,’ Posy explained. ‘Only in the school holidays when they want to have a go on the rolling ladder. And how many self-help books have we sold recently? Or any other kind of book, for that matter? We can try and be like all the other bookshops in the area, or we can do one thing and do it really well. We could become famous for selling romantic fiction; a destination bookshop. Just think of all those people coming to London for the day who’ll make a point of coming to our shop because they know that we stock the largest collection of romantic fiction in London? In the whole country!’

‘Steady on, Posy,’ said Sam, popping his head around the doorway. Posy suddenly found it hard to breathe but it was less nerves and more that Sam had slathered himself in a noxious man scent probably called something like Axe or Blade or Gunslinger because he’d realised Sophie was on the premises. How Posy longed for those innocent days when Sophie and Sam had been nothing more than mates, before their hormones kicked in. ‘Does this mean that the publishers’ sales reps won’t give me free graphic novels any more?’

Then he realised he must sound incredibly whiny in front of Sophie, who was refusing to make eye contact with Sam and staring intently at the glittery polish on her fingernails instead.

‘I’m sure they will,’ Posy said firmly, ‘when they see how many romance novels we’re selling.’

‘So how would the shop be planned out?’ Verity asked. She had a big notepad on her lap and had been diligently making notes. ‘Weren’t you saying something about keeping the main room for contemporaries, popular fiction and new releases?’

‘Yes! Yes, I was!’ Posy nodded and she flipped over the flip chart once more to show the new layout of the shop. Even if she did say so herself, it had a much better flow once she’d reconfigured some of the more randomly placed bookcases. ‘Then to the right, a Regency room, then a historical room, and the smallest room at the end can be for paranormal, fantasy and um, erotica. Sam and Sophie, you are never to go in there unless accompanied by a responsible adult, right?’

Sam groaned like he was in pain and Sophie gave Posy a slightly pitying look, because whatever depravities might lurk in the pages of erotic romance novels, they couldn’t begin to compare to the filth she could access on her home computer.

‘To the left of the main room will be the Classics room, for Jane Austen, the Brontës, that kind of thing, along with plays and poetry. Then the next room will be Young Adult – Sophie, I thought you could help me with that. And the last room will be non-fiction and a foreign language section.’ Posy exhaled. ‘And that’s the highlights.’

‘What about the tearooms? Are you going to have books in there too?’ Nina asked. She’d been nodding and giving Posy encouraging smiles all the way through her speech.

This was all moving too fast. ‘I hadn’t thought that far ahead,’ Posy said, though she didn’t have to think too hard about it. The tearoom had been her mother’s domain. There was simply no way Posy could entertain the idea of taking it over, repainting and reorganising the space so that any lingering traces of Angharad Morland would disappear. ‘There’s more than enough work to do in the shop without worrying about the tearoom too.’

Nina didn’t seem inclined to let the matter drop. ‘But maybe at some point in the future, you could employ someone to run it so—’

‘No,’ Verity said emphatically, so Posy didn’t have to. ‘We’ll charge someone rent – that way you have guaranteed money coming in and they can sort out all the health and safety shenanigans. We’ll have enough to do, as it is. Let’s revisit the tearoom at a later date. What’s on the next page, Posy?’

Posy’s palms were still clammy, making it hard to find purchase on the flip chart and move on to the website portion of her plan. Although actually the page simply said, ‘MAKE A BETTER WEBSITE.’

‘Yeah, I’ll sort that out for you,’ Sam offered diffidently, as if he could knock one up overnight, though surely there was more to it than that? ‘Might be hard to put our entire catalogue online, but we could offer a selection of books …’

‘Yeah! Like our top fifty bestsellers and … and we could have a book of the month too,’ Sophie said, leaning forwards on her chair eagerly. ‘Maybe offer a discount on that one.’

‘If we’re going to have a book of the month, then why not have a book group?’ Nina suggested. ‘They could meet one evening a month. And if we were going to open the tearoom again – which I really implore you to think about, because it means there’ll be a never-ending supply of cake in the shop – we’ll also have onsite catering, then we could host book launches and author visits. Signings too. Though I suppose we could do that anyway.’

‘And if you’re going to have a proper website, then you need to be on Instagram and Tumblr,’ Sophie insisted. ‘Like, otherwise what’s the point? I can set up and run the shop’s Twitter account too and we can link it all back to the website, right, Sammy?’

Sam swept his fringe out of his eyes again. ‘Yeah, I guess. Got to be multi-platform. We’ll want paying though, won’t we, Soph? Say, ten per cent of everything you make on the website.’

Posy folded her arms. ‘How about you reimburse me for all the food and clothing and video games that I’ve bought you over the last seven years?’

‘Just so you know, there are strict child labour laws in this country.’ Sam folded his arms too and stuck out his chin for good measure.

Posy didn’t want to ground him or send him back upstairs in front of Sophie, especially when he was the only person she knew who could build a website. ‘Eight point five per cent. Final offer.’

‘Are the pair of you trying to bankrupt us? If you want paying, Sam, then you have to go through me. I do the payroll and I might be prepared to consider three per cent – after costs,’ Verity said. She was getting that antsy look that came over her when she’d done a full day’s work and was still being expected to interact with other people. Posy could tell Verity was reaching the end of all reason, but before she did …

‘Actually, the other big thing I wanted to discuss with all of you is the name of the shop.’

Tom had sunk down low on his chair so his chin rested on his chest, but now he found the strength to raise his head. ‘What’s wrong with the name of the shop? It’s an institution, Bookends is.’

‘It was – and that’s the problem,’ Posy said. It was a theme she’d kept coming back to after hours of mentally going around in circles. ‘It was an institution, but most of the people who came to Bookends because of its history, its atmosphere, its reputation, were contemporaries of Lavinia, and they’re dwindling fast. Without them, Bookends is one more struggling bookshop. If we’re going to specialise in romantic fiction, we need a name for the shop which reflects that.’

‘So, did you have a name in mind?’ Tom asked. He was still slumped, still oozing the absolute opposite of enthusiasm.

‘I did.’ Posy gestured at the flip chart in the manner of a game-show hostess presenting a top-of-the-range fridge freezer to a delighted TV audience. ‘Can I get a drum roll, please?’

She got a half-hearted stomping of feet as she turned the page over and was greeted with silence. Worse than silence. A collective, what the . . . ? look on all five faces.

Posy put her hands on her hips. ‘What do you think? Yes, it’s a bit out there, but it’s memorable, right?’

‘“Reader, I Married Him”,’ Tom read it out loud like he’d only recently learned to speak English. ‘No. No, right?’ He turned to Nina, sitting on his left. ‘Come on. I can’t be the only one who thinks Posy’s been huffing spray mount again.’

‘That was only the one time and it was an accident,’ Posy protested. ‘You’re on my side, Nina! You love the Brontës! It’s from Jane Eyre!’

‘Oh my God, spoilers!’ shrieked Sophie, but then she giggled and smiled at Sam, who tried to smile back but decided he’d be better off hiding his face behind his fringe. Sometimes Posy longed to knock their heads together.

‘I know it’s from Jane Eyre but I’m sorry, Posy, I love you loads, but that is a terrible name for a shop,’ Nina said. ‘Not every romance novel ends with a trip down the aisle. Hello! We’re living in the twenty-first century.’

‘You think a romantic fiction bookshop is a terrible idea?’ Posy had to cling on to the flip chart stand for support. She thought she’d found the answer to all their problems, but now that she stopped to think about it, Verity hadn’t expressed an opinion for or against the scheme and as for Sebastian … he’d made his feelings on the subject only too clear.

She was all out of ideas. This was it. Go big on romance or go home. Or else let Sebastian have the shop and God knows what he’d do with it. He had no respect for what Bookends represented. All those rooms, all those shelves that had held books that took their readers to magical lands and beautiful truths, the reading nook, the weathered floorboards that had been trodden by so many customers coming in for a story …

‘Shit, Posy! Are you crying?’ Nina scrambled to her feet so she could enfold Posy in her arms and press her against her amazing breasts, which admittedly always felt quite comforting.

‘I’m not crying,’ Posy said, but her words were muffled by Nina’s chest and she was kind of crying. There had been a couple of tears and a throb in her throat. It was pre-crying.

‘It’s a crappy name, not a crappy idea,’ Nina insisted as she stroked Posy’s back rhythmically. ‘It is a good idea, isn’t it? Who doesn’t love a bit of romance? Reading about it is the closest I get to it. Most times I’m lucky if I can find a guy who’ll buy me dinner, and then it’s only because he thinks I’m going to let him come home with me and see me naked.’

‘God, Nina, there are children present!’

Posy couldn’t see Tom because she was still face down in Nina’s cleavage, but he sounded strained.

‘I’m not a child,’ she heard Sam snap.

‘Do guys really expect you to get naked just because they bought you dinner?’ That was Sophie. ‘A really expensive dinner or, like, a cheeky Nando’s?’

They were getting off-topic. Posy freed herself from Nina’s embrace and sniffed. Then she looked plaintively at Verity, because Verity was Bookends’ designated adult.

‘I think your idea has possibilities, as long as we can achieve it on a budget of, well, zero pounds and nought pence.’ Verity pressed one fist to her right temple as if she were reaching the limits of her endurance. ‘But that name, I can’t even say it out loud.’

If Verity was on board, then it only left Tom, who wasn’t exactly swinging from the light fitting with glee. Though the light fitting, like everything else in the shop, was past the first flush of youth and could barely take the weight of an eco bulb and a paper shade. ‘What about it, Tom? Could you bear to sell nothing but romantic fiction if I promise not to paint the shop pink? I know you’re doing a PhD in English Literature, but would it be a massive step down?’

‘It’s not solely on English Literature. It’s more nuanced than that,’ Tom said, because the topic of Tom’s PhD thesis was a mystery to them all. Whenever Posy asked Tom about it he started using long, fancy words like epistemology and neorealism, and so Posy remained clueless. It was probably for the best. ‘Anyway, I’m not wholly against the idea of romantic fiction. But I am not working in a shop called Reader, I Married Him. Can you imagine what it would be like having to answer the phone?’

‘Hello, you’re through to Reader, I Married Him, what can I help you with today?’ Sam parroted, then looked at Sophie, who rewarded him with a smile.

‘OK, I get the message,’ Posy said in a resigned tone. ‘What do we call the shop then?’

‘The Love Shack?’ Nina suggested. ‘Though that sounds like we sell marital aids. What about Meet Cute? That’s one of my favourite bits of a good love story.’

‘What’s a meet cute?’ Sophie asked. Which ruled that out because not everybody knew what it meant. ‘Couldn’t we just call it Love Story?’

‘Too vague,’ Verity said. ‘Come on, people – think! Why do people like romantic fiction?’

They sat in deafening silence for the time it took the clock on the wall to do a complete circuit then hit the minute mark with a sticky-sounding click.

Posy tried to think what it was about romantic novels that had her forsaking housework, TV, and going out on actual dates so she could find some real-life romance. ‘Better a night in with a good book, than a night out with some lame guy who can’t be bothered to put on a clean shirt,’ she was fond of saying.

Was it the sparky heroines who didn’t give up on love, no matter how many times they’d had their hearts broken? Was it the hero with his dashing good looks and sardonic wit, who might be nursing a broken heart too? The sizzling first kiss? The lingering looks? The attraction that couldn’t be denied? It was all of those things that kept Posy coming back, but above all else, it was the happy ending. It was the hero and heroine walking off the page and into the sunset hand in hand. You might not get your own happy ending, Posy knew that only too well, but a good romance always finished with a happy ending, and if it didn’t then Posy felt cheated. There had even been a couple of occasions when she’d flung a book across the room in disgust.

‘It’s the happy ending,’ she said out loud. ‘Everyone wants a happy ending.’

‘Happy Endings?’ mused Verity. ‘Possibly.’

‘Oh no. No. No. No.’ Nina looked horrified. ‘You can’t call it Happy Endings. It sounds like a knocking shop masquerading as a massage parlour.’

‘Does it? Why?’ Both Sophie and Sam looked confused. From under Sam’s fringe, Posy could almost hear the cogs whirring, then light dawned. ‘Oh! I get it! Yeah, can’t call the shop Happy Endings. I’d get rinsed at school.’

‘God, why does everything have some smutty other meaning?’ Posy lamented. ‘Happy Ever Afters should be a beautiful thing, not some sordid double entendre. This is precisely why we need more romance in the world and not … Oh! That’s it! Happy Ever After! It’s perfect. It is perfect, isn’t it?’

‘A Happy Ever After guaranteed, or your money back!’ Nina exclaimed. ‘We could have that as our slogan.’

‘Except we might have to issue a lot of refunds to people who bought copies of Wuthering Heights or The Great Gatsby,’ Tom said, but he was smiling. ‘I can cope with working in a shop called Happy Every After. Just about.’

‘Happy Ever After, then. That’s the name of the shop,’ Verity said, as she started gathering up her things. ‘All those in favour, raise their hand.’ She looked around. ‘That includes you, Tom.’ Tom raised his right hand and gave Verity the middle finger of the other one. ‘Great. We’re unanimous. I really have to go now. I wasn’t planning on staying late tonight.’

She was out the door with her coat hanging half on, half off, because when Verity decided she’d had enough, there was no weapon forged that could stop her.

‘Happy Ever After. I like it,’ Nina said. She looked around. ‘So, pub, everyone?’

Sam nodded. ‘Yeah, I’ll have a vodka and tonic, if you’re buying.’

‘You will have no such thing because you aren’t going to the pub – and neither are you, Sophie. The two of you are going upstairs and you can start on your homework until Sophie’s dad comes to pick her up,’ Posy said and really Sam should be thanking her instead of glaring, because now he and Sophie could bond over the Hundred Years War and what a bitch she was.

The two of them, grumbling all the way, stomped up the stairs as Posy followed Tom and Nina through the shop so she could lock the door behind them.

She watched them hurry across the courtyard. It was raining. Nina shrieked as she skidded over the cobbles. Tom took her arm and they ran around the corner.

Upstairs, she heard a door slam and the sound of music suddenly blaring out, but down here all was still and calm.

‘Happy Ever After,’ she whispered under her breath as she straightened display tables, plumped cushions and did a very lacklustre job of mopping the floors, because they couldn’t afford a cleaner and it was usually Verity’s job as she said it was the only way to ensure that it was done properly. ‘Happy Ever After.’

No matter how many times she said those three words, they never lost their meaning. Their intent. Their promise.

‘Happy Ever After.’ She stood in the centre of the room, next to the main display table, her hand resting on the photo of Lavinia and Perry. ‘Do you like your new name?’

Maybe Posy had been waiting for a sign, some acknowledgment from a higher power that she was doing the right thing for herself, for Sam, and for Bookends. Giving the shop a happy ever after too.

The shop stayed silent but Posy felt the same comforting glow that always came over her when she was alone among the books and decided that that was all the answer she needed.