Читать книгу Confessions of a Bookseller - Shaun Bythell - Страница 48

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Flo was in the shop today. She’s the daughter of Jayne, who has the shop next to mine, and has worked for me on and off (largely when it has suited her) over the years. She’s a student, and the very embodiment of petulance. The first thing she said—on spotting a dirty rag on the counter—was ‘Is that Nicky’s scarf?’ Her job for the day was to parcel up the random books for this month’s mail-out, a job that I used to approach with eager enthusiasm, but which has now become a dull chore.

At 9.30 a.m. I lit the fire in the big room above the shop for the Readers’ Retreat and discussed plans for the week with Anna and Emily. Evening meals will be cooked by Emily, as will some lunches, with Maria bringing in the remainder. Maria is an Australian woman who has settled in the area with her husband and children. She runs a small catering business. She bounded in at 9.45, armed with food and equipment and her customary relentless good cheer.

I’ve managed to resolve the accommodation problem by putting two of the four unhappy Ploughman residents at Beltie Books. The other two are going to sleep here, which means that Anna and Emily will have to vacate their rooms. Emily is going to sleep in the bed in the shop.

Supper here with the twelve from the Retreat, vegetarian shepherd’s pie. Up late drinking and chatting. Bed at 1 a.m.

Till Total £378.47

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