He laughs. ‘Perhaps.’
‘Well. She does in the book.’
‘She does.’ He drains his drink and puts the empty can on the wall between us.
‘Bloody hell.’
‘You’d never believe it if you met her,’ he says. ‘She’s not cool these days.’
‘Isn’t she? Not like Joanna Lumley?’
He laughs again. ‘No. She’s more… I think she went too far in the opposite direction.’
‘God. My mum would flip if she thought I knew someone whose mum slept with Mick Jagger.’ I eat fish in silence for a while, sawing at it with the penknife. ‘Personally I prefer Charlie Watts. He’s my favourite.’
‘Not Keith?’
‘I like Keith, just for not being dead. But Charlie’s the best.’
He laughs. ‘Why?’
‘I think he’s quite handsome. He’s one of those men who got better-looking. Nothing much at twenty, stunning at sixty.’
‘Okay.’
‘And I like the things he says, like how he doesn’t play drums in the Rolling Stones, he plays drums for Mick and Keith. And how mostly that involves waiting for them to turn up from somewhere. And I like how he’s been married to the same person since 1965 or something.’
‘Yeah, that’s pretty admirable isn’t it? For a Rolling Stone, particularly.’
‘I think so. I like that he’s always at the back in photos looking faintly annoyed that he has to have his picture taken.’ I would carry on talking in this chatty unimportant way, but I’ve glanced up from my chips to find Edward looking at me with a really odd expression on his face.
‘What?’
‘What, what?’
‘You’re staring. Have I got ketchup all over me?’
‘No, sorry. No. Fancy a drink?’ He stands up, screwing his chip paper into a ball and looking round for a bin.
‘A drink?’
‘Yeah, let’s go to the pub.’
Fifteen
The pub’s surprisingly busy.
‘I think there’s a band on later,’ Edward says, handing me my drink and squeezing in beside me at the only empty table. ‘Hence the punters.’
‘I saw they have live music. Perhaps I should make an effort and come out more,’ I say. ‘I know Jilly and Cerys go to see bands sometimes.’
‘Expanding your social circle?’
‘I probably need to, don’t I? Can’t just sit in all the time, or expect Jenny and Alastair to invite me to things. Or rely on you.’ He looks at me over the rim of his glass. ‘I mean, I know you’re not very sociable; it’s good of you to come out with me sometimes.’
‘Yeah, isn’t it?’
‘And I’ve begun to wonder if one day I might be interested in meeting people, you know.’ I turn my beer mat over twice and then put my glass of gin and tonic on it.
He snorts. ‘People. Men, you mean.’
I shift my stool closer to the wall to disguise my slight embarrassment. ‘Well… I don’t know. Not really. I’m not sure I–’
‘I don’t think there’s much choice round here. You’d need to cast your net wider.’
‘I haven’t got a net. And I don’t think I’ll need one for a bit. But you know, if I… if there’s… if I were to stay up longer, I should probably make a bit more effort.’
‘Hm.’
Our heart-to-heart, such as it is, is interrupted at this point by Jilly and Cerys, who have spotted us from the bar.
‘Are you staying for the band?’ says Cerys.
‘Dunno,’ I say, just as Edward says, ‘No.’ We all laugh, of course.
‘We’ll sit with you,’ says Jilly, scanning for another stool, ‘and then we’ll take your table when you go.’
‘How rude,’ says Edward, but he shifts up on the banquette to make room for Cerys.
‘Who’s playing?’ I ask.
‘Ah, just a local wee band. Critheann, they’re called. Two fiddle players. The girl who sings is amazing,’ says Jilly. ‘We always go if they’re playing. One of ’em is Cara’s son. Cara at the Lemon Tree?’
‘Oh, okay. I think I’ve seen him. With a beard?’
‘Aye, that’s him, right enough.’ She nods. ‘Been away in Ireland all summer, playing all the wee folk festivals. They’ve a CD.’
‘I’ve never seen it so busy in here.’
‘You need to get out more,’ says Cerys. ‘Don’t base your social life on Mr Misery.’
Edward scowls at her, and we all laugh at him. I look around. ‘I’ve never even seen more than two people at the bar. This is the most people I’ve seen since I went to Tesco the week before last.’
‘Ha, small town joys.’
‘Oh look, there’s that bloke,’ I say, as I gaze round the crowded bar.
‘What bloke?’
‘He was in the shop, earlier? With his daughter.’ I gesture vaguely at my head.
‘Oh yes, the girl with the amazing hair,’ says Edward. ‘She bought some postcards. You talked to him for ages.’
‘Well, not ages. He wanted a copy of Five Red Herrings, so we were talking about Dorothy Sayers and Gatehouse of Fleet and Kirkcudbright. I think we should do a leaflet about that.’
‘You think we should do a leaflet about everything.’
Jilly laughs. She finds us hilarious, I know.
‘No, I don’t. Just some things. We should definitely do one about The Wicker Man.’
‘We had some people in who were looking at Wicker Man locations last week,’ Cerys says, helpfully.
‘There you are, see?’
‘Huh. I suppose I can’t stop you,’ says Edward, which I take as a win.
I look back at where the man from earlier is now talking to a lad of twenty or so. His son? Must be. ‘You hardly ever seem to get men who read Dorothy Sayers; I don’t know why.’
Edward shrugs. ‘Wimsey’s more attractive to women, I imagine.’
‘D’you think?’ I say, doubtful. Not that I’m doubtful about the attractiveness of Lord Peter – I’ve had a literary crush on him since I was about fourteen. ‘But they’re properly good books, aren’t they? I mean, you like them.’
He grins at me. ‘I’m very unusual, Thea – you must have noticed.’
‘Ha.’
At this point the man from earlier turns his head and sees me looking at him, which is embarrassing. I’m not embarrassed by anything these days though. What’s the point? I smile at him and he smiles back. I can’t see his daughter anywhere, which is disappointing; I’d like to look at her hair again, and see what she’d wear to something like this. Earlier she was wearing a fantastic bright orange minidress with lime green tights. One of the only things I miss about my teenage years is my ability/willingness to wear fabulous outfits. The postcards she bought earlier were from Edward’s vintage collection, suitably. I told her about the shopfronts in Castle Douglas with their sixties fonts.
I’ve surprised myself by how much I like talking to customers. I suppose because no one ever knows what they want in a second-hand bookshop, and no one’s ever in a rush. Mostly they’re quite pleasant. And I enjoy seeing myself as a helpful friendly person, the yin, as it were, to Edward’s yang. This thought amuses me, and I chuckle to myself.
‘What?’
‘Oh, nothing. Just thinking. Anyway, d’you want another? I’ll go to the bar before it gets too hectic.’
‘Are you going to stay?’
‘I thought I might have one more. I don’t know about staying for the band.’
‘Okay,’ he says, ‘I’ll have another pint.’
I look at Jilly and Cerys, and they raise their almost full glasses to me in unison.
‘You’re all right,’ says Jilly, ‘we’re fine.’
I’d forgotten what a crowded bar was like, and my surprise at the whole thing amuses me. I squeeze between two men in walking gear and lean forward keenly, a tenner gripped between thumb and forefinger, operation ‘catch the eye of the barmaid’ in full effect. I’m not paying much
attention to anyone else, and when the person I’m standing next to speaks, I have no idea he’s talking to me.
‘Excuse me,’ he says, ‘hello?’
I turn my head. It’s the man from the bookshop. ‘Oh! Hello. We meet again,’ I say, and then feel weirdly self-conscious.
He grins at me. ‘I’m Keith,’ he says.
I’m amused by this, after Edward and I were talking about Keith Richards, earlier. This man seems entirely unlike Keith Richards, but then, isn’t everyone?
‘I’m Thea. Hello.’
We smile at each other. I know he’s friendly, I enjoyed our chat this morning, but I’m still quite taken aback. He’s about my height, with hair that’s beginning to grey and fashionable glasses.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ he asks.
I literally cannot remember the last time a man in a pub offered to buy me a drink. I gawp at him. ‘Er, well–’
‘I feel I should just check – do you… Is the bookshop a family business? I mean, is that your husband? That you’re with?’
I glance over my shoulder towards my friends. ‘Um, no – no, he’s just my boss.’
‘Right, thought I should make sure. Drink?’
‘Er, sure. Sure, why not, thank you. I’ll just have a Coke. And I’ll still need to get a pint for Edward,’ I add. I’m a bit flustered, but at that moment I catch the barmaid’s eye and order Edward’s pint.
‘Just a Coke? Sure I can’t get you anything else?’
‘No, I’ll be driving. Thanks.’
‘You’re not local, then?’
‘Well, fairly. I live about five miles away.’ I failed, earlier, to ask the classic shop-to-customer question in a vaguely touristy place, so I say it now. ‘You’re up on holiday?’
‘Yeah, up for a fortnight – this is our second week,’ he says, and leans past me to order our drinks.
‘I’ll just take this over,’ I say, picking up Edward’s pint. ‘And then I’ll come back.’
I head back over to our table, feeling quite odd. I really can’t remember the last time a stranger bought me a drink. Seriously, it’s decades.
Edward accepts his pint and says, ‘Best pals now then, are we?’
‘What?’ I say, although I know exactly what he’s talking about.
‘The man, the guy, the bloke – you know.’
‘Oh, from before, yes. His name’s Keith, apparently.’ I feel awkward, self-conscious.
‘What did he want?’
‘What, just now?’
He nods. He’s glaring at me, which makes me uncomfortable, and also slightly annoyed.
‘Wanted to buy me a drink. I’d better go and get it,’ I add, looking back towards the bar ‘I said I’d–’
‘You let him buy you a drink?’
Cerys, who’s been watching this interlude with interest, says, ‘People can buy Thea drinks if they want to, Edward, surely?’
‘It’s a long time since anyone offered to buy me a drink,’ I confess, ‘anyone I didn’t know, I mean. I’ll be back in a moment.’
I thread my way back to the bar, where Keith waits with the drinks. We shuffle off to one side now, out of the way, or as out of the way as is possible. We raise our glasses to each other and smile awkwardly.
‘So, I thought earlier that you didn’t sound local,’ says Keith. ‘How long have you lived up here?’
‘Oh, I don’t live here exactly – I inherited a house.’ I explain about Uncle Andrew. He talks about his holiday. He’s from Southampton. Divorced. They saw the posters for the gig when they were in town this morning. His son’s here, somewhere, but his daughter stayed at the cottage because crowds make her anxious.
‘Are you here for the gig?’ he asks me, ‘or is this your usual watering hole?’
‘We do drink in here sometimes. It’s the closest pub to the shop. The other one is a whole hundred yards further.’ I laugh. ‘But it’s just a coincidence. I didn’t realize there was anything on. We usually only have one – because of me driving home and everything.’
‘Are you going to stay this evening?’
‘Oh, well. I don’t know…’ I say, distracted. I just looked across the bar and caught Edward’s eye. He’s still glaring at me. I shift my gaze to Cerys, who shakes her head and rolls her eyes. ‘Maybe I’ll stay out for a bit,’ I say. ‘My friends say the band’s good, and I was just saying I ought to be more sociable.’
‘It’s hard work, isn’t it, when you move somewhere new.’
‘It is. Especially if you’re single.’ I wonder if perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned this.
He nods. ‘Everything’s set up for couples, isn’t it? I found it really difficult to adjust when I got divorced. I’m sure everyone does.’
‘Yeah, it’s odd. I don’t mind the suiting yourself bit, but I can’t imagine going on dates or anything. I don’t think I’ve ever been on a date.’ I laugh. ‘My ex-husband and I were friends, and then we were going out – we never went on a date.’
‘I took my ex-wife out to dinner,’ he says. ‘I saved up for ages. I was only nineteen.’ He grins at me. ‘And we went to the cinema. I took her to see Sleeping with the Enemy, which isn’t a very romantic film.’
I laugh. ‘No. But tense – so that’s good, isn’t it, because you can accidentally hold hands.’
This makes him laugh. ‘Yeah, I remember she grabbed my leg at one point and I jumped a mile. After that it seemed okay to put my arm round her.’ We smile at each other.
‘You should come over and meet the others,’ I say. ‘And is your son all right by himself?’ I look round, but as I don’t know what he looks like, it doesn’t help.
‘He was talking to some girls earlier. He’s much better at that than I ever was, never seems to get nervous at all.’
‘The bravery of youth,’ I say.
‘I suppose so. I wasn’t like that at his age.’
I lead the way over to the table in the corner. ‘Oh,’ I say, looking at the empty seat. ‘Where’s Edward?’
‘He’s gone,’ says Jilly. She shakes her head.
‘Oh. Did he… Oh, okay,’ I say.
‘Jealous,’ says Cerys.
‘Oh really?’ I laugh. ‘Of what? Anyway, look, this is Keith, he’s up on holiday.’ I introduce them all to each other, and we sit down, and I try hard not to think about Edward going off without saying goodbye. He’s not obliged to stay, after all. I’ll see him tomorrow. I return my attention to the others, now discussing some of the places Keith and his kids have visited while they’ve been up here, and where Sam has been fishing and Clarissa’s dislike of loud noisy places.
He seems very pleasant, easy to talk to, quite funny. When he goes to the bar for more drinks, Cerys turns to look at me. ‘So. He’s up for it, I reckon. You up for it?’
I blanch. ‘Oh God. No, I don’t think so.’
‘You shouldn’t worry about what Edward thinks,’ Jilly interjects. ‘None of his business, is it?’
‘No,’ I say, ‘it wouldn’t be. And I’m not. But he can’t really be annoyed, can he?’
‘I told you,’ says Cerys, ‘he’s jealous.’
‘Don’t be silly.’ I’m even more embarrassed. ‘Why would he be jealous?’
They both look at me.
‘Can’t imagine,’ says Jilly.
‘No idea,’ says Cerys. Then they laugh. I’m not sure what to say. This is the problem with people you don’t know well. I like Jilly and Cerys, but it’s hard to tell when they’re teasing.
When Keith returns from the bar, he brings his son with him. People are beginning to move their chairs away from the corner by the pool table where there are suddenly amps and microphones.
‘I might stay for a bit,’ I say.
‘You should, they’re brilliant, honestly,’ says Cerys.
So I do, and they are. I have an unexpectedly jolly evening, although it’s hard to talk when the music’s playing. Some people even dance and it’s just like one of those little document
ary films you see about communities making their own entertainment. I talk to people I’ve never spoken to before but have seen around the place, in the Co-op or down by the river walking their dogs. By nine-thirty I’m flagging, though.
‘I’m going to head off,’ I say to Keith. ‘So nice to have met you.’
‘And you,’ he says. ‘It’s always good to meet people who actually live in the place I’m on holiday, makes me feel like a local.’
‘You’ll need to work on your accent,’ says Jilly. ‘Even Thea says “aye” sometimes.’
‘Not on purpose,’ I object. ‘I mean, I worry you’ll think I’m taking the piss. I always pick up words when I stay somewhere for a while – it’s accidental.’
‘Ach, don’t worry, we think it’s cute,’ says Jilly, pulling a ridiculous face at me.
I wonder for a moment if Keith might ask me for my phone number or something, but he doesn’t. I think I’m relieved. I say goodbye to everyone and retrieve my bag from the windowsill where it’s been hidden behind the curtain.
Outside it’s surprisingly cool – or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that inside it was very warm indeed. I walk up the road towards the town hall in the dusk. The sound of the band is still quite loud – I wonder if Edward can hear it. As I drive past the shop I look up at the windows of the flat, but all is darkness.
* * *
I try to identify how I’m feeling. I have a strange edgy excited sense of… something. It reminds me of going to parties when I was in my early teens. A weird sense of, I don’t know, potential? Not that there was any potential, or not really. It’s not like Keith asked to see me again. I screw up my face in the dark. All the ways of thinking about this sort of thing have curiously juvenile phrasing. I suppose because the last time I was bought a drink and flirted gently with a stranger, I was young. It makes me sigh, thinking about my younger self. Not that she was unhappy, or even particularly stupid; she was just… It was a long time ago and everything she did was new. Now nothing I do is new, but some of it is unusual. I don’t know. I feel as though I can almost but not quite identify something quite important.
At home I make myself a cup of tea and watch a documentary about Scottish lake villages I downloaded from the iPlayer last week. I go to bed later than usual, but not what anyone would really describe as ‘late’. I can’t sleep, though. I’d forgotten that feeling, of talking to a man who likes you. That’s not quite right. I often talk to men who like me. I mean, that thing where someone’s bought you a drink and made an effort and been perfectly clear that they find you attractive, even if that wasn’t enough to spur them to try and get to know you better. It’s simple, isn’t it, for all we make these things complicated.
The Bookshop of Second Chances Page 16