‘Chaos would be mine. Unmitigated disaster would be a close second.’
‘Some words do spring to mind.’
‘Which ones?’
He mulls it over carefully. ‘Piss-up, brewery, organise.’
His turn of phrase makes me giggle, but I force myself to be serious. ‘Something’s got to change, because I still believe in bookshops, and I don’t believe all the fear-mongering about the printed page dying out and bookshops falling in their thousands. Every year you see more and more positive reports about independent bookshops thriving and print sales increasing. Busy days like today prove that. There’s so much potential here, but Once Upon A Page isn’t living up to it.’
‘So what are you going to do?’
‘Some of these books have been on the shelf since I was a little girl. The shop was founded in Victorian times and I’m pretty sure that we’ve still got some of the original books. They’re not rare and antique finds, they’re just still here. That’s not good stock turnaround. We’ve got old books, new books, used books, signed books, and ex-library books all muddled in together. We’ve got books that have been handled by customers so much that they’re in terrible condition now. We’ve got every genre muddled on every shelf. To say that the whole lot needs sorting out is an understatement. There are thirty thousand books here. Someone came in today and asked me if we had something, and I opened my mouth to answer but no words came out. I mouthed at her helplessly like I was doing an impression of Heathcliff until she thought I needed medical attention and went away. But the only possible answer was … how the hell should I know?’
I look at him, aware that I haven’t stopped for breath in quite a few minutes, and he nods in agreement, listening seriously.
‘So firstly I need to know what’s on the shelves. Geri was still in the Spice Girls when the last stock take was done. Seriously. I finally found it in the office last night. It’s handwritten and dated 1998. And secondly, the customers need some way of discovering what’s on the shelves, so they need to be completely sorted out and alphabetised because no one has a clue what books we’ve got or where they are if we have got them.’ I glance at him. ‘Except you, apparently. You don’t happen to know what alphabet Robert used to organise his stock, do you? Because it certainly wasn’t the regular one.’
‘I think he’d worked here for so long that he knew the place off by heart and knew where every book was.’
‘I know what I love about bookshops. I know what I loved about this bookshop years ago. I just hadn’t noticed how much it had faded from what it used to be.’
‘Robert struggled in his later years. He knew all this stuff, but he lacked the motivation and strength to sort them out. I think it’s what pushed him into retirement in the end. He knew the shop was going under and he knew he didn’t have the years left to fix it, so he chose someone else who could.’
I blush at the vote of confidence. Not many people in my life think I can do anything.
‘You know the shop’s going under too?’ I ask, wondering why it seems to be common knowledge for everyone but me.
He considers it for a minute before answering. ‘I spend a lot of time here. I see the number of customers Robert has – or doesn’t have. It doesn’t take a genius to work out that when you make that much of a loss for that many years, it can’t continue for much longer.’
His words make a shiver go down my spine, not the usual tingle that he’s been responsible for in the past few days. ‘This shop is my dream. I’m not going to let it go without a fight. I’ve never had anything worth fighting for before, but this place is. I’m not going to step aside and let some smarmy property developer knock it down. I’m going to turn things around.’
Even as I speak, I wonder where this confidence is coming from. I expected to be a wibbling wreck in the face of the accounts last night, but each red minus sign made me realise that I’m closer than I thought to pleading with the horrible Drake Farrer to take the shop off my hands, and I am not going to let that happen. I can’t afford new stock and fancy gimmicks to get people in, but I can make this shop the best it can be with what it already has – books. Lots of books.
‘So what are we doing then?’
‘We?’
‘Well, you’re going to let me help, right? I don’t want to go home yet – there’s something magical about being in a bookshop after closing time.’
I like how easy-going he is and how he seems to find something positive at every turn. There’s something about him that makes me want to step back and appreciate things.
I hand him the stack of biographies back with a grin. ‘We’re sorting out each shelf one at a time. My laptop is on the counter with a blank spreadsheet open on the screen, and we’re painstakingly putting every title, author, genre, publication date, and number of copies into it, which we’re going to update on a weekly basis with what’s been sold so we’ve got some hope of having a clue what’s actually on these shelves, and we’re also creating a sale section and an unsellable section. There are so many old books here that I can’t possibly expect money for. I thought I’d give them away for free, or maybe do that thing where people hide books around town for others to find …’
‘That’s a fantastic idea. I was at a hospital in London with Dani a few years ago and she found one hidden in the children’s ward. It made her day. She read it and then we went and re-hid it for someone else to find.’
‘Then we’ll do that.’ I watch him, wanting to pry for more info, but he quickly takes the books across to the counter.
‘Where are you putting the sale section?’
‘Over there.’ I gesture towards an empty space near the picks-of-the-week table. ‘There are two spare tables in the cupboard under the stairs, they’ll fit together, and I’ll load them with these books that have been sitting here for donkey’s years and clearly aren’t going anywhere: £2 for hardbacks, £1 for paperbacks. It’ll clear shelf space, shift some books, and bring in more money than they’re earning by sitting up here gathering dust.’
After clearing another three shelves, I run upstairs to get some cleaning products and a duster, and when I come down, Dimitri has dragged the two tables out of the office and is clipping them together as I climb back up the ladder and start cleaning the shelving, daydreaming about how I can make this place my own.
‘How did the book balancing go?’ he asks, bringing me out of the reverie with a crash. ‘Was your first look at the accounts as bad as I suspect it might’ve been?’
I hold my hands up like they’re scales and then dramatically drop one down so it clonks onto the shelf. ‘Not well. I’m not good with numbers and figures so I’m not even sure I’m reading them right … but I think “struggling” would be the word of choice to describe the shop …’ I trail off as I realise how unprofessional it is to talk to a customer about my business woes.
Like he can read my mind, he says, ‘I’m not an ordinary customer. You can talk to me. I studied business at uni. I know a bit about figures and stuff …’
I think about it for a moment. On one hand, it’s no one else’s business and I should keep it to myself because it’s my problem, not his, but on the other hand, I want someone to know. Since Monday, I’ve felt adrift here, thrown into the deep end to learn as I go, and I am completely out of my depth when it comes to the business side of things. Robert left his new address, but no phone number so I can’t keep hassling him with questions, and I’ve got no one to turn to. My sister thinks I’m mad for taking it on, the only use Bobby has ever found for a book is when a wonky table leg needs balancing, and the only part of my life that my mum’s interested in is who I’m going to marry. She was pleased about my win solely because ‘business owner’ will look more attractive to potential matches than ‘waitress’. And there’s something about Dimitri that I just like. He’s positive and cheerful, and that’s something that’s been missing from my life for a while now.
‘Robert was barely making a profit. The
occasional good week was the only thing keeping him afloat, and every bit of his earnings seem to be tied up in paying business rates and public and premises insurance. His only expenses were second-hand books from car boot sales and electricity for the shop. He must’ve been paying for his own essentials like food and bills from his savings because he hasn’t taken a wage in years, and he hasn’t bought any new books in months.’
‘He never worried about anything. He thought that there was no point stressing about a bad week because the next one would be better. He lived by the mantra that one way or another, everything would be all right in the end.’
‘Yeah, but it won’t, will it? Not if everything stays exactly as it is. Things are failing.’ I glance at him and then back at the dusty shelves in front of me. ‘Fast.’
‘Once Upon A Page might be on its last legs, but it’s not sunk yet. There’s still a chance to pull things around, and you’re already making the best start possible. We can do this, Hallie.’
I appreciate his blunt but cheerful words, and his use of the term ‘we’, like we’re somehow in this together. Having support, a gorgeous friendly face who seems to know what he’s talking about, buoys my confidence in my ideas for this place. ‘So, business studies?’ I ask, because he seems like the furthest thing from a businessman.
‘It was a long time ago. Before I realised that life’s too short to do something you hate. I’m not that person anymore. Now I just draw pictures for a living.’
‘What’s your ultimate dream?’
‘To have my own gallery. And to have a book published.’
‘Well, you’re well on the way with Pentamerone. You’re going to do a book signing here when it comes out, right? When’s the release date?’
‘We’re not that far along in the process yet.’ He suddenly seems awkward and clammed up, and I wonder if I’ve been too nosy.
He’s quiet as he piles more books into his strong arms, and I find myself distracted by the way his biceps flex under his teal shirtsleeves as he takes the stacks across to the counter.
‘What’s your favourite book?’ I ask because something has got to get my mind off his biceps. And forearms. And the curve of his chest, and how just a hint of collarbone shows above the rounded neckline of his T-shirt …
He gasps in mock horror. ‘You can’t ask me that! That’s like asking a parent to pick their favourite child. I could do you a top thirty, but you’ll be collecting your pension by the time I’ve decided on it.’
It makes me giggle and something in my chest floods with warmth. He’s so much like me, and I love that he ‘gets’ loving books. If I asked my family that question, Nicole would say the last book she heard of but hadn’t read just to get me off her back, Bobby would say ‘The Highway Code’ because it’s the only book he’s ever read without a secondary school English teacher breathing down his neck for an essay afterwards.
‘Well, I was thinking we should start doing personalised recommendations – you know, those little cards on the shelf in front of the book with a note from the bookseller saying what they enjoyed about it? I’ve been noticing that picks of the week are popular. People come in to discover new books rather than with something already in mind.’
‘And you want recommendations from me?’
‘If you wouldn’t mind writing out a few notes about books you’ve enjoyed, I’d love to display them. Customers want recommendations, and you love books and obviously have excellent taste.’
He looks up at me, holding my gaze as a smile twitches his lips. ‘Wouldn’t mind? I’d be honoured. No one ever asks me for book recommendations.’ The smile he’s been trying to hold back lights up his face. ‘Can I sign them off as the bookshop’s resident artist?’
I grin. ‘You can sign them off as the prime minister’s poodle if you want. I can’t recommend a whole shop of books by myself, and I’d love for you to be involved. If people like the idea, I was thinking we could extend it to customers too. I’ve had two people come in over the past few days, not knowing Robert’s left and wanting to tell him how much they enjoyed a book he recommended, and it’s got me thinking. You know how you feel when you finish an amazing book, and it’s kind of a happy sigh and immediate desire to tell someone, anyone, how good it was? I always like going on Amazon and reading the reviews to see if other people enjoyed it as much as I did. And I always want to write one, but I can’t articulate how much I enjoyed it and it just comes across as fan-girly and obsessive. People want to tell people when they’ve enjoyed a book. I was thinking we could have a stack of little cards and if anyone mentions that they’ve enjoyed something, I could ask if they fancied writing a little note to highlight it to others …’
He’s stopped in the middle of taking a stack of books from me, his arms frozen in mid-air, and he’s grinning like I’ve announced the secret of getting free chocolate every day for life. ‘That’s a fantastic idea. That’s exactly how I feel when I finish a great book and I have no one to tell. It’d be great to come in the next morning and write a little bit about it. You’ll have to stop me rambling though. I do have a tendency to go on a bit … I don’t know why I’m telling you that – you’ve obviously noticed … I say while rambling … I’m going to shut up now.’
Apart from how utterly adorable he is, the main thing I’ve taken from that conversation is that he must be single. Why does it make a little sparkle run through me? Why do I care if he’s single? As if he’d be interested in me. He’s gorgeous and talented and lovely. I’m clumsy and flustered and so far away from looking for a relationship that I may as well be in Outer Mongolia. I do better in relationships with fictional book boyfriends only. Real ones have never worked out for me. I’ve never felt a spark like the ones I read about. The only time I ever did feel chemistry with anyone … well, that didn’t work out either. I’ve decided that men are better on the page. Love doesn’t happen like it does in books, and I’d rather get my happily-ever-afters that way, because it never happens in real life.
‘Kids would love it too.’
It takes me a moment to realise he’s not talking about fictional book boyfriends and has gone back to the index card idea.
‘It would make children feel important if you asked them to recommend whatever book they read last. Anyone who loves books generally loves talking about books.’ He takes the books from my arms, puts them on the table and then comes back. ‘You’re good at this, Hallie. I don’t mean to overstep the mark, but you clearly doubt yourself sometimes, and I just wanted to say from the perspective of an outsider that Robert absolutely picked the right person.’
I blush and my throat closes up, unsure if I’m about to burst into nervous laughter or embarrassing tears. Or both. ‘Thanks,’ I croak at him.
He takes another stack of books from me. ‘So, after that totally unfair question, it’s my turn to ask – what’s your favourite book?’
‘Ah, see I defy the laws of being a book lover because I do actually have one that’s really special to me – just a little bit more special than the rest. Tiger Eyes by Judy Blume, do you know it?’
He shakes his head.
‘My dad died when I was twelve, and a few months later, I was in a charity shop with my granddad. He’d gone to try something on, and I was sitting in front of the bookshelf – obviously, it was always my favourite place in any shop. It was right by the till, and this random woman got her change, came over and handed me a pound coin, and told me to buy myself a book. I remember being really touched by the kindness of strangers.
‘Anyway, I loved Judy Blume books. I’d devoured all the ones my school and local library had and my granddad had given me book vouchers for my last birthday, which all went on Judy Blume books too, and I found one on the shelf in the charity shop that I’d never heard of before. It was 65p, and I know that because I’ve still got the same copy with the original price sticker on. I don’t think I even read the back of it, just bought it with the money this lovely stranger had given me, and it
felt like fate. It was like the book had found me at exactly the moment I needed it most.
‘It’s about a girl called Davey who’s just lost her dad and how she’s coping with the grief and emotions. Her mum takes her and her little brother to stay with an aunt and uncle that she doesn’t know, and she goes climbing in the canyons of New Mexico even though they tell her it’s too dangerous. She meets this mysterious boy called Wolf whose own father is dying and they help each other through the grief. She’s reckless and angry at the world and the empty canyons represent the vast hole in her life.
‘It was the first time I’d ever recognised myself in a book. It was the first time I realised that books could be written about people like me. I understood Davey, I climbed into the canyons with her, I met Wolf, I discovered I wasn’t alone in the way I was feeling after my dad’s death. I felt isolated from my friends at school because they didn’t know what it was like, but I clung to that book and read it over and over again, sobbing into it every time because the book “got” it. Davey got it. It made me feel less alone. It was the first time I’d ever read present-tense narration and it transported me there. The style really captured me.’
I pause to take a breath because I’ve been rambling for so long, and when I look down from the ladder, Dimitri’s smiling at me. ‘What?’
‘This is why books are so important. It’s why kids should be encouraged to enjoy reading – because books can change lives and make people feel not alone when they most desperately need it.’
‘Have you ever read a book that’s so special you don’t want to tell anyone about it? You just want to keep it to yourself so it’s all yours? My sister wasn’t a reader and my mum had very specific tastes and I never told them about that book because I didn’t want them to ridicule it. It was mine. And with the lovely stranger giving me money to buy it, it was like my dad had somehow sent it to me, and I didn’t want anyone else to have that.’ My eyes are filling up the more I talk about it, and I turn away to scrub a particularly stubborn spot on the shelf.
The Little Bookshop of Love Stories: A gorgeous feel good romance to escape with this summer! Page 10