‘Oh, I wouldn’t say it was my favourite …’ I pick up a book and briefly consider how hard I’d have to hit myself on the head to cause a severe enough concussion for my memory to stop recording for a while.
‘Yes, it was. Don’t you remember?’ She holds her hands up like they’re on the shoulders of an invisible man and starts a one-woman waltz around the shop while caterwauling a version of ‘Once Upon a December’ when she’s clearly forgotten what the lyrics actually are, until she crashes into the sale table and sends books skittering to the floor. Unless they’ve hurled themselves off for mercy lest she start trying to partner them up too.
Dimitri, the perfect gentleman, puts his book down and offers her his hand and properly waltzes her across the shop while humming the real version of ‘Once Upon A December’, spinning her around like a budget Strictly Come Dancing with pink leisure suits instead of spangly dresses and absolutely no sign of Tess Daly.
When he stops, she clutches a bookshelf for support and fans a hand in front of her face.
I kneel down to gather up the books she sent flying, trying not to think about how lovely he is to indulge my mum like that, and how attractive he looks in a waltz pose, or how much I’d like to dance with him. Dancing is usually something I avoid at all costs because I have the coordination of a slug that’s just fallen out of a beer trap.
He’s even lovely enough that he comes over and crouches down beside me to help pick up the books.
‘Do you have any idea what you’re doing?’ I whisper. ‘You’re unleashing a demon. We’re going to need pentagrams and salt circles to stop her now. She’s never going to leave you alone. Or me, for that matter. We’re going to have to leave the country. How does Iceland sound? We could start a new life in Iceland. No one would ever have to know.’
He puts his head down on his knees because he’s laughing so hard, even though I’m only half joking. Tears of laughter are forming in his eyes and I give him a gentle shove, but he overbalances and falls over onto his bum, his hair flopping forward and springing back up again as he laughs even harder, and the sight of him sprawled on the floor makes me start giggling too.
Mum looms over us, clearly wondering if coffee was the only thing in our cups. ‘Don’t you think this is a nice photo?’
She holds her phone down so he can see it, and I try to snatch it out of her hand but she dodges far more easily than a seventy-year-old should be able to. ‘Mum! Don’t show him that!’
He looks up at it from the floor. ‘Oh yes, it’s very nice. If slightly deranged Bridezilla was the look you were going for.’
He looks over and winks at me and I frantically do a ‘cut’ motion. If Mum catches him winking at me, she’ll probably need to be taken home by ambulance.
She pulls her phone back with a huff and stomps away. ‘That’s what Hallie always says. She must’ve told you to say that.’
‘No, not at all. She just looks like a desperate Bridezilla lying in wait to ensnare a husband.’
I laugh but it’s not like he’s saying anything that’s untrue. ‘I was going to help you up but now I think I’ll leave you flailing about on the floor.’
It makes him laugh even harder. ‘I do seem to have spent an abnormal amount of time lying on the floor in this shop.’
Mum’s mouth forms an ‘o’ as she tries to work out what activity we’ve been up to that’s put him on the floor.
He pushes his bottom lip out and I hold my hands out, squeezing his as he slips them both into mine and lets me pull him up.
‘She hates having her photo taken.’ Mum’s frantically scrolling through her phone for a better picture. ‘How about this one?’
‘I was six! And you took that photo to show how bad my chickenpox was!’
‘Very cute.’ Dimitri has the decency to barely glance towards the photo she holds out. He reaches over to grab his coffee cup and uses the distraction of Mum lost in her phone to go and sit down on the sofa and start getting art supplies out of his bag.
He is severely optimistic if he thinks that’s going to be enough to get her to leave him alone.
Sure enough, she puts her phone away as soon as she clocks that he’s moved, and the sofa lets out a whoosh of air as she plonks herself down next to him.
‘Mum, why don’t you come and have a look at the recipe books?’ I say, knowing my mum and recipe books make a recipe for only one thing – disaster. ‘We’ve got a great one about single meals for one person. That you only cook for one. And don’t need to share with other people because they’re only for one.’
‘She has unrealistic expectations of love, you know,’ she says to Dimitri.
‘It comes from years of being told we were going to have spaghetti bolognese for tea only to be served plain spaghetti with a dollop of ketchup on top.’
She ignores me. ‘It’s from all those books she reads. All those handsome men running about on the moors or sweeping ladies off their feet. She’s still waiting for Mr Rochester to walk in.’
‘I’m really not.’ I look to the door, imploring not Mr Rochester but a great wave of customers to pour in and shut her up. The shop remains quiet. Even Heathcliff seems to be interested in my mum’s conversation. Any mention of the moors perks him right up.
‘And all those contemporary Romances where the hero and heroine are so utterly perfect for each other and everyone sees it but them until some horrible misunderstanding tears them apart, but then at the end, he does some big, fancy gesture to prove how truly sorry he is, and they live happily ever after.’
‘But that’s the point of those books,’ he says gently. ‘People read them as an escape from reality. A chance to believe that life could be a fairy tale just for a moment. Everyone knows it’s not real. If it was real, no one would want to read them, would they?’
He looks at me across the shop and his mouth tips up into a smile when our eyes meet.
‘I don’t think it’s a bad thing to believe in magic,’ he continues. ‘To believe the world could be a little bit better than it is. And it’s definitely not a bad thing to want to meet someone who makes you feel like that. Isn’t that what everyone should hold out for?’
My whole body floods with warmth, and if my mum wasn’t here, I’d go over and throw my arms around him for that. It’s exactly what I’ve always wanted to say to Mum when she starts on about my unrealistic expectations but have never found the right words for. As she is here, I have to settle for smiling at him. I could never even consider hugging him. She would literally keel over in shock.
Mum goes to answer but nothing comes out.
Dimitri has superpowers. That’s the only possible explanation. No one has ever, ever rendered my mum speechless before. Ever.
‘She’s thirty-five!’ Mum splutters eventually. ‘The biological clock is ticking.’
‘I grew up with parents who were unhappy. Believe me, Hallie deserves to be happy and single rather than married to someone solely to fulfil expectations of what other people perceive to be perfect life goals. That’s not having unrealistic expectations, that’s wanting to be happy.’
God, he’s perfect. In a few gentle sentences, he’s politely shut my mum down and eloquently worded everything I’ve never been able to say.
He looks up at me again and I can’t smile any wider at him. My face is hurting from how much I’m smiling, and I can’t take my eyes off him and the way his eyes shine as he smiles back at me.
‘Dinner!’ She suddenly squeals so loudly that he visibly jumps and I jump so much that my hand hits the counter with such force that it makes me jump again.
‘Mum, no. Dimitri’s a nice guy, he doesn’t deserve that.’
‘Well, I do eat dinner …’ he starts.
‘No!’ I try to plead with him using only my eyes. ‘You don’t understand what you’re getting yourself into. What Mum calls dinner is not food.’
‘Now I’ve got knitting club on Monday,’ Mum starts. ‘My felting workshop on Tuesday, I’m down at
the allotment on Wednesday, and it’s Nicole’s week for working late so this Thursday’s out, and Friday is Nicole and Bobby’s date night … Would Thursday week work for you?’
Is it good or bad when your mum’s social life is a hundred per cent fuller than your own?
‘Thursday week it is,’ Mum cries after Dimitri’s told her he’s free at any time.
‘He’s busy on Thursday night.’ I rub my bruised hand. ‘He’s going out with his wife and children, aren’t you?’ Has someone accidentally hit my mute button? ‘His multiple wives!’
‘Now don’t you bring anything, I’ll cook. What’s your favourite food?’
I look at Heathcliff. ‘Can you even see me?’ I say to the goldfish. ‘Have I become invisible?’
He doesn’t answer either. Or look particularly interested in whether I’m invisible or not.
‘Pizza?’ Dimitri looks warily between me and my mum like he’s not sure whether it’s the right answer or not.
Pizza. I count all the ways pizza could possibly go wrong until a light bulb moment strikes. ‘How about we bring a pizza?’
‘Pish posh. I’m not letting this gorgeous man suffer takeaway pizza. A good home-cooked meal is what you need.’
I groan.
‘Home-made pizza sounds great,’ Dimitri says. He really doesn’t know what he’s letting himself in for.
Mum reaches over to pat his cheek. ‘Oh, you are kind. It’s been many years since I heard that from either of my girls.’
‘There’s a reason for that,’ I mutter.
Thankfully a couple of customers choose that moment to come in, and I’m so grateful for the distraction that I’d go and hug them if it wouldn’t scare them away. One of them is a man who might be single – well, he’s about forty and he’s on his own. Usually that would be enough for my mum to corner him and enquire – but she doesn’t move from Dimitri’s side.
He’s started showing her some of his drawings and I overhear him telling her about the greeting cards he’s doing and the bookish gifts I’m going to be stocking, and as long as they’re on a neutral topic that’s not my love life, I decide to stay out of it. The more I try to drag her away, the more convinced she’ll become that there’s something to drag her away from and the more determined she’ll be to stay and find out what.
With Dimitri talking, Mum looks more interested in the shop than she’s ever been. He’s animated when he speaks, his smile lighting up his face, his hands gesticulating wildly in between leaning over to draw tiny sketches to show her examples of what he’s talking about. My mum is not an easy woman to handle, and seeing him chat to her and actually look like he’s enjoying it is positively heart-melting.
Chapter 9
‘How can you even make inventorying thirty thousand books fun?’ I say after closing time the same night.
It’s one of many nights Dimitri’s insisted on staying to help, and I know there will be many more nights like this in front of us, but I’m not complaining because he’s walking around with an open book laid across his head like a hat, his hair sticking out in all directions from underneath it, for no discernible reason other than to make himself look like an adorable idiot.
‘It is fun,’ he says simply. ‘They’re books. We get to see them, hold them, and stroke them. There are plenty of people who would kill for this job.’
Which is true. And no matter how much I love it, it still seems like a mammoth task. I still look at the endless shelves and piles in front of us and wonder how we’ll ever get through them all. But I like how nothing seems like a big deal to him. Not even my mum.
The shop’s been busy today and this is the first chance I’ve had to broach the subject with him. ‘I’m sorry about my mum earlier.’ I look up from where I’m kneeling on the floor in front of the Cosy Crime section.
‘You don’t have to apologise. She’s amazing.’
‘I didn’t mean for you to get dragged into it. I didn’t think she’d come in. She’s got a few favourite authors and she’ll sometimes read things her friends recommend, but she’s so busy with all the various clubs and groups she goes to that she doesn’t have time for reading.’ I try to wrestle a book out of the shelf where it’s wedged in so tightly that I’m one step away from going to find a crowbar. ‘She’s the one who introduced Nicole and Bobby about ten years ago, and since then she’s been convinced that she’s missed her calling in life as a matchmaker, and that her sole purpose is to find the perfect man for both her daughters. She’s only succeeded with one so far, but she certainly hasn’t given up trying with me. She can’t help herself when she sees a single man. She did the same with my ex-flatmate at first, and he was twenty-two years old and came with a crispy Lynx coating.’
Dimitri snorts so hard that the book falls off his head.
‘Thank you for being so nice to her. She’s a bit overbearing. Overwhelming. She could be described in a lot of ways, most of them beginning with “over”. She really struggled after my dad died and started joining all these clubs to keep herself busy. After Nicole and I had both moved out, she was getting too lonely in the house, so when Nicole married Bobby and found a house with an annex in the garden, it was the perfect solution for her to move in there. As you’ll find out when she gives you the grand tour …’
‘Hal, honestly, it’s fine. It was nice to meet her. She’s lovely. She was interested in my work and complimentary about my baking.’
I don’t tell him that, knowing my mother, her interest in him was all about assessing him for husband suitability, and he undoubtedly passed her test with flying colours and a gold star. No, the coconut lemon bars would’ve earnt him at least two gold stars. ‘And don’t worry about dinner next week, I’ll tell her you’ve been bitten by a radioactive bat and gone down with rabies or something.’
‘Are you kidding? I’m not missing this for the world.’ He cocks his head to the side and thinks about it for a moment. ‘Although radioactive bats do sound fun. Do you know any?’
His earnestness makes me giggle, until he says, ‘Besides, it’s pizza. What could go wrong with pizza?’
I look up at him, not trying to hide my look of pity. ‘Oh, you poor, sweet, innocent man. You have no idea. If she makes pizza, it’s going to be topped with anchovies, pineapple, and grass cuttings from the lawnmower. You do realise that, don’t you?’
‘She was saying she likes seasonal ingredients …’
‘Yeah, except she chooses the ones that you can’t eat. Never mind the violas and nasturtiums, she goes for tulips and lily of the valley. And if she offers you a mushroom in the autumn, never ever take it. Despite her assertions, she does not know which ones are edible. Bobby can attest to that – he once spent a night in hospital having his stomach pumped after a particularly hefty portion of her mushroom carbonara.’
He laughs like he still thinks I’m joking. ‘It’ll be fine. I’m looking forward to meeting your family. I’ve heard a lot about them.’ He doesn’t add that a solid 99.99 per cent of it was heard this morning as my mum wittered on and on at him. ‘I’ve got some of my father’s vintage wines. I’ll bring a bottle and, what, meet you here and we’ll walk over?’
I nod, still desperately thinking of ways to get out of it. Faking your own death can’t be that difficult, right? Emigration is also a definite possibility. Maybe I could become one of those yachtswomen who sail around the world on their own. Or an astronaut. The ocean might be dodgy because she could still hire a boat and follow me with a line of single men behind her, like The Pied Piper of Hamelin in dating terms, but she’d never make it to space.
‘It’s been so long since I had a family dinner. I’m honoured that she asked me.’ His voice wobbles and for just a second, it’s like I can physically see his loneliness surrounding him. He clearly isn’t close to what’s left of his own family. He’s mentioned his house being empty and every night when I suggest it’s time to call it quits for the day, he’s reluctant to go.
He covers it with a sm
ile in an instant, but I feel guilty for trying to put him off.
‘It’s just …’ I stutter, unsure of what to say. ‘I just want you to be forewarned that what you think is dinner and what my mum thinks is dinner are two different things. And on the plus side, we pass a chip shop on the way back so the night won’t be lost if the pizza is up to her usual standards.’
‘We could take some books.’ He nods towards one of piles balanced precariously on my desk in the office.
‘My mum might try to cook them.’
He laughs again. He really doesn’t know my mother well enough. ‘I mean for hiding. In the dark of the night and all that. We could go and be book fairies.’
I laugh at the mental image, but it makes me feel all warm inside too. I’ve never thought of it as being a book fairy.
The idea is to replicate what I’ve seen other towns doing online, and put books inside a waterproof bag and hide them in spots around town for other people to find, along with a note saying to enjoy it and re-hide it for someone else to find, and with a mention of where it came from.
‘You really want to help me with that?’
He opens the book and puts it back on his head, spins in a circle, and does a bow, causing the book to fall off and clatter to the floor. Luckily it was one of the ones for the recycling bin anyway. ‘I want to help you with anything. Everything. I love being here. I love that you haven’t chucked me out yet.’
‘I feel like I should be paying—’
‘Don’t finish that sentence.’ He interrupts before I can mention anything about the awkward niggling feeling I’ve been having about how much he’s doing to help me and expecting nothing in return. He’s spending more time here than a full-time employee would, and I haven’t forgotten what he said on the roof the other day about needing the money.
‘I already have a job. I’m helping you as a friend, not because I want anything out of it.’
‘I know, I just mean … You can’t be getting much work done. When’s your deadline for your publisher?’
‘Don’t worry about it. I’ve got ages yet.’
The Little Bookshop of Love Stories: A gorgeous feel good romance to escape with this summer! Page 16