At least I didn’t have any more tears left in my body to cry. I was practically a desiccated husk. One strong puff of wind and I’d crumble to dust and blow away.
I squinted up at the minuscule print of the train timetable pinned to the information board, trying to make sense of the incomprehensible letters and numbers and randomly colour-coded lines. I needed to get myself back to London, book into a cheap hotel, sink a few glasses of wine and sleep. I’d worry about tomorrow, tomorrow.
Ah, balls. The next train wasn’t for another four hours. And even then, it looked as though I’d have to change several times. Where the actual hell was I?
I looked around, taking in my surroundings properly for the first time. The station was tiny and on any other day I would have thought it quite pretty, with a cute little waiting room (closed of course), a covered bench and hanging baskets full of pink and yellow flowers. The air smelt of honeysuckle and some subtle citrus flavour I couldn’t identify, Eau de Not Pollution maybe.
A bee spiralled past my nose, buzzing cheerfully. I could hear birds singing but also very faintly the hum of passing cars. I hadn’t eaten anything since picking at my breakfast that morning and I was suddenly ravenous. And really, really thirsty.
I had several hours to kill; maybe it was worth exploring a little. I crunched across the gravel towards a white picket fence. A blue-and-white painted sign said, ‘Finlay village ¼ mile.’ Okay, that looked promising. I decided to check it out.
I crossed a small car park and wandered down a gravel path, which opened out onto a tree-lined country road. Right then, let’s see where this takes me.
I started walking, carefully navigating the uneven pavement and admiring the large ivy-covered houses, set back on neatly tended lawns that lined the right hand side of the road. Across from me, a pretty canal flowed past; beyond that, nothing but green, rolling hills.
Just as I was starting to worry I might be lost, another sign for the village appeared. I checked my watch. I still had plenty of time until the next train departed. The thought of heading back to London gave me a little depressed dip. Being here was sort of an adventure, taking my mind off the real world while I explored this one instead.
I passed an old stone church, its grounds dotted with tombstones. Here and there the road branched off into hiking trails, at the head of which small groups of men and women in bright jackets and hiking boots congregated. A car whizzed past. I was getting nearer to civilisation.
I rounded a bend. Finally, a street with shops on it. For the first time that day, I felt my spirits lift. I hadn’t gotten myself into some sort of Deliverance-style mess; this was a perfectly nice little village.
Cute stone cottages lined the road, with neat squares of lawn out front and brightly painted doors. A profusion of small cobbled alleys ran off the main road. This was the sort of place you might want to explore on a day trip. I didn’t feel like exploring now, especially not in these damned shoes. But I felt confident that I could at least waste a couple of hours here.
I spied a pub at the midpoint of the street. Bingo! A couple of stiff G and T’s would be just the ticket. Further up the street I could see a row of shops and even an old-fashioned red post box.
On closer inspection, the pub looked a bit intimidating. A group of men in high-vis jackets sat on the benches outside, smoking and laughing uproariously. I didn’t know if I wanted to go in there on my own.
My initial boost of confidence had been short-lived. Maybe I could just go back to the platform and wait there. My stomach rumbled. I was tired and thirsty, and my feet throbbed painfully. Sod it, I was going in.
I could feel several sets of eyes on me as I approached the pub, my shoes ringing out against the cobbles. It was enough to set me on edge and I quickened my pace. Chickening out at the last moment, I hurried past the huddle of workmen.
The whole idea of going for a wander in the middle of nowhere suddenly seemed a lot less appealing. I didn’t even know where I was. And nor did anyone else for that matter. Not Phil, not my mum. I’d dropped off the map, or as good as. Maybe not the best plan. And yet I left my phone switched off, summoning what little defiance I could muster.
I turned one last corner, on the verge of heading back, and that was when I saw it. Some fifty yards ahead of me was a small café with a few tables and chairs arranged out front. I breathed a sigh of relief and headed towards it fingers and toes, figuratively, crossed.
The shop front was faded and a little weather-worn, but it had a welcoming air that spurred me onwards and put a little spring back in my step.
Crossing the back alley, my happy suspicions were confirmed. The gnarled wooden bench out front sported an empty coffee cup and the sign set out on the pavement advertised tea and fresh sandwiches. My stomach growled at the thought of thick sliced bread (who cared what was in it) and a much needed hot brew.
A towering stack of books leaned precariously by the entrance. On the wall above the front door, a peeling green-and-gold sign read ‘The Bookshop Café.’ As I took hold of the brass door handle, the musty smell of old books wafted up. I breathed in the comforting familiar aroma.
The smell was nostalgic, reminding me of my childhood. As a kid I’d always had my nose buried in a book, spending many happy hours holed up at the local library. It was long gone now, of course. Another victim of crippling budget cuts. But my love of reading had never gone away. Not that I’d had much time for it lately, what with the job and the mammoth workload. Welp, that wasn’t a problem any longer. Thanks to shitty Oliver. Maybe it was time to work my way through the classics. I could actually read all those books I’d fibbed about reading in the past.
This place was a godsend. It looked safe enough, and I could kill two birds with one stone; line my stomach with a stodgy snack and select a comfort read for the journey back to London. I could lose myself in a novel; immerse myself in someone else’s desperate adventures. After everything that had happened today, I’d had enough adventure of my own to last me a lifetime.
I pushed open the door. The little bell above it rang merrily, announcing my presence. Taking a deep breath, I stepped out of the bright sunlight and into the dim, cosy interior of the Bookshop Café.
Nine
‘Wow,’ I said, my mouth forming a little round O of delight. I had stepped into an old-fashioned bookshop, filled with rows and rows of shelves, tightly packed with books of all descriptions. Rolling ladders clung to dizzyingly tall units. Above me, a gallery with a rail was lined with yet more books. Inside the shop, the heady aroma of old pages grew even more intense.
The hardwood floor was a little scuffed but dotted with comfy looking armchairs. The room was lit by pretty antique lamps, so the space felt cosy instead of intimidating. A few motes of golden dust spun around in the sleepy air. Although the place had seen better days, it still retained oodles of authentic charm that any hipster outlet would have died for. The atmosphere was calm and comforting. It was a place to dream the afternoons away.
Everywhere I looked, some little treasure awaited me. A beautiful oil painting, shining deep purples and browns, an old-fashioned typewriter on an antique desk, a stone fireplace, sooty with use.
Peering into the recesses of the shop I could see a maze of rooms and corridors leading off in seemingly random directions. The Bookshop Café appeared to be some kind of TARDIS. Bigger on the inside than out. No café in sight though. My stomach rumbled again. I felt like I might eat one of the books if I couldn’t get my hands on a biscuit and a cup of tea.
I appeared to be the only customer on the premises and the long, wooden counter by the window was empty. Seriously starved, I pressed on further into the shop. The feeling of opportunity and adventure that I had felt earlier began to rise in me again, even more so when I drifted under an arch and paused for a while in the children’s section. I slid out a copy of Swallows and Amazons and held it to my nose, breathing
the scent in deeply. Childhood memories of adventure and escapism swirled through my mind.
I thought I spotted a sign for the café and chased it—Alice down the rabbit hole. Boxes and boxes of books lined the walkways. I poked my head into a small cubbyhole. A secret room lined with more books.
I drifted on, totally entranced, past brightly coloured graphic novels and into the classics section. I ran my hand along the row of titles, stopping at a lovely hardbound copy of Pride and Prejudice. I traced a finger over its embossed cover, about to open it up, when I heard a loud commotion behind me; the scrabbling sound of nails sliding across the hardwood floor.
‘Wolf!’ a male voice exclaimed sharply. ‘Stop!’
‘Huh?’
I spun around then froze on the spot as I saw what was heading my way; a large dog bounded, splay-legged, across the shop floor towards me. A Great Dane. Its eyes were rolling comically, its tail wagging furiously. Behind the dog, a man clattered down a spiral staircase that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.
I had just enough time to register the impression of casual, well-fitted clothes – jeans and a T-shirt – because Wolf clearly had no intention of stopping. If anything, the dog sped up, grinning wildly.
‘Wolf, you devil, stop! Do as you’re told for once!’
The dog picked up its pace, wearing a goofy grin, delighting in its disobedience. I looked towards the voice. A man stood at the foot of the staircase. He was around my age, tall, with broad shoulders and tousled brown hair. Deep, dark, Darcy-Firth eyes regarded me from behind black-rimmed glasses.
Something like a shock went through me when our eyes connected. Flustered, I took a step back to make some room between us. Big mistake.
I had forgotten about the dog, who was now winding himself around my legs excitedly. Wolf gave an apologetic bark as I began to topple, slapstick style, over his back.
‘Oh bloody hell,’ the man said, starting forward to catch me. But he was much too late. I fell backwards in slow-mo, the copy of Pride and Prejudice flying from my hand.
Wolf gave a yelp and shot off with his tail between his legs. I flailed with my hands, toppling a display of tourist leaflets on the way down. My stupid, dumb stilettos came out from under me and I landed on my bottom with a whumf, legs akimbo.
Above me, a hardback copy of Edgar Allen Poe’s Collected Works teetered on the edge of the topmost shelf and then plummeted, conking me on the back of my head. Somewhere I thought I heard a raven squawk.
I looked at the chaos scattered all around me and put my hand on the back of my skull.
The Great Dane had rejoined its owner. Master wasn’t the right word, obviously. Wolf was clearly his own boss. In fairness to the big dog, the grin had disappeared, replaced by a soulful stare. He appeared to be saying, I’m sorry. You know how it is. Sometimes you just need to cut loose.
‘Wolf, now you’ve gone and done it,’ said the man, who – now that my wits were a bit more collected – I noticed was rather handsome. He sounded more worried than angry. Wolf whined and made a tactical retreat.
Reaching down, the man unceremoniously hauled me to my feet. I dusted myself off and gave him my full attention. He regarded me with a look of concern.
More than a little flustered, I took another step backwards. This time a box of books clipped my heels. Oh, come on! I thought as I started to lose my balance for a second time. The man lurched forward and grabbed my arm, saving me at the last moment. We both stared down at his hand as it clutched my forearm just above the wrist. He let go and held up his hands.
‘Thanks,’ I said, going a fetching shade of red. Blushing on top of everything. Way to go, Daisy.
He shot me an awkward look. ‘Do you think you could show your gratitude by not suing me? That would be an enormous help.’
‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘Honestly, I’m fine. These things happen.’
Despite the threat of a lawsuit lifting, the man still appeared worried. His dark eyes scanned my face closely. I must have looked an absolute mess.
‘You don’t look fine,’ he said, ‘if you don’t mind me saying.’
I wanted to deny it. I really did. But his show of sympathy crumbled my last remaining shred of composure, and thinking, Oh no Daisy, you wet rag, not again, I promptly burst into tears.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, looking mortified.
‘It’s not you,’ I said through hiccups. ‘Everything went wrong long before all this.’
‘Well, whoever’s to blame, I think you’d better sit down while I make you a pot of tea.’
I perked up a little. ‘And maybe a couple of biscuits?’
The man treated me to a dazzling smile. A brilliant ray of sunshine. A ridiculously cute dimple appeared on his left cheek.
‘I think we can go one better than that. How do you feel about cake?’
‘Very positively indeed,’ I said.
Ten
After gently guiding me towards the nearest armchair, my host disappeared down one of the narrow corridors. I sank into corduroy cushions and let the comfy seat take my whole sorry weight. Well, this is embarrassing, I thought, reduced to snuffling now but feeling a little better than I had a few minutes earlier.
It was hard to believe you could fit so much shame and misery into a single day. I felt my head again, wincing. There was a nasty bump forming and a dull, throbbing pain to go with it.
The man reappeared before I could dwell on my sorrows for too long. He was carrying a large wooden tray, laden with goodies: china teapot, ceramic cup, jug of milk, and a whopping great slice of chocolate cake.
‘Here you go,’ he said, bending down and placing the tray next to me on a side table.
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘That looks great. Just what the doctor ordered.’
Straightening up, he reached his hand towards the back of my head but stopped short of touching it.
‘Do you mind if I just take a quick look?’
I shook my head, signalling permission, and he gently pushed back my hair.
Oh boy, he smelt like cedar. I tried not to sniff him. Rein it in, Daisy. Jeez, maybe the bump on my head was worse than I thought.
‘No permanent damage done,’ he said, sitting in the armchair opposite me and staring deep into my eyes. Inexplicably, my heart started to beat a little faster. Well, maybe it wasn’t so inexplicable. I might have been slightly traumatised, but I wasn’t blind.
I pushed my hair away from my face. Not in a girlish, flirty way. More like a stroppy teenager. I wiped my nose on my sleeve. If you think I’m in any mood to be flirting with handsome strangers, you’ve got another think coming, I thought.
Then I felt instantly guilty. Sure, his dog had knocked me on my bum, but he had been extremely apologetic. The man that is. The dog couldn’t have cared less. With no sense of shame about all the trouble he’d caused, Wolf had plonked himself on top of my feet and promptly gone to sleep, his tail thumping rhythmically.
Anyway, the man can’t help being good-looking, I thought begrudgingly. A lock of hair fell over his eyes and he pushed his glasses up onto his forehead, sweeping his hair away from his face.
‘They’re just for reading,’ he said, regarding me with a hint of a smile. Then he shrugged. ‘Which is pretty much compulsory in this job.’
Part of me wanted to be distracted by a little flirtation with a good-looking man, but mostly I felt bone-weary. A touch delirious even. And stupidly, like doing so would be some kind of betrayal to Phil, I sank further into the armchair. God, I was a fool.
‘Does your head hurt?’ he asked. ‘Maybe I can get you something for it.’
I shook my head. The pain seemed to have magically died down. Apparently, covertly sniffing a handsome man was an effective painkiller. Who knew!
He regarded me with a wary frown, worried, I expect, that I might burst into anoth
er round of hysterical weeping.
‘So,’ I said after an awkward pause, ‘here you are delivering first aid, and I don’t even know your name.’
‘Alex,’ he answered, offering a sheepish wave. ‘Alex Dean. Hi. Welcome to the Bookshop Café.’
‘And what a welcome it was…’
Another look of regret crossed his face. ‘I really am sorry about Wolf’s ambush. I hate to think we’ve added to your misery. Normally, we do a pretty good job of brightening our customers’ days.’
‘Well, you did brighten mine, at least to start with. What a fabulous place.’ I looked around admiringly at the Aladdin’s cave of books.
‘Thanks. We do our best. But it’s always good to hear. And what about you? I didn’t catch your name…’
‘It’s Daisy,’ I said.
‘Daisy,’ he repeated, as if he liked the sound of it. This struck me as a good thing as I liked the sound of him saying it.
Unable to restrain myself any longer, I picked up a dainty silver fork and broke off a massive chunk of the delicious-looking cake. Boy, did I deserve it!
Without further ado I shovelled it into my mouth. At once my taste buds started letting off fireworks and doing somersaults. I screwed up my eyes and let out a rather embarrassing moan of delight.
The corner of Alex’s mouth twitched upwards. ‘You like it then?’
‘Oh my God, that’s incredible!’
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I made it myself.’
‘You did not.’
Alex nodded. ‘Did too. You’re looking at the Bookshop Café’s pastry chef.’
‘Not just a pretty face then…’ Really, Daisy? Where did that little nugget come from? Alex treated me to another dazzling smile. Out came the dimple.
Revived by the smell of food, Wolf started to nuzzle against my legs. Alex shook his head in mock disgust. ‘No cake for you, boy.’
Daisy Does it Herself Page 4