Just for the Summer

by Fay Keenan

  8

  If he looked back over his life, Harry Sinclair had never dreamed he’d end up here, in this town, running this business. A year ago, when he’d taken over Vale Volumes, the bookshop on Willowbury High Street, it had been a ramshackle mess of random reads, transcendental how-to guides and the odd, moth-eaten Agatha Christie that made his eyes hurt every time he’d tried to sort it all out. True to the spirit and flavour of the New Age town of Willowbury, he’d retained many of the spiritual tomes, but over time he’d gradually introduced more mainstream titles, in the hope that this would encourage his customers, who were, more often than not, tourists, not to just stare at the shelves before backing out of the shop again, having bought precisely nothing. Pagans and New Age followers were all very well, but they could only buy so many books.

  Harry had widened the reach of the bookshop, setting up a website to advertise some of his more unusual stock, but also focusing on developing an additional regional theme, bringing in more local authors as well as stocking some national and international bestsellers. The eclectic mix seemed to be going down well. As he walked around the store during a quiet spell, he also allowed himself a moment of satisfaction that in a year he’d turned around what had been a failing business into something far more successful. Sure, takings still weren’t quite where he’d like them to be, but they were definitely on the up, and he could feel proud of himself for that.

  Now that he’d truly settled into his new life as a bookseller, he could also start to think about where next to take the business, and the premises. There was no doubt that the place was looking a bit shabby, and not in that lovely, upmarket way that every interior decorator seemed to favour these days. The historic leak in the main ceiling of the shop, while now dry, had left a nasty stain, and the walls were once cream but had seen better days. Only the thought of having to empty his beloved bookshelves had stopped Harry from repainting when he’d moved in; he’d been more concerned with getting the business going, and any delay to that would have cost him money. However, there was no avoiding the fact that the place could do with a lick of paint and bit of an overhaul. If things had worked out better with his last girlfriend, he might have been able to go to her for advice; she always had such a good eye for colour and design, but, sadly, the commute from where she still lived in Islington to the West Country had proved too much. In the end she was too happy in her career to consider giving it up to help him to run a shabby, independent, initially at least, loss-making bookstore. They hadn’t parted friends, after Harry had declared his intentions to chuck in London life and up sticks to Somerset, but, in the end, he reflected, that had been for the best. A clean break from all aspects of London life was what he’d needed, and he’d certainly got that in Willowbury.

  Alas, though, there was no doubt that the bookstore was getting shabbier. Now that he didn’t have to panic over every penny earned and spent, perhaps it was time to redecorate. He might even be able to afford to employ someone to do it for him, so that he could keep focusing on the business of selling books. There must be plenty of painters and decorators around Willowbury who’d be only too happy to give him a quote for the job. Resolving to put this on his ‘to-do’ list for after the weekend, he decided, while it was quiet, to pop down to Jack Winter’s Cosy Coffee Shop just a bit further up the High Street and treat himself to a cheeky cappuccino. He knew he really should just buy some decent coffee, but he justified the takeaway by saying to himself that he was supporting another local business. He and Jack had struck up a bit of a friendship since he’d moved to Willowbury; both were expats to the West Country from London, and even though they’d had different professions in their past lives, they had bonded over their shared reminiscences of the city.

  Flipping the sign on the front door to ‘Gone for a coffee – back in ten minutes’, he headed up the High Street. He smiled as he caught sight of the sign on the door of Mariad O’Flaherty, the local reader of auras. It merely read: ‘Cat needed walking, back in fifteen minutes’. He’d obviously picked a popular break time. He smiled as he saw the lady herself come floating back down the street. She was a vision of purple and pink scarves and flowing skirts, her greying dark hair in one plait over her left shoulder. Harry didn’t pretend to understand exactly what it was Mariad did in her shop; her services, as well as aura reading, included Tarot, runes and seances, but he had been ridiculously reassured when she’d caught him one day and remarked on the health and vitality of his aura. The move to Willowbury had obviously done him good spiritually.

  ‘Morning, Mariad!’ he called as she passed him, and he was rewarded with a beatific smile.

  ‘Morning to you too, Mister Bookseller,’ Mariad replied, her gentle, soft Irish brogue music to Harry’s ears. He could listen to her for hours, even if she regularly called him Mister Bookseller because she was hopeless with names. She’d joked, soon after she’d introduced herself, that she remembered people by the colour of the light that surrounded them rather than their names, which Harry thought quaint, and also a damned good excuse for not having to try to remember.

  ‘Beautiful day.’ Harry peered up the High Street to Willowbury Hill, the ancient, grass covered mound that rose impressively out of the Somerset landscape and loomed over the top of the High Street.

  ‘That it is,’ Mariad replied. ‘Off for your habitual at Jack’s?’

  ‘Yup,’ Harry said. ‘Any recommendations?’

  ‘The organic Madagascan is just the ticket if you fancy something different,’ Mariad replied.

  ‘Thanks, I might give it a go,’ Harry said, although he’d probably end up just going for something bog standard and less exotic; his taste in coffee was alarmingly pedestrian. Much like my life, these days, he thought. Moving to Willowbury a year ago had been exciting, and opening the bookshop had been a good challenge, if tiring, but for the past couple of months he’d been settling into a homely routine. He didn’t mind that, but he did wonder what else life might have in store for him at times.

  ‘Have a good day,’ Mariad said, by way of parting, and swept past him in a rainbow of skirts and scarves.

  ‘You too,’ Harry replied, raising a hand. As he glanced back up again at Willowbury Hill, which was beautifully backlit by the strong summer sun, he felt a wave of appreciation for this strange town which had given him a life and a living. But he still could feel a slight sense of… what? Stagnation? Routines becoming habits? In his previous life as an investment banker, no two days were ever the same, but as a bookshop owner in a small town, sometimes he felt like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day. He shook his head. Perhaps he should organise getting the shop redecorated; that, at least, would shake things up a bit. Entering the domain of Jack’s Cosy Coffee Shop, he thought that he just might try that Madagascan organic blend, too.

  9

  Kate looked up as the door to the Cosy Coffee Shop opened to admit its latest customer. She was enjoying the break from the wallpaper nightmare, and the latte she’d chosen was creamy but had enough of a caffeine kick to power her through until lunchtime. The slice of carrot cake was an indulgence but, she figured, she’d be working the calories off just getting the last of the wallpaper down. Her back and shoulders already ached from the physical labour, and she hoped that, the more work she got, the sooner her joints and muscles would toughen up. For the past thirteen years she’d worked part-time in an estate agent’s office, but since she’d split from Phil, she’d had a bit of a renaissance with this painting and decorating business. Although it was a lot harder physically than desk work, she was finding it rewarding. She hoped that Aidan and Tom would enjoy the final result, too.

  As if on cue, her mobile pinged. Expecting yet another ‘we’re having an amazing time and look at this beautiful view’ WhatsApp from the happy couple, she was perturbed to find it was a message from her eldest son, Corey:

  Hope you’re having a great time at Uncle Aidan’s. Just wanted to let you know that I miss you. But don’t tell Tom and Will I said that! H
ere’s a picture of Mickey Mouse for you x

  Kate smiled. It was unlike Corey to be so open about his feelings with her, despite her best efforts over the years as a mother to three boys. He’d been born independent, she often joked, and very rarely let her into his life these days. At sixteen, he’d just finished his GCSEs and was rapidly heading towards adulthood. He was growing into a handsome and articulate young man, and while Kate felt a stab of sadness for the baby and the child he used to be, she also felt an incredible sense of pride and love that, despite his parents’ initially less-than-amicable divorce, he’d seemingly taken it all in his stride. He’d been a shoulder for her to lean on during the darker times last year, and in his silent understanding way, he’d given her a great deal of strength to pick up the pieces and move on from her marriage.

  I miss you too (and your brothers, of course!). Hope you’re having a good time! Say hi to Mickey Mouse for me! xxx.

  ‘Can I get you another coffee?’ Jack, the proprietor of the Cosy Coffee Shop, called from behind the counter.

  ‘Oh, what the heck, the wallpaper’s not going anywhere!’ Kate smiled back at Jack. ‘Yes, please.’

  As Jack busied himself with preparing another latte, Kate looked around the coffee shop, which was pleasantly busy, but not overcrowded. She liked the high stools by the counter, which gave that part of it an American diner feel, while there were lower tables on the main floor of the café and near the window. Kate assumed that, given the nature of Willowbury, Jack must have his ‘regulars’ who sat at the counter and passed the time, much as people would have done at a bar in older generations. Coffee shops are the new pubs these days, she thought.

  Standing to come and get her drink, ignoring Jack’s ‘it’s all right, I’ll bring it over to you’, Kate ambled over to the counter.

  ‘You’re new around here, aren’t you?’ Jack asked as he handed over her exquisitely patterned latte. ‘I mean, you don’t look like a tourist.’

  Kate nodded and took a sip of her drink before replying. ‘Yes, I’m staying at my brother’s house for a few weeks while he’s on a trip.’

  ‘House-sitting, then?’ Jack said.

  Kate laughed. ‘Cat-sitting is part of it, except the cat doesn’t like me! To be fair, I’m not that fond of him, either, but then I suppose he’s got more reason to dislike me than I have him.’

  ‘How so?’ Jack wiped down the counter where he’d spilled some of the milk he’d steamed.

  ‘I’m earning my board by redecorating the house while my brother is away,’ Kate said. ‘Cats are creatures of habit, I guess, and he’s not keen on having mouldy wallpaper dropped on his head!’

  ‘Can’t say I blame him, then,’ Jack smiled. Kate thought, for a moment, just how attractive he was. With his sandy hair and blue eyes that crinkled at the corners, he looked a little bit like Chris Hemsworth in the right light. She’d barely looked at another man all the time she’d been married to Phil; for all of the good that did me, she thought, her mind darkening for a moment.

  ‘Everything all right?’ Jack was looking at her curiously, and she realised that she’d been staring blankly back at him.

  ‘Sorry.’ Kate mentally shook herself. ‘I was miles away. My sons are on holiday in Florida with my ex-husband and I was wondering what they were up to.’ It wouldn’t do to admit to eyeing up the barista.

  ‘How many do you have?’ Jack asked. ‘Sons, I mean!’

  ‘Three,’ Kate replied. ‘All growing fast, and generally eating anything that’s not nailed down.’

  ‘Well, if they come and visit, send them my way,’ Jack laughed. ‘I’m always happy to slip an extra pastry to a hungry boy at the end of the day!’

  ‘Thanks,’ Kate smiled at him. Really, he was very attractive, even allowing for divorcee bias. ‘Can I have one to go with the coffee? Stripping wallpaper seems to have given me an appetite.’ She’d just have to work extra hard to burn off that, as well as the carrot cake.

  ‘Sure thing.’ Jack picked a delicious looking Danish from the pile on the cake stand in front of him and popped it on a plate. As Kate reached for her bank card to pay, he waved it away. ‘This one’s on the house. Call it a welcome to Willowbury.’

  Kate thanked him again, and decided to take the coffee and cake back to her chair at the table by the window. She turned, with a full latte glass in one hand and the pastry plate in the other, and, too late to do anything about it, collided with the tall figure who was standing behind her, spilling half her replenished latte down the arm of his jacket.

  ‘Shit!’ She took a step back, cursing inwardly and outwardly that she’d not even sensed anyone behind her while she was talking to Jack. Where the hell had this guy come from? And what was he doing standing so close to her?

  ‘Sorry,’ the man said apologetically. ‘I left my glasses in the shop and I was just trying to read the specials board. I didn’t mean to startle you.’

  Kate shook her head. ‘Next time, maybe wait for the person in front of you to make a clean getaway before you go sneaking up behind them.’ Her tone was a bit more impatient than it should have been, given that she’d been the one to spill the latte on him, but she had been looking forward to that second coffee, and now he was wearing most of it. Realising that she might have sounded harsher than she’d intended, she grabbed a handful of paper napkins from the dispenser on the counter and rather ineffectually tried to sponge the coffee from the man’s sodden arm.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he replied, not without an understandable trace of impatience himself. ‘Leave it. I can take it off.’

  Face flaming with embarrassment, Kate stepped away as he shrugged out of his jacket and put it on the bar stool next to him. She looked down at her half empty latte glass and swallowed back a sigh. It was about time she got back to stripping the walls, anyway.

  ‘Can I get you another coffee?’ the man asked, as if to try to counter the previous irritation in his voice.

  Kate shook her head. ‘No, thank you. I’d best get back to what I was doing.’ She knocked back the rest of the rapidly cooling latte and put the glass down on the table, taking a couple of napkins and wrapping up the Danish pastry to have later. As she glanced back up at the stranger in front of her, quite a long way up, actually, as he was a fair bit taller than her, she forced a smile of apology. ‘I really am sorry about the jacket.’ She noticed that he’d tactfully rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt while her attention had been elsewhere, presumably to disguise the latte stain that had seeped through the summer weight fabric of his dark blue jacket. His forearms were lightly tanned and he had large, capable-looking hands.

  ‘Honestly, it was my fault,’ he replied. ‘I should learn to remember my glasses!’

  There was a pause as both seemed to be wondering what else to say, and Kate pondered how to make a dignified exit.

  ‘Well, goodbye then,’ she settled for finally. God, she was out of practise with her small talk! Although, she reflected as she stepped away from the counter and turned towards the door, she’d made easy enough conversation with Jack. But then Jack was a barista, and, presumably accustomed to chatting to people all day long as they ordered their coffee. Aloof at the best of times, Kate had realised long ago that it took her a long time to warm up and chat to people.

  ‘Bye,’ the man replied, and Jack also called out a cheery farewell as she opened the coffee shop’s door and stepped back out onto Willowbury High Street. Kate found, as she walked back down the busy road, that her heart was racing after the incident. But, really, apart from the jacket, there was no harm done; the accident had been six of one and half a dozen of the other, as her father used to say. Swallowing back a rush of sadness that he was no longer around to talk to, as she’d really felt his loss in the weeks and months after her separation from Phil, she tried to focus back on the job in hand. Vowing to try to bond a little bit more with that damned cat Lucifer as well, she headed back to Bay Tree Terrace.

  10

  ‘Smooth!
’ Jack laughed as Harry sat at the bar stool next to his wet jacket. ‘Oh, er, get me, Mr Bumbling Bookseller who can’t even remember to put on his glasses!’

  ‘I normally wear contacts, as you well know,’ Harry muttered, ‘but I ran out yesterday and I left my glasses on the shop counter. They make my head hurt if I read in them for too long.’

  ‘You sound like a grumpy teenager.’ Jack poured Harry’s requested cappuccino and slid it over the counter to him. ‘Perhaps try to make sure you leave at least three feet between you and any customers in future, even if you haven’t forgotten your specs!’

  ‘Fair point,’ Harry conceded. ‘I really should know better, but years of buying coffee in crowded London coffee shops sort of gets you in the habit of standing closer than you should. I forget that normal people outside the capital have personal boundaries when it comes to existing in public spaces together.’

  ‘You’re not wrong,’ Jack replied, breaking his own rule and pouring himself a coffee. ‘Once you’ve spent years pressed up against someone’s armpit on the Tube every morning and evening, personal space doesn’t seem such an issue.’

  ‘And she spilt the coffee on me, remember?’ Jack said. He glanced at his jacket. ‘Looks like a job for the dry cleaner if it’s to have any hope of being salvaged.’

  ‘Well, if you will go in for fancy threads, even now you’re in the countryside, what can you expect?’ Jack said. ‘Although, having said that, your fashion sense is pretty tame compared to a lot of my clientele who wear cloaks or, at the very least, crushed velvet trousers.’

  ‘That’s not strictly true any more though.’ Harry took a sip of his coffee. ‘Willowbury might be a spiritual soup, but it attracts as many people who are just observing the madness these days. If it didn’t, I wouldn’t get half the business I do!’