Rules for a Successful Book Club (The Book Lovers 2)

by Victoria Connelly

  ‘What’s this?’

  Polly followed his gaze. It was her notebook about the book club which she’d left open on the dresser table. Beside it were several felt tip pens.

  ‘We’re starting a book club in Castle Clare. I’m just putting a few ideas together.’

  ‘With felt tip pens?’ he said, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘I’m marking all the different genres we’re hoping to read.’

  ‘Isn’t that a bit OCD?’

  ‘I am not an obsessive compulsive,’ she said, feeling rattled once again. ‘I’m just very organised and Archie happened to have some felt tips.’

  He caught her eye.

  ‘Can I join?’ he asked.

  ‘The book club?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said with a grin.

  ‘You want to join our book club?’

  ‘Sure. Why not?’

  ‘Because it will probably be full of old people who have nothing better to do with their evenings and you’re–’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Young,’ she said.

  ‘But not too young?’ he asked.

  She took a deep breath. She really didn’t know what to make of this young man. First he’d questioned her parenting abilities and then he’d said she suffered from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and now he was making fun of her little book club.

  ‘I’d like to join,’ he said. ‘I studied music at uni, but I used to read all the time only I never got to talk about books much. When is it?’

  ‘The meeting? It’s at seven thirty on Wednesday at Nightingale’s. You know the second-hand bookshop?’

  ‘I know it,’ he said.

  ‘You really want to join?’ Polly said.

  ‘I really do,’ he said and something in his smile made her believe him.

  ‘Well, okay,’ she said. ‘I guess I’ll see you there.’ They walked out into the hallway and Polly opened the door for him.

  ‘Promise to think about those guitar lessons,’ he said.

  Polly nodded.

  ‘We can talk about it again at the book club.’ He gave her another smile. ‘Say bye to Archie for me.’

  Polly watched as he walked across the road and over the green to his mother’s house.

  ‘Has he gone?’ Archie said, suddenly appearing in the hallway.

  ‘He told me to say bye to you.’

  ‘When’s he coming back?’

  Polly looked down at her son’s face which was full of expectancy.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she told him. ‘I don’t think you’ll have too long to wait.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  Jago Solomon walked across the green in the dark, taking care not to stumble into the deep skid mark made by his bike the day before. What a way to introduce himself to Polly Prior, he thought. Of course, he’d met her briefly when he’d called round to see Archie with his guitar, but had been told in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t wanted there. Jago remembered the woman whom he’d spoken to briefly, recalling how pale she’d looked. Her brother had told him that Polly hadn’t been feeling well and he’d regretted his bad timing. But she’d reacted the same way tonight.

  Still, he wasn’t ready to give up yet. He sincerely believed that he’d made a connection with Archie that morning on the green and there’d been more than a little of himself in the young boy. Jago wanted to reach out to him and encourage that dream. It was just a pity that Archie’s mother was so protective of him although who could blame her after what she’d been through? His own mother had told him a little of what had happened to her.

  ‘Sean Prior was his name,’ Maureen Solomon told her son. ‘One day he was here and the next he was gone. Vanished! Like he was never really here at all. They found his car in a country lane, but there was no sign of him. No note, no explanation. Just gone.’

  Poor Polly, Jago thought, as he let himself into 7 Church Green opposite the Priors’ own home. Like the Priors’, it was a small terraced cottage with a living room and kitchen downstairs and two bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs. Jago’s father had left when Jago was fourteen. Divorce had happened soon afterwards and the family house had been sold and 7 Church Green bought. It had stretched Maureen Solomon to the limit to get a mortgage on the little house and she’d taken a second job for many years just so they could get by. Jago would never forget those anxiety-filled days, but they’d been so relieved not to live under the shadow of Murray Solomon anymore. With his foul mouth and his high-speed fists when he’d been drinking, it was a wonder that Jago and his mum weren’t more battle-scarred than they were.

  ‘That you, Jago?’ a voice came as he opened the front door.

  ‘Yes. Just me.’

  Maureen Solomon was in her early-fifties and worked as a receptionist at the doctors’ surgery in Castle Clare. She had wavy fair hair which hung down to her shoulders and a pretty face with the same large slate-grey eyes and wide mouth her son had inherited, but was a diminutive five foot one in stature. Jago had definitely inherited his height from his father. Luckily, that was all he’d inherited from him.

  ‘You been bothering that nice Mrs Prior again?’ she asked him as he walked in to the living room and sat down on the sofa, stretching his long legs before him. His mother sat down in a chair opposite.

  ‘I wasn’t bothering her,’ he said. ‘I was just making sure she was okay.’

  His mother didn’t look convinced. ‘You could have done that on the phone.’

  He frowned. ‘That wouldn’t be right. Not after nearly ploughing her and her son over.’

  Maureen shook her head. ‘You should be more careful on that bike of yours. You’ve got me worried all the time!’

  ‘It wasn’t completely my fault,’ he said, running his hand through his hair.

  ‘And get your hair cut.’

  ‘Mum!’ he said with a groan. ‘I should have stayed in America.’

  ‘Don’t say that!’ his mum said. ‘I love having you here. You know I do.’

  ‘But you’ve done nothing but moan about everything I’ve done since I got back.’

  ‘That’s just my little way of showing you I care,’ she said, giving him a little smile. ‘I missed you so much when you were away.’

  ‘I missed you too, Mum.’

  She shook her head. ‘You didn’t have time to miss me.’

  ‘Well, I kept myself busy, I have to admit.’

  ‘You worked too hard. I got a call from your uncle and he said you were the hardest grafter he’d ever seen.’

  ‘He’s exaggerating,’ Jago said.

  She shook her head. ‘You know my brother. He wouldn’t say something just for the sake of talking.’

  ‘He gave me a really great opportunity,’ Jago said. ‘I managed to travel and save up a bit too. That’s why you’ve got to let me help out, Mum.’

  ‘I told you. I’m not taking your money.’

  ‘I’m not expecting to live here rent free, Mum.’

  ‘You’re my baby boy,’ she said. ‘I’m not charging you rent.’

  ‘Well, you’re not going to get a choice in the matter,’ he said, ‘because I’m paying you.’

  ‘But you should be using that money to launch that band of yours.’

  ‘That’s sweet of you, Mum, but I don’t think that’s realistic, do you?’

  ‘Realistic? What’s that got to do with following your dreams? You haven’t given up on them, have you?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ he said. ‘The band’s great fun, but I just feel that I should be building something more solid.’

  ‘What, like those jingles you keep selling?’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with jingles. They pay good money.’

  ‘Maybe, but that’s not what you really want to do, is it?’

  ‘What if it is?’ he said, knowing that he was upsetting his mum and hating himself for doing so but, at the same time, realising that the odds of him making it as a real musician were very slim.

  His mother shook her head. ‘I d
on’t believe you,’ she said. ‘You’re a musician, Jago. You should be composing and performing, not stuck at that horrible computerised keyboard bashing out trite little jingles for second-rate television channels.’

  He sighed. ‘Look, I’ve got to earn some money. Some proper money. I know the sacrifices you made so that I could have music lessons and go to university.’

  ‘I didn’t do it so you could pay me back,’ she said.

  ‘I know that, but I want to and the fastest way to do that is to take on more tuition and write more jingles.’

  Maureen didn’t look happy. ‘But you won’t give up composing, will you?’

  ‘I won’t give up composing.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘I promise.’

  She smiled. ‘What did I do to deserve a son like you?’

  ‘Just being a mum like you,’ he said.

  A light frost was already settling on the town of Castle Clare on the night of the first meeting of the book club. It had come round far too quickly for Sam’s liking, Polly knew, but she was there to make sure he had everything in place.

  ‘You ready?’ she asked him as he counted the chairs for the umpteenth time.

  ‘As ready as I’ll ever be,’ he said.

  ‘Okay, let’s open the door,’ she said. The two of them walked through to the front of the shop and saw that somebody had already arrived but, when they saw who it was, they weren’t totally surprised.

  Sam opened the door.

  ‘Come on, come on,’ Antonia Jessop said, bustling into the shop with a large wicker basket and an umbrella on her arm before anybody could give her a proper greeting. ‘Fancy keeping people freezing on the doorstep!’

  ‘You’re very early,’ Polly said, deciding not to mince her words.

  ‘I am perfectly punctual,’ Antonia replied. ‘I fully intended to arrive early to make sure that everything was under control.’

  ‘That really isn’t necessary,’ Sam told her. ‘Everything’s in place.’

  ‘Well, we’ll see about that, won’t we?’ she said, her tall wiry frame moving through the shop at alarming speed.

  ‘I told you she was going to take over,’ Polly whispered to Sam.

  ‘Let her have her moment,’ Sam said.

  ‘I would if I could be assured it was just going to be one moment but she’s like a bossy headmistress and, if you give her so much as a nod, she’ll have us all strutting about and bowing down to her orders in no time.’

  ‘That’s not going to happen,’ Sam said calmly.

  ‘Yeah? Well, I guess we’ll see, won’t we?’

  Polly and Sam walked through to the back room. Antonia was standing in the middle and Polly couldn’t help noticing that she’d placed her basket on the chair that was clearly meant for Sam as it was out on its own facing the others.

  ‘I told you!’ Polly said.

  Sam shushed her with a flap of his hand. ‘Miss Jessop?’ he began uneasily. ‘Is there a problem?’

  Antonia, who was in her mid-seventies with steel-grey hair pulled tightly into a rather severe-looking bun, simply shook her head.

  ‘All these chairs need rearranging,’ she said.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with the chairs,’ Polly said.

  ‘They’re all facing the wrong way,’ the old woman went on.

  ‘What do you mean, Miss Jessop?’

  ‘They should be facing into the room not towards the door.’

  Sam puzzled this over for a moment.

  ‘Don’t give into her,’ Polly whispered.

  ‘That’s so we can see any latecomers arriving,’ Sam said at last.

  ‘Latecomers?’ Antonia Jessop cried. ‘Latecomers should not be admitted at all!’

  ‘Don’t you think that’s a little severe?’ Sam said. ‘I mean we’re not the Old Vic here, are we?’

  Antonia seemed to bristle at this statement. ‘Well, perhaps they could come in during the tea break.’

  ‘The door will remain open during meetings,’ Sam said. Polly was glad to see that her brother was taking a stand against the old tartar.

  Antonia Jessop’s thin mouth was a straight line of disapproval across her pale face.

  It was then that the shop bell tinkled.

  ‘I’ll see who that is!’ Polly said, eager to get out of the bossy woman’s presence if only for a brief moment.

  ‘Jago!’ she said as she walked into the front room. ‘You came.’

  ‘You didn’t think I would?’ he said, eyebrows rising. He was holding his bike helmet under his arm and ran a hand through his messed-up hair.

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘I’m a man of my word,’ he told her.

  ‘So I see.’

  ‘How’s Archie?’

  ‘He’s good. He’s at a neighbour’s. They have a cockatoo so he loves going round there.’

  Jago grinned. ‘I’d have loved pets growing up.’

  ‘You didn’t have any?’

  ‘Nah. My dad–’ he paused, ‘wasn’t into them.’

  ‘That’s a shame,’ Polly said. ‘We grew up with a house full of dogs. The occasional cat too, and Lara’s rabbits which somehow always got into the bedrooms.’

  ‘Sounds great fun!’

  ‘It was,’ Polly said, ‘except when Tabitha the French dwarf lop ate my favourite hat.’

  He grinned. ‘So, have we got a good crowd?’ he asked.

  ‘Not yet. Just Antonia Jessop.’

  ‘I don’t know her.’

  ‘Best you keep it that way too,’ Polly told him.

  ‘Oh, do I sense some group tension already?’ he asked.

  ‘You could say that,’ Polly said, keeping her voice low. ‘She’s a crabby old bossy boots.

  ‘Exactly the sort of person I love to spend an evening with,’ he said.

  ‘But she has brought some home-baking.’

  ‘Ah, well, that restores her reputation then, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, look – it’s Flo,’ Polly said, watching as a woman in her sixties with shoulder-length white curls crossed the street and entered the shop.

  ‘Hello, my dear,’ she said as she saw Polly.

  ‘Flo, this is Jago. Jago – Flo.’

  ‘Very pleased to meet you, Flo,’ Jago said. ‘How are you?’

  ‘All the better for meeting you, young man!’ she said with a smile, ‘although my left shin is howling a bit today. Peony the pig backed me into a corner at teatime.’

  ‘Oh, dear! Are you okay?’ Polly asked.

  ‘Just a bit bruised, that’s all. She means well, that pig, but she doesn’t realise how strong she is,’ Flo said, rubbing the bruised shin. ‘I’ve brought some goodies.’ She held up an old carrier bag which was more hole than bag. ‘Some apple slices. Had a huge glut of apples this year. More than I can eat on my own.’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll be very welcome,’ Polly said, leading Flo and Jago through to the back room where Sam and Antonia were preparing a tray of Antonia’s orange and lemon cookies.

  ‘Don’t break them,’ Antonia barked at Sam. ‘They’re very delicate.’

  ‘Can I introduce you to Jago and Flo, Antonia?’ Polly said.

  Antonia looked up, her eyes widening at the wild biker hair of Jago and the even wilder curls of Flo Lohman.

  ‘Hello, my dear,’ Flo said, coming forward to shake Antonia’s hand. ‘I see you’ve been at the baking too. ‘I’ve brought some of my apple slices.’

  Polly watched as Flo delved into the holey carrier bag and brought out a battered tin and began to place her apple slices on top of Antonia’s delicate biscuits.

  ‘Careful with my biscuits!’ Antonia shrieked.

  ‘I’ll get another plate,’ Sam said, disappearing into the kitchen and coming back with one. ‘Flo, how about we put your slices on here? They look absolutely delicious.’

  Flo nodded. ‘Good idea,’ she said, picking up two of the slices which oozed gooey filling onto the orange and lemon biscuits below.
/>   ‘Well, really,’ Antonia complained.

  ‘Extra flavour,’ Flo said with a cheeky little smile.

  Antonia Jessop pursed her lips in consternation.

  The shop bell sounded again and, a moment later, Callie Logan walked into the room.

  ‘Hey!’ Sam said, walking towards her and kissing her cheek.

  ‘I hope I’m not too late,’ Callie said.

  ‘Nope,’ Sam said, ‘perfect timing. We’re just dishing out some sweet treats.’

  ‘Oh, how lovely,’ Callie said.

  ‘Help yourself,’ Flo said.

  ‘These look wonderful,’ Callie said, taking an apple slice. ‘Thank you.’

  Flo beamed with pride. Antonia tutted and turned away in disgust.

  ‘Is Winston coming?’ Callie asked. It was at that very moment that the bell on the door rang and the old man shuffled through to the back room with his old chocolate Labrador, Delilah, in tow.

  ‘Evenin’,’ he said, tipping his felt hat.

  ‘Good to see you, Winston,’ Sam said. ‘Do you know everyone?’

  ‘Oh, aye,’ he said, looking around the room. ‘Apart from this young ‘un.’

  ‘Jago,’ Jago said, coming forward and the two men shook hands.

  ‘And who’s this beauty?’ Jago said.

  ‘Oh, that’s Flo Lohman,’ Winston said with a wink at Flo.

  Everybody laughed. Except Antonia Jessop who tutted again.

  ‘Oh, you mean the dog?’ Winston said. ‘That’s Delilah. Had her since she was a mere slip of a thing. Goes everywhere with me does Delilah.’

  ‘But I’m not sure a book club is the right place for a dog,’ Antonia pointed out.

  ‘Why not?’ Winston asked.

  ‘Well, she’s erm–’

  ‘What? What is she?’ Winston asked.

  ‘She’s erm – a bit old, isn’t she?’

  ‘She’d be about the same age as you in dog years, I reckon,’ Winston said, winking at Polly who had caught his eye, ‘and you’re not too old to be here, are you?’

  Suitably chastised, Antonia pulled a chair out and sat down. ‘I think we should begin, don’t you?’ she said, addressing the question to Sam.

  Sam looked at his watch. ‘We’re just waiting for one more,’ he said. ‘Honey Digger.’

  Antonia frowned. ‘Don’t you mean Hortense Digger?’