Bookends

by Jane Green

  ‘Oh, fuck off,’ I say, turning to Si, as the sales assistant pretends to spot something very important on the other side of the shop, although I’m grinning at my reflection as I say it.

  ‘It’s pretty nice, isn’t it?’ I continue, twirling while I marvel at how cleverly the jacket manages to conceal my rather Rubenesque thighs.

  ‘No question about it. It was positively made for you. Now, if only you’d let me do something with your hair.’

  ‘My darling Si, even you know that’s pushing it too far.’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ he grumbles. ‘But you can’t blame a guy for trying.’

  We get to the cash desk and the assistant rings it up, then turns to me and says nonchalantly, ‘That’s four hundred and fifty-five pounds.’

  I turn white as Si grabs my arm to steady me.

  ‘How much?’ It comes out in a whisper but, before the assistant has a chance to repeat herself, Si drags me to one side. ‘Cath,’ he says sternly. ‘I’m sorry, but for a suit that divine, that’s how much you have to pay.’

  ‘No way, Si.’ I shake my head. ‘I’m not paying over four hundred quid for a bit of black velvet when I can get exactly the same in Top Shop for a hundred and fifty. Forget it.’

  ‘Fine,’ Si says, much to my surprise. ‘Let’s go to Top Shop and see how we do.’

  ‘Fine,’ I say, as Si goes back to the sales assistant, presumably to apologize as I head out the door and wait outside.

  We do Top Shop. We do Miss Selfridge, now seemingly renamed the funkier Spirit. We do Hennes. We do French Connection. We push through the Saturday crowds to do Oasis.

  Three hours later we’re back in shop number one, grinning rather sheepishly at the same sales assistant, who smiles without saying a word, disappears behind the desk for a second, then draws out the velvet suit.

  ‘As my grandmother always used to say, if you pay peanuts, you get monkeys.’

  ‘The stuff we’ve been trying on wasn’t bad,’ I say, doing my best to stick up for the chain stores.

  ‘I’m not saying it was,’ Si says smoothly, watching me physically wince as I pull out my Visa card, ‘I was just saying that once you’d tried this on, you’d never find anything as nice.’

  ‘God, it kills me to tell you you’re right,’ I say, shaking my head.

  ‘But?’

  ‘But you’re right. Okay?’

  *

  ‘How much?’ Lucy’s having much the same reaction on the end of Si’s mobile phone, and even I can hear her shriek.

  ‘Four. Hundred. And. Fifty. Five. Pounds.’ Si says very slowly. ‘Only.’

  ‘Let me talk to her!’ and Si passes the phone to me. ‘I don’t believe it,’ Lucy giggles, ‘I didn’t even know you could spend that money on a suit! Cath, darling, is it wonderful?’

  ‘Well, it is rather special.’

  ‘You’re going to look like a princess,’ she says firmly. ‘Everybody deserves to splash out on themselves from time to time.’

  ‘What are you wearing Lucy?’ I kick Si as he rolls his eyes.

  ‘God knows,’ Lucy laughs. ‘I’m sure there’s something perfect in my wardrobe, I just have to find the time to actually look.’

  ‘Are you as nervous as I am or are you ready for the grand opening?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she says. ‘I just know that it’s been a complete whirlwind and I haven’t had time to stop and think about whether we’re ready or not. Anyway. Onwards and upwards. Make sure you and Si come to the house first because there’s no way Josh and I can manage all this stuff by ourselves.

  ‘We thought, as a treat, we’ll do champagne and preliminary tastings just for us, but remember we’ve got to be at the shop about an hour before it starts. I’ll see you later, okay?’

  We say goodbye and I relay what she’s said to Si, but midway into the conversation he pulls up sharply outside an Italian menswear shop.

  ‘Why are we stopping here?’

  ‘And who says Cinderella is the only one allowed to buy a new outfit for the ball?’

  ‘Hi, I’m Laura. I’m the babysitter.’ Si stands back and lets Laura in, as he mouths to me, ‘Babysitter?’ in a question, then rapidly smiles as she turns round and catches him.

  ‘Lucy’s in the kitchen,’ he says, showing her through before turning to me and saying, ‘What the hell have they got a babysitter for? What about Ingrid?’

  I shrug. ‘Maybe it’s her night off.’ Si wanders into the living room to find Josh adjusting his tie in the mirror above the fireplace.

  ‘Where’s Ingrid tonight, then?’ he says, sinking into the sofa as he simultaneously reaches for a tiny home-made spring roll.

  Distractedly Josh says, ‘Coming to the party. Do you want some more champagne?’ I shake my head and go to help Lucy in the kitchen.

  ‘Cath, be an angel and put some clingfilm on this, would you?’ She hands me a bowl of baby ricotta and spinach tarts. ‘And then can you take those boxes into the car for me? Max!’ she shrieks. ‘Come and say hello to Laura.’

  The next thing I hear is a clattering downstairs as Max runs in and bashes my knees with a wooden fork, before trundling over to Laura and whacking her on the thigh.

  ‘Hello, Max,’ she says, beaming through her gritted teeth. ‘Do you remember me? I came to babysit and we watched The Lion King together.’

  Max stares at her uncomprehendingly, then bashes her again and runs out of the room, while I smile widely, grateful that I’m not the only one.

  Lucy sighs. ‘He’s just impossible at the moment. I’m so sorry.’

  Laura smiles. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll go after him, shall I?’ Lucy nods gratefully, and Laura follows Max upstairs. We do our best to ignore the ensuing shrieks as Max realizes we’re all leaving him.

  I enlist Si’s help and the four of us start to load up both cars with food and drink, and soon the cars are sinking under the weight. We go back inside and collapse around the kitchen table to toast ourselves with champagne.

  ‘So where’s the lovely Ingrid tonight?’ Si ventures.

  ‘Coming to the party, of course,’ Lucy says. ‘I couldn’t not invite her, not when she’s seen all the preparations for the bookshop these last few months.’

  ‘That’s very nice of you,’ I say, as Ingrid herself waltzes into the kitchen, whereupon my mouth drops open a few notches in amazement. Ingrid, while being one of those incredibly striking naturally blonde Scandinavian stereotypes, is usually to be found in a pair of faded jeans, a T-shirt and trainers. But tonight even Lucy stops in amazement as we survey Ingrid’s get-up of tiny black mini skirt, plunging jacket and super-high platform strappy sandals that, quite frankly, wouldn’t look out of place in a brothel specializing in S & M.

  Ingrid, on the other hand, looks completely relaxed as she totters across the kitchen to help herself to a glass of water. Lucy gulps and looks at me.

  ‘Ingrid,’ she says eventually, and rather cheerfully it has to be said. ‘Looking ever so glamorous. How on earth do you manage to walk in those marvellous shoes?’

  ‘I am used to them,’ she says, as Max comes running in and falls at her feet, clutching her calves. She raises her leg and for one happy second I think she might aim a sharp kick at Max in her killer shoes, but no, she just gives him a disdainful look and shakes him off as if he were something nasty, which I suppose he is, depending on how you look at things.

  ‘Ingriiiiiiiiid,’ Max wails, going in for the cling again. ‘Don’t go. Stay here with me.’

  ‘No, Max,’ Ingrid says, walking across the kitchen and thereby dragging Max with her across the kitchen floor, as Lucy ignores them and Laura stands in the doorway looking as if she’d dearly like to be anywhere other than here, ‘I am going out tonight to party.’

  ‘She can say that again,’ Si whispers, doing a double take at Ingrid disappearing up the stairs.

  ‘Blimey,’ Josh says, with a huge grin on his face. ‘Old Ingrid, eh? Who would have thought she’d scrub up like a sex kitte
n?’

  ‘Sex kitten?’ splutters Si. ‘More like cheap hooker.’

  ‘WHAT’S A HOOKER?’ Max’s voice reverberates around the house, and we all turn to stare at him in horror, Ingrid evidently having managed to disengage him from her leg just outside the kitchen door.

  ‘Oh God,’ Lucy groans, hiding her face in her hands. ‘I knew this day would come. Max. Sssshhh. Don’t shout.’

  ‘BUT WHAT’S A HOOKER?’ Max now realizes he’s not supposed to be shouting this and naturally starts shouting louder than ever, before marching up to Si and screaming, ‘YOU’RE A HOOKER! YOU’RE A HOOKER!’ at which point we all do the worst thing possible, given the situation, and collapse with laughter.

  ‘Maximilian, I have been called many things in my time, but I have to say that’s a first.’ Si scoops Max up on to his lap and smiles indulgently, putting him down pretty quickly as Max opens his mouth for another bit of attention-seeking shouting.

  ‘Oh God,’ Josh says, finally managing to calm Max down by offering him a handful of chocolate, ‘do you think she heard?’

  ‘And what if she did?’ Si sniffs. ‘Face it, she does look as if she’s on her way to a street corner in Westbourne Park Road.’

  ‘Oh, she’s only young,’ Lucy says. ‘That’s obviously all the fashion.’

  ‘In Scandinavian porn films,’ Si says, ‘perhaps.’

  Josh quickly stuffs some more chocolate into Max’s face, then whisks him into the other room to distract him with the video of Mulan. Thankfully he manages this before Max can utter those immortal shrieks: WHAT’S A PORN FILM?

  ‘Thank God.’ Lucy rolls her eyes. ‘Peace and quiet. Now, Si.’ She turns to face him. ‘Why are you here by yourself, is your new man coming later, and if not, why not?’

  Si looks at me and makes a face. ‘Cath hates him, so I decided not to ask him.’

  ‘Does she?’ Lucy looks at me, horrified, and I shrug dejectedly. ‘I don’t exactly hate him,’ I say, ‘I just didn’t really take to him, that’s all.’

  ‘Never judge a book by its cover,’ Josh says, putting his arms around Lucy and giving her a kiss on the cheek.

  ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ She hits him playfully with a tea-towel.

  ‘Nothing,’ he says, ‘just that you should judge people by yourself, not judge them by what you hear.’

  ‘Speak as you find,’ echoes Si. ‘Exactly,’ and he looks at me with disappointment in his eyes.

  ‘God, it’s not my fault!’ My voice is as indignant as I feel. ‘I mean, Jesus, you didn’t have to not invite him because of me. That’s ridiculous, to give me a guilt trip about it. I wouldn’t have minded if he’d come.’

  ‘Uh oh, now I feel guilty,’ Si says. ‘Actually, I was winding you up. I did ask him, but he said he had other plans.’

  ‘What other plans?’

  Si shrugs. ‘He didn’t say.’

  ‘And you didn’t ask?’

  ‘Nope. Anyway, much better that it’s the old gang. To be honest I’m not sure how comfortable I’d be if he were here now. Not that I think you wouldn’t like him – well,’ and he shoots me a dirty look, ‘other than Cath, of course…

  ‘It’s just,’ he continues, ‘I’d be worrying about what you all thought about him, and what he thought of you, and quite honestly I just want to have a good time tonight and let my hair down. And of course,’ he goes over to Lucy and puts his arm around her, ‘give both of you my undying love and support.’

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ I say, still unable to believe that it’s actually happening, that tonight’s the night. ‘I can’t believe this is the opening party. God, Lucy. Do you think it’s going to be fine?’

  ‘You tell me, my love,’ Lucy says with a grin. ‘You’re the one who keeps telling me we’re going to be a huge success.’

  ‘I know,’ I groan. ‘I was hoping the power of positive thinking would work, but now that it’s actually here I’m so nervous.’

  ‘Here.’ Lucy pops a prawn satay stick into my mouth to shut me up. ‘The food’s great, the shop looks amazing, and the local support has been extraordinary. You just wait and see, Bookends is going to be a huge hit.’ And with that she takes off her apron and walks upstairs to freshen up.

  ‘Shit,’ I mutter quietly when I’m sure she’s gone, spitting the satay into the palm of my hand. ‘I’m allergic to prawns.’

  We get ready to leave, and, as I walk out the front door, I almost have to kick myself to remember that this isn’t all a dream. I can’t believe that back in April this was just a fantasy, and in August, only a month ago, we were still decorating, and now we’re opening!

  But the truth is, it’s all been so easy. Hard work, but lovely work, because it’s ours. We’ve employed two young, local people, Bill and Rachel, to work in the shop with us – Bill will be on the till, while Rachel will take control of the stock and help Lucy in the kitchen. I, naturally, am in charge of the accounts.

  The four of us have slaved to get the shop ready in time. Bill and Rachel took over the responsibility of sectioning up the bookshop, as Lucy and I couldn’t manage to get it quite right, and between the two of them they skilfully divided the shop into sections: fiction, biography, cookery, travel, health/family, history, children’s, local interest, poetry, plays and Shakespeare, gardening, humour, and a touch of mind/body/spirit, just in case.

  We spent all of last week unpacking the boxes, while Lucy and I kept on catching one another’s eye and giggling because we couldn’t believe that it was actually happening.

  All the orders have come from wholesalers – thank God – so I haven’t had to deal with a million invoices and deliveries from all the different publishers, which, quite frankly, would have done my head in.

  There’s still a lot to learn, but we’re learning fast, and thankfully Bill had a summer job at Waterstone’s when he was at university, so he’s been unbelievable, to put it mildly.

  Now I used to go to parties quite a lot for work, and most of the time they weren’t much fun. Even the ones that are supposed to be ‘trendy’ and ‘media’ were usually trivial and boring, and a couple of years ago I decided that I had become immune to parties, and that they were no longer my thing.

  But look at this place! Look at the people squeezed into every available bit of floorspace in the shop! Listen to the buzz of conversation that’s growing steadily louder and louder as people’s tongues are loosened with champagne.

  And watch their faces as they groan in ecstasy at Lucy’s canapés – her delicious bite-sized morsels of food that, quite literally, melt in the mouth; and watch Lucy, weaving through the hordes, beaming with heat, pride and happiness.

  A handful of local authors are here, each in turn being interviewed by the Ham & High, and each saying how thrilled they are that Bookends has opened, and what a great idea, and why hadn’t someone thought of it sooner.

  Si seems to be taking his role as chief coffee maker from the TV series Ellen quite literally, and is walking around offering people mugs of French vanilla cappuccino. Lucy tries to stop him, but he shakes her off. ‘How else do you think I’m going to meet gorgeous men?’ he tuts, making a beeline for a very pretty blond man in the corner.

  ‘Cath?’

  I turn around and James is standing there, smiling uncertainly. He’s wearing his navy suit and a tie that is covered with tiny jewel-coloured books.

  ‘James!’ I give him a big kiss, not feeling the slightest bit self-conscious, as the copious amount of champagne I’ve had has loosened my inhibitions considerably.

  ‘I love your tie!’ I shriek, over the din.

  ‘Thanks.’ His lips brush my ear as he leans forward to be heard, and I shiver. ‘I painted it myself. Appropriate, I thought.’

  I laugh as I link my arm through his and lead him slightly unsteadily towards Lucy.

  ‘Lucy! Look! It’s James!’

  Lucy’s face lights up and she too plants a large kiss on his cheek, as Si rises up behind her.
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  ‘Hel-Lo,’ he says, in his best Leslie Phillips impression, eyeing James up and down, then raising his eyebrows practically to the ceiling as he notes my arm linked through James’s. I hurriedly unlink it and introduce them.

  ‘Oh,’ Si says. ‘Now I’ve heard all about you.’

  James looks surprised as Lucy starts to drag Si away. ‘What a load of rubbish,’ she shouts over her shoulder to James. ‘He knows nothing about you. Nothing. He’s just drunk.’

  ‘Sorry.’ I now feel slightly awkward, unsure what there is to talk about, when I remember the paintings. ‘Look!’ I gesture around the room. ‘Don’t they look wonderful? I think they’ve even sold one or two.’

  ‘Are you serious?’ James’s face lights up. ‘That’s amazing. Will you come with me to see which ones?’

  I nod happily as James suddenly seems to look at me again. He stands back and shakes his head slightly. ‘God, Cath,’ he says, the smile disappearing from his face. ‘You look fantastic.’

  ‘I do? I mean, no, I don’t. But thanks.’ It’s been so long since I last had a compliment I haven’t the faintest idea what to do with it.

  ‘Come on.’ I take his arm again, if only to stop myself from fainting with happiness – what a compliment! What a man! – and we push our way through the crowd to see his paintings.

  I’m having such a good time. I don’t remember the last time I had such a great time. I’m high on champagne and life. My dream of opening a bookshop has come true, and could I be… am I… oh my God! I’m actually flirting with James, and what’s more, I’m enjoying it. Christ, this feels good.

  ‘Cath, have you seen Josh?’ I turn and look up at the familiar face of Ingrid, towering above me.

  ‘Nope.’ I wave an arm lazily around the room. ‘But I’m sure he’s around here somewhere.’

  ‘Hello.’ Ingrid suddenly extends an arm to James. ‘I am Ingrid.’

  ‘Hello,’ he says, taking in her twelve feet legs, three-inch waist and pneumatic breasts. ‘I’m James.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, James,’ she breathes, in what I’m convinced is a deliberate take-off of Marilyn Monroe.