The Village Green Bookshop: A Feel-Good Escape for All Book Lovers from the Bestselling Author of The Telephone Box Library

by Rachael Lucas

  Jake’s heart contracted. Life hadn’t been easy growing up. But there had been plenty of love and affection, and he’d never been made to feel like the poor relation just because he was a nephew and cousin rather than a son and brother.

  He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. ‘Well, you’re here now. And I’ll do whatever I can to help.’

  ‘I can’t believe I actually found you.’ She smiled, fleetingly.

  ‘It can’t have been that hard?’

  ‘It wasn’t. It was just plucking up the courage to actually leave. I packed a bag a million times, it felt like.’

  He frowned, thinking of the tattered black rucksack. Was that all she’d ever planned to bring?

  Sarah laughed then. ‘You’re thinking that if I packed a bag, why was that all I had?’

  ‘Well, yeah.’

  ‘I didn’t take my bag. I left everything – not that I had that much, but . . . I didn’t intend to go when I did. But he’d gone out drinking, and he was in a foul mood because something had gone wrong at work, and I just knew what was going to happen next. So I grabbed his credit card and jumped on the train heading for Bletchingham. By the time I got there, he’d obviously realized that someone was using it so he’d put a freeze on the card. That’s why I had to walk.’

  ‘From Bletchingham?’ Bloody hell, no wonder she’d been drenched and slept for hours.

  ‘It wasn’t that bad until the thunder started.’ She made a self-deprecating face.

  ‘Jesus, Sarah,’ Jake said, feeling sick. ‘I can’t believe you did all that.’

  ‘It was better than the alternative.’

  Later that morning, she came downstairs dressed in some of the clothes he’d bought her. The t-shirt had a scoop neck, and when she caught him glancing at a set of dark bruises around her collarbone she pulled it up, defensively.

  ‘Was that him?’

  She nodded.

  ‘You could press charges, you know.’

  ‘It’d be his word against mine. I bet he’d convince them there was nothing going on.’

  ‘With bruises like that?’

  She shrugged. ‘I’m just glad to be away from him.’

  ‘Well, you’re welcome here as long as you want to stay. It’s not like it’s not big enough.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Jake nodded. ‘It’s nice to have company. And we’ve got a whole lifetime of stuff to catch up on.’ He hoped his tone didn’t bely the apprehension he felt. It was a massive step, bringing someone into his life who he’d never even met until now. He felt a muscle jumping in his cheek and rubbed at his jaw. He’d just have to find a way to manage.

  Chapter Eight

  It seemed crazy to Hannah that it had been as straightforward as it had. Driving down the motorway with Ben by her side, she couldn’t quite believe that something was actually going her way. She kept expecting the car to break down, or a lorry to crash into the back of them. Things like this just didn’t happen to her. Even Ben seemed to have been roused out of his habitual monosyllabic state and had been quite chatty for the first leg of the journey. Now, though, he was dozing with his head against the window, headphones in ears, not even waking as they drove down the winding roads that led to Little Maudley.

  Phil still seemed oddly laid-back about this whole undertaking. Another conversation they’d had last night had only served to reinforce that impression.

  ‘You could totally make a go of the bookshop idea,’ he’d said as they’d washed up the dishes after a takeaway meal. ‘I don’t know anyone as into books as you.’

  ‘There are millions of people who love reading as much as I do,’ she’d laughed.

  ‘Yeah, but you did the whole school librarian thing. Not everyone would’ve volunteered to do that in a primary school.’

  ‘I loved it.’ She had smiled at the memory of hours spent sorting out the primary school library, helping to choose books the children would love, willingly giving up her free time to do so.

  ‘Exactly.’ Phil had ruffled her hair. ‘Weirdo.’

  They were coming into the village. Even on a rainy day like today, where the honey stone of the Cotswolds cottages was darkened to the colour of a golden retriever after an impromptu dip in the river, it looked beautiful. Hannah skirted a suspiciously deep-looking puddle at the foot of the hill and returned the friendly wave of a man giving way to her in his battered dark green Land Rover.

  They pulled up outside The Old Post Office and Ben woke with a start. He leaned forward slightly, pushing a hand through untidy dark curls that flopped over his forehead. He looked so like his dad at the same age, Hannah thought.

  He turned to look at her. ‘What?’

  ‘Just thinking how like Dad you look.’

  ‘Oh my God.’ He rolled his eyes and shook his head. ‘Kill me now.’

  Good luck.

  Talk of the devil: it was a text from Phil, sending a flying message from the midst of a meeting. She smiled and typed back a quick reply.

  Wish you were here. Feels like you’re missing out.

  His reply was immediate.

  You can tell me all about it later.

  She typed a reply, but it didn’t send. He’d probably switched his phone back off. Hopefully moving out here would mean he could unwind a bit, stop working the ridiculous hours that he had been. They’d sneaked up over the last year or so – all because of the big project his team was working on, but it was time for the whole family to focus on being together and not on work. Life was way too short for that. He gaze drifted back to her son again.

  ‘What are you staring at?’ Realizing he was being watched, Ben looked up from his phone screen.

  ‘Just wondering how you can be almost sixteen already.’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘It’s basic physics. Time, space, that sort of thing.’ They got out of the car, and Hannah watched him expectantly. He looked up and down the quiet street. An old-fashioned plane flew overhead through the pale grey clouds, breaking the silence with a gentle thrum of its engine.

  ‘There’s genuinely nothing to do here at all, is there?’ Ben propelled himself off the wall he’d immediately leaned on and shoved his phone in the back pocket of his jeans.

  ‘There’s a WI meeting next Tuesday,’ Hannah said, pointing to a poster stuck behind glass on a telegraph pole.

  ‘What’s WI?’

  ‘Not your sort of thing,’ Hannah said, smiling.

  ‘Why not?’

  She shook her head again. ‘Trust me on that. Unless you’re into much older women, and given your age, that had better not be the case.’

  ‘Ugh,’ Ben grimaced. ‘Mum, that’s utterly gross.’

  ‘I was only joking.’

  ‘Well, don’t. If we’re going to have to live out here in the sticks, we don’t want people thinking we’re weirdos. Apparently everyone knows everyone in places like this.’

  As if his words had summoned a village elder, an old man in a gardening apron materialized from behind a privet hedge.

  ‘Ah – so you’re the people taking over the post office?’

  ‘I am, yes. Well, we are – my husband and I. Only he’s working, and I’ve come up to chat to Beth about a few practicalities.’

  ‘And brought me along for the ride,’ muttered Ben disapprovingly.

  ‘Well, I hope you’ll be very happy here in Little Maudley.’ He put down the secateurs he was holding and brushed his hands on the front of his apron. The strands of hair ineffectually covering his bald patch lifted slightly in a gentle breeze and he raise a hand, patting them back into place.

  ‘I can’t see how you could be anything other than happy, living here,’ Hannah beamed. Ben stuck his fingers down his throat in a vomiting gesture behind the man’s back.

  ‘I couldn’t agree more.’ He extended a gnarled, liver-spotted hand. ‘I’m Charles Brewster. Charlie to my friends. I’ve lived here eighty years, so there’s not much I haven’t seen.’

  ‘S
o you’re the font of all knowledge?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that. But you get to see the patterns of life living in a village like this. People come and go, relationships flourish and fail, children grow up and move away . . .’

  ‘That’s exactly what I’m excited about. I want to be part of a community. Where we live in Manchester, there’s none of that. I don’t even know my neighbours and they’ve lived next door for five years.’

  ‘Heh,’ Charles chuckled. ‘Not much chance of that here. You’ll have Helen Bromsgrove on the doorstep within five minutes of getting your belongings moved in. She’s a bit of a busybody, but her heart’s in the right place.’

  ‘Noted.’ Aware there was a limited amount of time before Ben started getting bored and antsy, she said her goodbyes and left Charles (‘Call me Charlie’) standing by his front gate, watching them as they headed up the path towards the post office.

  ‘Hello, gorgeous. You’ve grown!’

  Ben tolerated Beth rubbing him on the top of his head with relatively good grace.

  ‘Ben’s been telling me he’s looking forward to helping out in the shop,’ Hannah said with a smile.

  ‘That’ll wane, mark my words,’ said Beth, darkly. ‘I can’t get Lauren to do a thing unless there’s bribery and corruption involved.’

  ‘Oh, there’s definitely bribery involved.’ Hannah looked at Ben, who was waggling his eyebrows. ‘He’s his father’s son in that regard. Doesn’t do anything for nothing.’

  ‘What are you saying about me?’ Lauren appeared from the doorway leading through to the adjoining cottage.

  ‘Ben, you haven’t seen Lauren for ages.’

  ‘All right?’ Lauren, glamorous and insouciant, leaned back against the shop counter, extending endless legs clad in black workout leggings. Ben was uncharacteristically quiet – stunned into silence, Hannah suspected. Lauren was confident, pretty and slightly intimidating. His usual cockiness was gone and he stood looking ill at ease, biting his thumbnail.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re voluntarily coming to live here,’ Lauren said, widening her eyes in mock horror.

  ‘Lauren,’ chorused Hannah and Beth, giving her a look. Then they both burst out laughing.

  ‘Genetics are bloody amazing. That’s exactly the look Mum used to give me if I was in trouble,’ Beth chuckled.

  ‘And my mum.’

  ‘Why don’t I take you to look round the village so you can see what you’re letting yourself in for?’ Lauren nodded towards the door of the shop.

  Ben gave a curt nod. ‘All right.’

  ‘She needs more than the village can offer,’ Beth said, watching her daughter fondly through the window.

  ‘And Ben needs less than Manchester has to offer. He got delivered home in a police van again the other day.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Han.’

  ‘I know. He’s not a bad kid, he’s just a bit easily led.’ She’d been telling herself that for the last year, as the trouble he got into increased exponentially. ‘And there’s nothing much to do.’

  ‘I thought he was into football?’

  ‘He is. It’s the only thing that really keeps his interest. He’s got absolutely no focus when it comes to school stuff.’

  ‘The village team is pretty good. They came second in their league last year, but they’ve lost their coach – Gary’s got something wrong with his heart so he can’t spend all winter freezing his arse off on a football pitch. You just need to get Ben training with them.’

  ‘I do. He’s got it into his head that he’s going to be spotted by David Beckham because he lives in Chipping Norton.’

  Beth snorted with laughter as she flipped on the kettle in the little ante-room behind the counter. ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Tea would be lovely if you’ve got it.’

  ‘There’s not much chance of bumping into the Beckhams. We don’t really see them in our neck of the woods.’

  ‘Little Maudley isn’t exactly overflowing with famous people, you mean?’ Hannah took a sip of Beth’s tea, wincing slightly. It was so strong that a teaspoon would probably stand up in it. She put the cup down on the counter.

  ‘Well, there’s that lovely author I told you about – Anna Broadway. She writes books for teenagers. Lives in a thatched cottage on the edge of the woods behind the allotment – I’ll take you for a walk up there before we move. Anyway, she’s got a little writing class she runs from the cafe here. And there are a couple of TV actors – they’re pretty low-profile, but you might know the woman from that series set in Cornwall about the fishing family? And an ex-footballer, and someone who used to be in an indie band back in the nineties. And that’s about it.’

  ‘More than we have in Salford,’ said Hannah.

  ‘Well, that’s true. But you’ve got the BBC on your doorstep, and all those glamorous TV people.’

  ‘I’ve seen them in the morning. They don’t look that glam when they’re getting off the train at Media City.’

  ‘Anyway . . .’ Beth nodded hello as someone walked into the shop. ‘Hello Vera, how’s your leg doing?’

  The elderly woman smiled briefly in acknowledgement and picked up a copy of the local newspaper. She handed over the exact change and then left, without getting involved in conversation.

  ‘She’s one of those silent types,’ Beth said as she left. Hannah, who hadn’t thought anything of it, looked at her cousin sideways. Beth shrugged.

  ‘Let’s leave this place for five minutes and I’ll show you round the cottage properly.’ She came out from behind the counter. ‘Just nipping into the house, Zoe,’ she called to the girl who was wiping down tables in the adjacent cafe on the other side of a connecting archway.

  ‘I’ll keep an eye out.’ Zoe smiled.

  The cottage was tiny, but even prettier than Hannah remembered. The kitchen window looked out over the street and down across the village green. At the opposite end of the green, Hannah could see the neatly painted telephone box library. As she watched, a woman with a little girl on a balance bike strode up, opened the door and helped herself to a couple of books. The little girl tucked a book under her arm and they headed off down the main street together.

  ‘It’s a hit, the library?’

  ‘Definitely,’ Beth nodded. ‘Even more so since they closed the WHSmith in town, so now there’s nowhere people can buy books locally besides the supermarket.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, we used to have a little bookshop in Bletchingham – it was really cute – but the owners moved away. The lease was taken over by the Costa Coffee next door and they expanded. Then when WHSmith went, that was it.’

  Later on, once the kids had returned from their wander round the village – Ben, she was pleased to see, had returned to his normal ebullient self and was chatting quite happily to Lauren – they said their goodbyes.

  ‘Hang on,’ Beth called, ‘let me just give you a couple of bits, that way you don’t have to worry about dinner when you get home.’

  ‘You don’t have to give me—’ Hannah began, but it was too late. Beth had pressed a packet of deliciously scented cherry vine tomatoes into her hands, along with a crusty loaf of sourdough (‘Baked this morning – Finn is amazing, you’ll love him. I must tell you the story of what happened with him and his wife, mind you, you’ll never believe it . . .’). There was also a huge chunk of cheese, made locally by the nineties indie star, who had a reputation for being a bit of a character . . . at least that’s what Beth said, raising her eyebrows to the heavens.

  ‘You are an angel,’ Hannah said, placing everything into the back seat. ‘And I must go.’

  ‘I’ll tell you the whole saga next time.’ Beth tapped the side of her nose with a finger. ‘Ooh, hang on, some eggs. You can do scrambled eggs on toast with roasted cherry toms – that’ll be amazing.’

  Hannah, who agreed that the food looked wonderful but was privately planning an emergency stop at McDonald’s on the way home, said nothing but smiled gratefully. />
  ‘Here you are.’

  ‘I might just run to the loo, hang on.’

  She left the eggs sitting on the roof of the car and popped back inside while Ben leaned against the little wall, scrolling on his phone.

  Finally, when they were both settled in their seats and about to reverse out of the little parking bay, there was a bang on the roof. She stopped the car, startled, and looked out the window. A man – over six foot, handsome, with an amused-looking expression on his face – looked in at her.

  ‘You’re not going to get very far with these on the roof.’ He passed her the eggs. Beth, standing in the shop doorway, was giggling and pointing, having realized her mistake.

  The handsome stranger smiled at Hannah, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that made her feel a bit – well, like she hadn’t felt for a long time. And he was oddly familiar-looking, as if she’d seen him before. Whatever it was, he was way out of her league, and she needed to get a grip and remember that she was a married thirty-five-year-old mother in a beaten-up Ford Focus.

  ‘I was trying to get back to Manchester before the motorway was completely snarled up.’ It was a good thing she wasn’t trying to chat him up, because as sexy lines went, that wasn’t exactly up there.

  ‘Well, unless you’re planning on having scrambled eggs for your tea, I think I’d put those somewhere safe.’

  She picked up a hint of a northern accent – flattened, perhaps, by years of living down here in the Home Counties.

  And then she realized that Ben was peering cautiously at the man, whilst trying very hard to look as if he was still looking at his phone. He took the eggs out of her hand, put them at his feet, and then looked very hard out of the window as if the post box had suddenly become completely and utterly fascinating.

  ‘Thanks. Sorry. I mean, I didn’t mean to be rude.’ She made an apologetic gesture with her hands raised, palm up, and shook her head.

  ‘You weren’t rude.’ His eyes met hers for a second. They were an unusual blue-green, fringed with thick, very dark lashes.