Maddy put the mugs on the counter. ‘Shall I clear the next bookcase?’
Jemma tried not to stare at her. ‘Yes please, that would be helpful,’ she said. ‘I guess I’m doing this the wrong way round, but I can’t wait to see the new books in the shop.’ She crossed to the counter and took a sip of her tea, regarding the shelves. Already it was more colourful. And she wouldn’t lock the doors when she’d finished. Maybe she would even get the glass removed.
Half an hour later two bookcases were full of new books, and the previous inhabitants were packed and heading for the stockroom. ‘I’ll update the database, I promise,’ said Jemma. ‘Um, would you mind if I nipped upstairs and got myself some toast? I haven’t eaten since breakfast.’
‘Oh no, that’s fine,’ said Maddy. ‘If you like, I can get on with putting the new books into the database.’
Jemma took the stairs two at a time, wondering at Maddy’s sudden turnaround. She had been prepared for hostility and possibly hard words, but instead Maddy had taken it more or less in her stride. She hadn’t looked mutinous, which pleased Jemma. She had wanted to help, and shown interest in Jemma’s plans.
‘I give up,’ said Jemma, and put two slices of bread into the toaster. She only hoped that when she went downstairs she wouldn’t find that Maddy had flipped and begun feeding her new prized possessions into the shredder.
When she did re-enter the shop she found Maddy listening to a customer, an elderly gentleman with a monocle whom Jemma was convinced she had never seen in the shop before. ‘So this is your new manager,’ he said to Maddy, scrutinising Jemma through the monocle, which made his eye look alarmingly large. ‘Making changes, I see. I don’t believe in change for change’s sake, but it’s interesting. How much is that Jane Eyre in the window?’
Jemma was tempted to tell him that the book wasn’t for sale, but fought her urge to keep it. ‘I haven’t priced it yet. How much would you be prepared to pay for a book like that?’
‘If you fetch it out of the window, I’ll tell you.’ He rocked on his heels while he waited.
Jemma laid the book on the counter. She couldn’t work out whether she wanted him to snap it up or say that it wasn’t quite what he was looking for. If he rejected it—
He adjusted his monocle so that his eye grew even bigger, and opened the cover. Then he leafed through a few pages, opened the book gently to the middle, and examined the binding and the ribbon. ‘I’d expect to see this in a bookshop for about fifty pounds,’ he said. ‘As I’ve done you the favour of assessing it for you, perhaps you would accept forty.’
Jemma blinked.
Maddy gazed at the gentleman. ‘Shall we split the difference, and say forty-five?’
He frowned, and for a moment Jemma feared the monocle would crack. Then he chuckled, said, ‘I suppose we have to make a living,’ and drew an ancient leather wallet from his trouser pocket.
Once he had left, Maddy said, ‘Which book should we put into the display?’
‘Why don’t you choose,’ said Jemma. And as Maddy advanced to the new books, slowly Jemma shook her head. One day she would understand people; but today was not that day.
Chapter 13
‘May I go for lunch?’ asked Maddy.
Jemma glanced at the clock. Was it really only a quarter past twelve? She felt as if she had been working for at least six hours. ‘Sure.’
‘Thanks,’ said Maddy. She collected her bag and her coat, a short, stone-coloured mac, and made for the door.
Before she could reach it, it opened and Luke stepped in. ‘Hello, Maddy,’ he said, pausing as they came face to face.
‘Hello, Luke,’ said Maddy, and looked quickly away.
Luke stepped aside and held the door open for her. ‘Thank you,’ murmured Maddy, and scurried off, head down. Was Jemma mistaken, or were her normally pale cheeks rather pink?
‘Hi, Jemma,’ said Luke. ‘How’s it going?’
Jemma had maintained the same erect, straight-backed posture all morning. She found she could hold it no longer, and slumped over the counter. ‘I’m knackered,’ she said.
‘Business is booming, then?’ Luke advanced to the counter and leaned on it, facing her.
‘I’m doing my best,’ said Jemma.
A week ago, Jemma had gone on her book-buying expedition and returned to find Maddy banishing the painters. Since then, the shop had been repainted and she had chosen a name.
It had taken many sheets of A4 paper, filled with evocative words and synonyms which eventually were all scored through. Some were too ambitious, some too ambiguous, some too specific. Sitting at the dining table in her flat upstairs, Jemma heard the grandfather clock strike midnight as she crumpled another sheet of paper and threw it in the bin. Finally, at her wits’ end, she had scrawled The Friendly Bookshop and gone to bed. The signwriter was due the next day, so she had ten hours to go with it or think of something better. When she woke the next morning no brainwaves had occurred, but when she looked at the piece of paper it didn’t seem such a bad choice. After all, what was wrong with wanting your bookshop to be friendly?
In her new spirit of openness, she had informed Maddy of the change the next morning. Maddy had said nothing, but her shoulders stiffened beneath her boat-necked Breton top. The signwriter, when he arrived, had accepted the name without comment, merely asking what sort of lettering she would like. Jemma chose a rounded, reasonably conservative style, and he set up his ladder and got to work.
And now there was no going back, Jemma had worked harder than ever to make sure that The Friendly Bookshop was a success. She created themed window displays with autumn leaves, pumpkins, and books draped in woollen scarves, or wearing bobble hats. She wrote book recommendations on little cards and attached them to the shelves. She opened an online shop, and listed stock there. Lunch hours became a hasty slice of toast and jam at the counter, or a banana eaten on the fly, and dinner was often delivered by Snacking Cross Road, because Jemma had neither the time nor the inclination to cook once she had closed her laptop.
‘You look knackered,’ said Luke, snapping her back to the present.
‘Thank you so much,’ said Jemma. I’m not even sure if it’s all worth it. Her efforts were achieving something – she could see that from her accounts – but while the shop was now making as much as it had when she took it over, she couldn’t help reflecting that it would have been much less bother to put her feet up and let Maddy step into Brian’s shoes. She stretched her arms above her head and felt her shoulders click. ‘How are things at Burns Books?’ she asked, more out of politeness than concern.
‘That’s why I’m here,’ said Luke. ‘I’m worried.’
Jemma frowned. ‘In what way? Is the shop misbehaving?’
‘No, the shop’s fine.’ Luke pushed his hair back and Jemma noticed that he was rather pale. Of course; he had left the shop in broad daylight to visit her.
‘You’d better tell me,’ she said. ‘Would you mind if I made a cup of tea first?’
They sat at the counter, Jemma with her tea and Luke with his drinks bottle. He took a pull at it before speaking. ‘The shop is absolutely fine. Business is great: books are flying off the shelves. No, it’s Raphael. He doesn’t seem himself. For one thing, I haven’t seen much of him.’