The Bookshop of Second Chances by Jackie Fraser (e books for reading txt) 📗

be good for you, but would that be the best thing for me to do? If you don’t think you can give me an objective answer,’ I add, kindly, ‘I’ll ask someone else.’

‘My prices are fair,’ he says, abrupt.

‘I’m sure they are. But if I’m going to sell them, I want the best price I can get, naturally.’

‘Don’t you want them?’ He frowns at me.

‘I’ve tried and failed to read Ivanhoe about five times,’ I say, ‘and Waverley twice. And if I was going to read them, an ordinary Penguin Classics edition with notes would be more my thing. I mean they’re lovely, but wasted on me, I’m afraid.’

‘Huh. Are you going to sell the lot? I mean, all the books?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘The Burns stuff’s probably worth more. Those Dickenses. The twentieth-century first editions. And the Newton.’ He says ‘Newton’ with particular intensity.

‘Is it? You see I’ve no way of knowing. Alastair suggested I might want to give the Burns stuff to the Burns people. I can’t imagine I’ve got anything they don’t have, though.’

‘Alastair Gordon?’

I nod.

‘Hm. There are American universities who’d snap them up. Buy them off you, probably. Or if you want to be Lady Bountiful…’ he says, sarcastic.

‘I don’t know what I want to do with them.’

He looks at me, pulling at his lower lip. ‘Are you going to live there? At the Lodge?’

I shrug. ‘I doubt it, it’s not practical. It’s a long way from home.’

‘Which is where?’

‘Sussex.’

‘Going to sell it, then?’

‘Probably.’

‘Don’t sell it to my brother,’ he says.

‘If I put it on the market, I don’t think I really get to choose who buys it.’ I smile my glossiest, most society smile at him.

He snorts. ‘You won’t have to put it on the market. He’ll just rock up and offer you money. How long have you been up? Amazed he hasn’t been round already.’

‘We’ve been here ten days,’ I say. ‘Came up last Monday.’

‘Who’s we? You and Mr Mottram?’

I decide to ignore this, since it’s none of his business. ‘But actually, you’re right, he did come and introduce himself yesterday. He said he’d buy it if I wanted to sell. He didn’t make me an offer, though.’

He nods, clearly pleased to be proved right. ‘Not yet. He will do. I’d prefer if he was foiled.’

‘It’s so nice to see family feeling,’ I agree, deadpan.

After arranging a time for Edward to come and look at the Scotts, I collect Xanthe from the Old Mill and drive her to Dumfries station, an hour and twenty minutes away. It’ll take her seven hours, more or less, to get home. Rather her than me.

We’re pretty much the only people at the tiny station. ‘Let me know how it’s going,’ she says. ‘Message me when you’re having a coffee.’

‘I will.’

‘And you can phone me. From your actual telephone.’ She mimes dialling a number.

‘I know.’

‘If you feel sad or lonely.’

‘Yes. Thanks, Xan. You’ve been brilliant.’ I’m almost anxious, now she’s leaving.

‘It’s been fun. It’s nice here. I’m really not sure if you should sell it.’

‘Maybe I’ll move up.’ I look round at the more-or-less empty car park. ‘There’s probably room for me.’

‘Don’t go crazy.’ We hug. ‘Oh now, look, I’m crying,’ she says, wiping her eyes. ‘What an idiot.’

‘You are an idiot,’ I agree. ‘But I love you. Have a… Well, I won’t say have a great journey. Have a journey that’s not too awful. Give my love to Rob and the kids. I’ll see you when I get home.’

‘All right, my love. I’d better go.’ We hug again, then she picks up her rucksack and heads to the barriers, turning to wave before she goes through. I wave back, and stay for as long as she’s visible, moving through the station. There are only two platforms, up to Glasgow, down to Carlisle.

Then I’m alone. It’s an odd feeling. I’m three hundred miles away from everyone I know. Well, technically of course I’m not three hundred miles away from Xanthe. And I’m not three hundred miles away from Bobby and Sheena, who live in Newcastle, or various second cousins who are scattered round the Lowlands; not that I really know any of them. But the point is, to all intents and purposes, I’m alone. No one to please but myself. No one to talk to, unless I make an effort. I’m both thrilled and terrified by this feeling.

I drive back to the Lodge. The weather was quite grey earlier this morning, with misty rain in Dumfries, but on the drive back the sun comes out and I’m feeling quite positive. I wonder if I could live up here. Not for ever, that doesn’t seem realistic. But I could definitely stay up for the summer, couldn’t I? Go home if I get bored, or when the weather gets bad. Although that will mean paying rent for a flat I’m not living in. But does that matter? I can afford to do it, and Xanthe or Angela can water the plants and send on my mail. It’s rather tempting. I can find out about holiday lets, and see what the Lodge is worth if I wanted to sell it, or have a new bathroom put in, and just not be at home. I can pretend everything’s all right. I can maybe get to a point where everything is all right. That must be possible, surely?

Five

This morning Edward Maltravers is coming to look at my books. He’ll be my first visitor – I don’t think Xanthe counts. I hoovered for the first time and decided I’ll need to buy a new vacuum cleaner since this one is ancient and inefficient. I ought to buy it locally and contribute to the economy – and since I can’t immediately go online and order one, I might manage to do this. I’ll ask Edward if he can recommend somewhere. I tidy up and dust in the library. I expect he’d disapprove if it was dusty in there. I expect he’ll