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

‘Don’t be absurd.’

‘It does though. It’s not like her fifties stuff was for a middle-aged woman; she was, like twenty, with an eighteen-inch waist probably. Which I don’t have. And didn’t have even when I was twenty.’

‘Buy something?’

‘From where? I can’t be bothered to go to Dumfries.’ I drum my heels against the counter.

‘They sell clothes in Kirkcudbright. And Castle Douglas. Or so I believe.’

‘Boutiques,’ I say. ‘I dunno. I suppose I should look on t’internet. I’ll have to do that today.’

I still don’t have broadband at the Lodge, because it’s not as though I actually live there, even though I sort of do. Perhaps I should get that sorted – it’s quite inconvenient.

‘Edinburgh. Or Glasgow.’

‘I’m not driving to bloody Glasgow, it’s two hours away.’

He shakes his head. ‘Lots of shops though. When’s the party?’

‘Saturday.’ There’s a pause. I finish my sandwich and drink half a pint of water. Holly Hunter stalks in from the hallway, looks at us both and wails at Edward, demanding to be picked up. He settles her on his knee, where she purrs like a chainsaw. She still won’t sit on my lap, no matter how much I try to entice her. I assume the conversation is over, and get my phone out to check for messages.

‘Do you have to go?’ he asks, eventually.

‘To the party? Seems rude not to. And I’d like to see the house. I still haven’t been inside. I’m nosy. I’d like to go to a proper big house as a guest rather than a visitor. See where you grew up.’

‘Huh. It’s not interesting.’

‘Don’t be stupid, it’s fascinating.’

He looks vaguely appalled. ‘Not really.’

‘Pfft. Yeah, you can try, Edward, but you’ll never be normal, because a normal person would know that a giant stately home where someone you know grew up is always going to be interesting.’

After some anguished shopping, I have a new dress. It’s rather a bold shade of kingfisher blue, and shiny. It looked okay in the shop. Jenny says it looks okay now, but I can’t say I’m totally convinced. It’s a good colour though, and it’s a good shape for me, with a high waist. No sleeves, but I’ve got a little black shrug thing so that’s all right. I arrived with Alastair and Jenny, and now I’m inside the house, at last, being ushered across an echoing hallway that’s all marble and stags’ heads. There are candles, and panelling, and dark paintings of flowers and fruit. Then we’re in a brighter room, with sofas and mirrors and a huge carved fireplace. There are lots of people – more than I was expecting – and a painted ceiling with fat cherubs. It’s not dark outside, and the two enormous windows look out over the lawns to the front of the house, draped with hugely swagged curtains and pelmets three feet deep. It looks much as I’d pictured it, I suppose, but still very odd. I try to imagine what it would be like to grow up somewhere like this, and fail utterly.

Alastair and Jenny have been swept away from me, but Gavin McPherson, who owns a bathroom supplies company and who I met when I went to look at showers, comes over to say hello, and then introduces me to a horribly attractive woman called Miranda before disappearing again. I try not to feel abandoned, but instead turn my attention to Miranda. I assume she’s the blonde I saw out riding with Charles, since there can’t be that many people called Miranda, surely.

‘Charles says you’re friends with Eddie,’ she says. I sip my Kir royale and try not to feel flustered, although I do feel flustered. Her dress definitely cost more than the fifty quid I spent on mine. I should think her haircut probably cost more than my frock, shoes and jacket combined.

Eddie? Christ.

‘Yes, I work for him,’ I tell her. ‘In the bookshop.’

There’s another equally attractive woman sort of standing with us in that way you do at these things. I think her name is Sophie. She turns to stare at me, wide-eyed and curious. ‘Oh, really? Gosh. Is he a good boss? He’s got a terrible temper.’

‘I just ignore him when he’s cross,’ I tell her, shrugging. I look from one of them to the other. ‘How do you know him?’

Miranda says, ‘Our parents were friends. I’ve known them since we were children.’

I nod and look at Sophie. She laughs. ‘Oh, I’ve known him – both of them’ – her eyes slide across to Charles, talking to yet another attractive woman by the French windows – ‘for years and years. Although not as long as Miranda, thank goodness. I should think they were horrible little boys.’

Miranda laughs. ‘Charles especially, yes.’

‘Awkward that they don’t speak to one another,’ I suggest. I still don’t know why and, I admit, this fascinates me. Sophie’s drifted away, collected by her husband, I guess, a much older man with crisp white hair.

Miranda agrees. ‘God yes. I mean it was quite funny, for a while, but honestly. So difficult. You can’t invite them both to the same thing. It’s hard to get Eddie to come out at all. Such a waste.’ She sighs. ‘Although I do mostly blame Carolyn for that.’

‘Who’s Carolyn?’

She puts her head on one side, an unspoken question. I suppose they assume everyone knows all this background. Well, not me, lady. I know nothing. She steps slightly closer and lowers her voice. ‘Charles’s wife. Ex-wife, rather. I mean, Julia and Charles were already separated, when… but Carolyn… You know, I’ve never liked any of those people, all dreadfully badly behaved, and in such an old-fashioned way.’

I have no idea what she’s talking about, but nod anyway.

She shakes her head, sighing, and rather annoyingly changes the subject. ‘Have you lived here long?’

‘I don’t really live here,’ I say, ‘just up for the summer. My uncle died and left me his house.’

‘Oh, are you the Lodge woman?’

I blink at her. ‘I suppose