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

‘Is that where you live? Chichester?’

‘It’s where I grew up.’ I’m not sure where I live now. I don’t say this though.

‘Another glass?’

‘Oh, go on then. I don’t usually drink during the day; I should be careful.’

‘Careful?’ He raises an eyebrow, almost flirty.

‘I don’t want to be hungover at half seven. Ghastly feeling.’

‘Always a risk.’ He gets up to fetch the champagne from the slate-lined hole in the ground and tops up my glass.

‘Cheers. Do you really sleep outside when you stay here?’

‘Sometimes, depends on the weather.’

‘Isn’t there, like, dew?’

He laughs at me. ‘Yes, but I can handle it. And the sofa’s very comfortable, if I’m feeling delicate.’

‘It’s just the ground seems to be getting harder and harder,’ I say, ‘or it feels like it.’

‘I’ll get you more cushions, if you like?’

I shuffle about, and stand up to stretch. ‘Maybe I should go for a walk. But then my drink would get warm. Oh, it’s difficult.’

‘Take your drink with you,’ he suggests. ‘If you walk for about fifteen minutes, there’s another bay.’

‘Fifteen minutes? I’m not sure I can be arsed with that. Anyway, I’ll finish my drink before I get there and be tempted to throw the glass in a bush so I don’t have to carry it.’

This makes him laugh a lot. ‘You could put it on a wall and pick it up on the way back.’

‘Don’t enable my laziness,’ I tell him. ‘I’ll just walk on the beach.’

When I get back to the garden, slightly cooler from paddling and with my empty glass, Edward has moved the parasol, following the sun, and is leaning against the wall of the Shed, legs stretched out on the rug, his book spread open on the grass beside him and a tray in his lap. He looks up and pushes his sunglasses onto the top of his head.

‘Better?’

‘Yes, thanks. What are you doing?’ I drop my sandals on the grass. The empty champagne bottle stands on the table, an open bottle of wine beside it. I look at this, thinking, then make a decision and pour some into my glass. He holds the tray out towards me, so I can see the contents. It’s what we used to refer to as ‘paraphernalia’ – a packet of cigarettes, adorned with a cancerous lung; a torn Rizla packet, an assemblage of cigarette papers. I’m mildly surprised.

‘You don’t mind, do you?’ he asks.

‘God, no.’

‘There’s something about a sunny afternoon,’ he says.

I watch him for a moment, and sniff. ‘Is it skunk? I hate skunk.’

‘No, it’s just homegrown, not very strong. You’d be able to smell it, wouldn’t you, if it was skunk.’

‘I suppose.’ I think of the white-painted windows of the greenhouse in the garden at the shop. ‘Did you grow it?’

‘No. Get it off a bloke. D’you smoke?’

‘Not for years.’

He licks the edge of the papers and seals the joint closed. ‘Want some of this?’

‘Dunno.’ I sit beside him, back against the warm wood. ‘Didn’t have you down as a stoner.’

‘Jesus Christ. I’m hardly a stoner.’

I laugh. ‘You’re easy to wind up though, aren’t you? Maybe you should allow the essence of stoner into your life. You need to relax.’

‘I am relaxed.’

I snort. ‘Yeah, right. Riddled with tension.’

‘I am not riddled with tension.’

‘Gosh, no, sorry, must be thinking of someone else.’

‘You know you’re extremely cheeky.’

‘It’s good for you,’ I tell him.

He lights the joint and inhales. ‘Is that so?’ he says through a cloud of smoke.

‘Everyone takes you so seriously, don’t they? It can’t help.’

‘Help?’

‘Help you not be an arse.’ There’s a pause, long enough for me to wonder if I’ve been horribly rude.

‘Am I an arse?’

I feel sorry for him, suddenly. ‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I think it’s a pose, isn’t it? Anyway, you’ve been very kind to me. Today especially.’

‘I have, haven’t I?’

‘It was lovely of you to invite me.’

‘I suppose it was. Mind you, I’d be here on my own if I hadn’t.’

I watch him for a moment as he smokes. ‘Are you lonely?’ I’ve wondered about this.

There’s another long pause while he considers. ‘No. I think one has to like people more than I do to be lonely.’

‘I’m not sure that’s true. Even if you don’t like people much, you can still be lonely. But you’re not, so that’s good.’ I pull my knees up and rest my wrists on them, lacing my fingers.

‘What about you? Out in the middle of nowhere by yourself. Not what you’re used to, surely. I didn’t expect you to stay for so long.’

‘No, neither did I. Anyway, that’s one of the reasons I decided I should get a job. I’m not used to being on my own. I wouldn’t say I was lonely though.’

‘And what about Mr Mottram? Is he lonely without you? I wouldn’t be happy if my wife buggered off for months at a time.’

I’m not sure what to say to this. Perhaps I should just tell him, it’s not like it matters. ‘I doubt he’s lonely,’ I say. ‘He lives with someone else.’

There’s a brief silence. I listen to the waves and the faint crackle of the burning cigarette paper as Edward draws the air through it. He frowns at me through the smoke.

‘What, as in–’

‘We’re, um… He left,’ I say.

‘Recently?’

‘Not that recently. January.’

‘God. You didn’t say. Why didn’t you say?’

I shrug. ‘That’s one of the reasons I came here. Well, I’d have had to come up anyway. But that’s one of the reasons I’m still here. I mean, I didn’t have to go home. Because I don’t live there; someone else does.’

There’s a pause while he thinks about this. ‘But why’s it a secret? Is it a secret? Does anyone know?’

‘Oh, well. Jenny. A couple of other people. But it’s boring, telling people. And anyway, I’m not divorced, so you have to say you’re separated or whatever and it’s… tedious. I suppose once I’m actually divorced – thanks’ – I take the offered joint from him – ‘– it will be easier. I don’t