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

under the cushions on the smaller sofa. It’s a fine mesh, an anti-insect screen, and he deftly hooks it up over the open space. Then he lights more candles. He doesn’t say anything else about us sharing the sofa, and I think perhaps I misunderstood. I feel a flood of relief. It was silly to panic. I’m an adult, everything will be fine. He’s not going to try anything. He’d have tried already, if he was going to. I calm myself. It’s just because I’m not used to… I know we’re often together – in fact, I spend far more time with Edward than anyone else – but we’re not usually alone. Not this alone. It’s fine though. I’ve been enjoying myself, haven’t I? I don’t need to think about earlier, his hands on me, or about what it would be like, if he… Think about something else, quickly.

‘I might just get changed,’ I say.

‘Feel free,’ says Edward, luckily unaware of my confusion. It seems darker outside now, with the candles lit. I slip out to the bathroom to get undressed but forget to take a candle with me and have to go back.

‘It’s really dark out there, now,’ I say.

He laughs. ‘Yeah, isn’t it? It’ll be lighter later, when the moon’s up. Here, take a candle. There’s a shelf by the mirror.’

Much later, I hear his voice from the doorway. ‘Come and look at the moon,’ he says. ‘Or are you asleep?’

‘No, I’m not asleep.’ I sit up. I’ve been dozing, dreaming slightly uncomfortable half-dreams, brought on by the booze and anxiety. I really don’t think he’ll get into bed and try to kiss me or anything. It’s not exactly that. But it’s presumably enough of a worry that I can’t quite relax.

Anyway.

I get out of bed and feel about for a blanket. It’s not freezing cold, but it’s not warm either. I wrap the blanket round me and duck under the mesh as he holds it out of the way. He’s put a jumper on but is still wearing his shorts. I see the sleeping bag on the grass where I guess he’s been tucked up, watching the stars.

‘Gosh it’s clear. Look at that.’ The wide smear of the Milky Way is always startling. The moon is three-quarters full or more and hangs above the bay, where the waves barely ripple, painting a wide silvery path towards us. ‘Wow.’

‘I know, it’s great, isn’t it? Shame it’s not full.’

‘Still impressive, though. Do you know the constellations? That’s Cassiopeia,’ I say, ‘but I don’t know much else.’

‘The Pleiades. The really bright ones over there. The Seven Sisters. Sterope, Merope, Electra – I forget the others.’

‘I’d never thought about them having individual names,’ I say. ‘What a numpty.’

He laughs. ‘And that’s the Northern Cross, aka Cygnus, if you follow where I’m pointing.’

I put my face as close to his shoulder as seems appropriate and squint upwards along his arm.

‘It’s sort of diagonal, and more like a stick man with no legs waving,’ he describes, to help me locate it.

‘Ha, get you, Professor Brian Cox.’

He snorts. ‘If only,’ he says, and I make a noise of appreciation and agreement that makes him laugh. We stand looking up at the immense multitude of distant pinpricks. Apart from the gentle hushing of the waves, it’s very quiet indeed. I stare upwards for so long I almost lose my balance.

‘Steady. Easier to lie down,’ he says.

‘I think that’s too hardcore for me. I might go back to bed.’

‘Oh, okay.’ He pauses. ‘I’ll try not to wake you when I come in.’

We get back to town at about half past eleven the next morning, after Edward’s had a swim and we’ve eaten rather cold toast on the beach.

‘Are we opening the shop?’

‘I thought we should have lunch first,’ he says. ‘No rush is there? We’ll go to the Arms. Have you eaten in there?’

I shake my head. We go in the Railway Arms for a drink after work sometimes, but I’ve never been in at lunchtime.

‘I wouldn’t go for dinner, but it’s okay for lunch. Come on, I’ll treat you.’

I stare at him, surprised. ‘You’re going to buy me lunch? You really needn’t. You paid for everything yesterday.’

‘Come on,’ he says.

The pub is dark inside, and old-fashioned. Scottish pubs are mostly bars in hotels. We eat pie and chips. ‘I wish my boss would take me out,’ the waitress jokes.

‘This is my review,’ I tell her, ‘when he tells me I’m doing a good job but he can’t put my wages up.’ This makes her laugh inordinately.

When we’re drinking our coffee, he pulls something out of his pocket. ‘Spare keys,’ he says, putting them on the table. A big wooden keyring the size of a postcard, with the address of the shop in marker pen.

‘Spare keys? For what?’ It’s not the shop keys; I have a set of those already.

‘For the Shed. You can keep them until you go home,’ he says. ‘So you can go by yourself, if you want. This little one’s for the padlock on the boat shed. The one with the tape on it opens the glass door.’

‘Oh, that’s… How kind. Thank you. Are you sure? What if you want to go?’

‘I expect I can cope if you’re there. I mean we just spent twenty-four hours there together, didn’t we?’

‘Yes, but what if you want to be by yourself? Or take someone else?’

He shrugs. ‘I’m sure we can work it out. I thought you might like to be able to go whenever you want.’

‘Thank you.’ I’m quite overwhelmed, blinking back tears. I hope he doesn’t notice, it’s pathetic. ‘I don’t know why everyone thinks you’re so awful,’ I joke, ‘you’ve been very kind to me.’

‘I have, haven’t I? I’ll have to watch that.’

Thirteen

Another week has passed. It’s the beginning of August, and the weather’s turned, alternating between sultry and uncomfortable, and cold and grey. Today has been dry so far but it’s been threatening