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

‘God, really?’ I stare at him.

‘So they say. She never talks about that. But she can tell you fruity stories about various people if you get her in the right mood. Andrew Loog Oldham and Dusty Springfield and Lord Lucan.’

‘Bloody hell. So, what, pills?’

‘I think so. Uppers, downers, all that sixties stuff. Yeah, it was all more interesting than breeding, I should think. They were quite jaded by the time I came along. Tiring business, being fashionable.’

‘Must be. Blimey.’ I think about this. Like a Pendulum Do was massively popular when I was at sixth form; we all read it. And there was a trashy TV adaptation as well. I loved it. I remember asking my mum how to do cat-eye make-up – I’d only ever used a kohl pencil, never heard of liquid eyeliner. You couldn’t get it. I had to buy a dry, cakey thing that you mixed with water yourself. I bought my first pair of false eyelashes in the chemist by the station, inspired by – apparently – Edward’s actual mother, or a simulacrum at least.

‘Your mum slept with Mick Jagger.’ I’m slightly disbelieving.

He laughs. ‘Perhaps.’

‘Well. She does in the book.’

‘She does.’ He drains his drink and puts the empty can on the wall between us.

‘Bloody hell.’

‘You’d never believe it if you met her,’ he says. ‘She’s not cool these days.’

‘Isn’t she? Not like Joanna Lumley?’

He laughs again. ‘No. She’s more… I think she went too far in the opposite direction.’

‘God. My mum would flip if she thought I knew someone whose mum slept with Mick Jagger.’ I eat fish in silence for a while, sawing at it with the penknife. ‘Personally I prefer Charlie Watts. He’s my favourite.’

‘Not Keith?’

‘I like Keith, just for not being dead. But Charlie’s the best.’

He laughs. ‘Why?’

‘I think he’s quite handsome. He’s one of those men who got better-looking. Nothing much at twenty, stunning at sixty.’

‘Okay.’

‘And I like the things he says, like how he doesn’t play drums in the Rolling Stones, he plays drums for Mick and Keith. And how mostly that involves waiting for them to turn up from somewhere. And I like how he’s been married to the same person since 1965 or something.’

‘Yeah, that’s pretty admirable isn’t it? For a Rolling Stone, particularly.’

‘I think so. I like that he’s always at the back in photos looking faintly annoyed that he has to have his picture taken.’ I would carry on talking in this chatty unimportant way, but I’ve glanced up from my chips to find Edward looking at me with a really odd expression on his face.

‘What?’

‘What, what?’

‘You’re staring. Have I got ketchup all over me?’

‘No, sorry. No. Fancy a drink?’ He stands up, screwing his chip paper into a ball and looking round for a bin.

‘A drink?’

‘Yeah, let’s go to the pub.’

Fifteen

The pub’s surprisingly busy.

‘I think there’s a band on later,’ Edward says, handing me my drink and squeezing in beside me at the only empty table. ‘Hence the punters.’

‘I saw they have live music. Perhaps I should make an effort and come out more,’ I say. ‘I know Jilly and Cerys go to see bands sometimes.’

‘Expanding your social circle?’

‘I probably need to, don’t I? Can’t just sit in all the time, or expect Jenny and Alastair to invite me to things. Or rely on you.’ He looks at me over the rim of his glass. ‘I mean, I know you’re not very sociable; it’s good of you to come out with me sometimes.’

‘Yeah, isn’t it?’

‘And I’ve begun to wonder if one day I might be interested in meeting people, you know.’ I turn my beer mat over twice and then put my glass of gin and tonic on it.

He snorts. ‘People. Men, you mean.’

I shift my stool closer to the wall to disguise my slight embarrassment. ‘Well… I don’t know. Not really. I’m not sure I–’

‘I don’t think there’s much choice round here. You’d need to cast your net wider.’

‘I haven’t got a net. And I don’t think I’ll need one for a bit. But you know, if I… if there’s… if I were to stay up longer, I should probably make a bit more effort.’

‘Hm.’

Our heart-to-heart, such as it is, is interrupted at this point by Jilly and Cerys, who have spotted us from the bar.

‘Are you staying for the band?’ says Cerys.

‘Dunno,’ I say, just as Edward says, ‘No.’ We all laugh, of course.

‘We’ll sit with you,’ says Jilly, scanning for another stool, ‘and then we’ll take your table when you go.’

‘How rude,’ says Edward, but he shifts up on the banquette to make room for Cerys.

‘Who’s playing?’ I ask.

‘Ah, just a local wee band. Critheann, they’re called. Two fiddle players. The girl who sings is amazing,’ says Jilly. ‘We always go if they’re playing. One of ’em is Cara’s son. Cara at the Lemon Tree?’

‘Oh, okay. I think I’ve seen him. With a beard?’

‘Aye, that’s him, right enough.’ She nods. ‘Been away in Ireland all summer, playing all the wee folk festivals. They’ve a CD.’

‘I’ve never seen it so busy in here.’

‘You need to get out more,’ says Cerys. ‘Don’t base your social life on Mr Misery.’

Edward scowls at her, and we all laugh at him. I look around. ‘I’ve never even seen more than two people at the bar. This is the most people I’ve seen since I went to Tesco the week before last.’

‘Ha, small town joys.’

‘Oh look, there’s that bloke,’ I say, as I gaze round the crowded bar.

‘What bloke?’

‘He was in the shop, earlier? With his daughter.’ I gesture vaguely at my head.

‘Oh yes, the girl with the amazing hair,’ says Edward. ‘She bought some postcards. You talked to him for ages.’

‘Well, not ages. He wanted a copy of Five Red Herrings, so we were talking about Dorothy Sayers and Gatehouse of Fleet and Kirkcudbright. I think we should do a leaflet about that.’

‘You think we should do a leaflet about everything.’

Jilly laughs. She finds us hilarious, I know.

‘No, I