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

don’t. Just some things. We should definitely do one about The Wicker Man.’

‘We had some people in who were looking at Wicker Man locations last week,’ Cerys says, helpfully.

‘There you are, see?’

‘Huh. I suppose I can’t stop you,’ says Edward, which I take as a win.

I look back at where the man from earlier is now talking to a lad of twenty or so. His son? Must be. ‘You hardly ever seem to get men who read Dorothy Sayers; I don’t know why.’

Edward shrugs. ‘Wimsey’s more attractive to women, I imagine.’

‘D’you think?’ I say, doubtful. Not that I’m doubtful about the attractiveness of Lord Peter – I’ve had a literary crush on him since I was about fourteen. ‘But they’re properly good books, aren’t they? I mean, you like them.’

He grins at me. ‘I’m very unusual, Thea – you must have noticed.’

‘Ha.’

At this point the man from earlier turns his head and sees me looking at him, which is embarrassing. I’m not embarrassed by anything these days though. What’s the point? I smile at him and he smiles back. I can’t see his daughter anywhere, which is disappointing; I’d like to look at her hair again, and see what she’d wear to something like this. Earlier she was wearing a fantastic bright orange minidress with lime green tights. One of the only things I miss about my teenage years is my ability/willingness to wear fabulous outfits. The postcards she bought earlier were from Edward’s vintage collection, suitably. I told her about the shopfronts in Castle Douglas with their sixties fonts.

I’ve surprised myself by how much I like talking to customers. I suppose because no one ever knows what they want in a second-hand bookshop, and no one’s ever in a rush. Mostly they’re quite pleasant. And I enjoy seeing myself as a helpful friendly person, the yin, as it were, to Edward’s yang. This thought amuses me, and I chuckle to myself.

‘What?’

‘Oh, nothing. Just thinking. Anyway, d’you want another? I’ll go to the bar before it gets too hectic.’

‘Are you going to stay?’

‘I thought I might have one more. I don’t know about staying for the band.’

‘Okay,’ he says, ‘I’ll have another pint.’

I look at Jilly and Cerys, and they raise their almost full glasses to me in unison.

‘You’re all right,’ says Jilly, ‘we’re fine.’

I’d forgotten what a crowded bar was like, and my surprise at the whole thing amuses me. I squeeze between two men in walking gear and lean forward keenly, a tenner gripped between thumb and forefinger, operation ‘catch the eye of the barmaid’ in full effect. I’m not paying much attention to anyone else, and when the person I’m standing next to speaks, I have no idea he’s talking to me.

‘Excuse me,’ he says, ‘hello?’

I turn my head. It’s the man from the bookshop. ‘Oh! Hello. We meet again,’ I say, and then feel weirdly self-conscious.

He grins at me. ‘I’m Keith,’ he says.

I’m amused by this, after Edward and I were talking about Keith Richards, earlier. This man seems entirely unlike Keith Richards, but then, isn’t everyone?

‘I’m Thea. Hello.’

We smile at each other. I know he’s friendly, I enjoyed our chat this morning, but I’m still quite taken aback. He’s about my height, with hair that’s beginning to grey and fashionable glasses.

‘Can I get you a drink?’ he asks.

I literally cannot remember the last time a man in a pub offered to buy me a drink. I gawp at him. ‘Er, well–’

‘I feel I should just check – do you… Is the bookshop a family business? I mean, is that your husband? That you’re with?’

I glance over my shoulder towards my friends. ‘Um, no – no, he’s just my boss.’

‘Right, thought I should make sure. Drink?’

‘Er, sure. Sure, why not, thank you. I’ll just have a Coke. And I’ll still need to get a pint for Edward,’ I add. I’m a bit flustered, but at that moment I catch the barmaid’s eye and order Edward’s pint.

‘Just a Coke? Sure I can’t get you anything else?’

‘No, I’ll be driving. Thanks.’

‘You’re not local, then?’

‘Well, fairly. I live about five miles away.’ I failed, earlier, to ask the classic shop-to-customer question in a vaguely touristy place, so I say it now. ‘You’re up on holiday?’

‘Yeah, up for a fortnight – this is our second week,’ he says, and leans past me to order our drinks.

‘I’ll just take this over,’ I say, picking up Edward’s pint. ‘And then I’ll come back.’

I head back over to our table, feeling quite odd. I really can’t remember the last time a stranger bought me a drink. Seriously, it’s decades.

Edward accepts his pint and says, ‘Best pals now then, are we?’

‘What?’ I say, although I know exactly what he’s talking about.

‘The man, the guy, the bloke – you know.’

‘Oh, from before, yes. His name’s Keith, apparently.’ I feel awkward, self-conscious.

‘What did he want?’

‘What, just now?’

He nods. He’s glaring at me, which makes me uncomfortable, and also slightly annoyed.

‘Wanted to buy me a drink. I’d better go and get it,’ I add, looking back towards the bar ‘I said I’d–’

‘You let him buy you a drink?’

Cerys, who’s been watching this interlude with interest, says, ‘People can buy Thea drinks if they want to, Edward, surely?’

‘It’s a long time since anyone offered to buy me a drink,’ I confess, ‘anyone I didn’t know, I mean. I’ll be back in a moment.’

I thread my way back to the bar, where Keith waits with the drinks. We shuffle off to one side now, out of the way, or as out of the way as is possible. We raise our glasses to each other and smile awkwardly.

‘So, I thought earlier that you didn’t sound local,’ says Keith. ‘How long have you lived up here?’

‘Oh, I don’t live here exactly – I inherited a house.’ I explain about Uncle Andrew. He talks about his holiday. He’s from Southampton. Divorced. They saw the posters for the gig when they were in town this morning. His son’s here, somewhere, but his daughter