The Bookshop on the Shore

by Jenny Colgan

  The short period they’d spent up here already had, it seemed, strengthened his limbs. He was filling out too – his cheeks were rounder and pink – and he didn’t look quite so much of a frightened rabbit. There was a confidence about the little lad and Zoe was certain it mostly came from one thing – making a friend. Now he looked around him, curious. She wondered if he was thinking they were back in London. It was a ridiculously long time, she realised, since she’d seen a pedestrian crossing. Mary stalked on ahead of them, looking so grown up. Zoe slightly panicked about the concept of Mary as a teen. And where, she thought, would she even be by then? Who knew?

  She realised, as the thin girl walked ahead of her, her limp barely noticeable, scowling at the old ladies who had the temerity to get in her way, that she did have something else to think about: what would happen next. Where she would go and what she would do. There was a bit of her that she tried to keep tapped down: by going away, Jaz would see the error of his ways, realise what he was missing and what he’d lost by giving her up; he would be remorseful, so sorry and try and make everything right again.

  It struck her that these days that remorse was very thin on the ground. It seemed nobody had to be sorry any more for anything they did; instead they doubled down, were proud of it, never ever admitted to being in the wrong about anything. If she was to be honest with herself, she was sure Jaz had found a way to blame her – blame her for being stupid enough to get pregnant, to want to tie him down, drag him down, stop him fulfilling his DJ potential. There was an excuse for everything these days. Except it meant someone else picking up the pieces.

  But what then? If she wasn’t to get back on her feet and go back, what was she to do? She was saving a tiny bit of money from her work with the van and her stipend at the house, but it was perilously small and slow. Although the six-week trial period appeared to be up without anyone mentioning it.

  She banished that thought and concentrated on Mary, who was standing in front of New Look with a ferocious look on her face.

  ‘I hate it all – it’s stupid,’ she said as soon as Zoe suggested they go in and have a look.

  ‘I know,’ said Zoe. ‘We can start here, hate everything and then see how we get on.’

  In fact, there was a nice selection of teen clothes – the fashion was obviously circling round again, because everything looked to Zoe like outfits her mother had worn – A-line skirts and cord trousers in autumnal colours. They tried a mustard-striped top with striped leggings and a burgundy cord skirt. Mary’s long skinny legs and narrow waist made her look lovely, like a graceful raggedy doll, but her face was sullen.

  ‘Okay, next!’ said Zoe, and they headed on to H&M. As Hari sat patiently and Mary got changed, Zoe exchanged glances with a woman not much older than her sitting outside the changing room. Her chubby pre-teen was marching out wearing a cropped top that said STARLET on it in silvery lettering and a pair of not terribly well advised leopard print leggings.

  ‘It’s HORRIBLE,’ the girl was screaming at her mother. ‘NOTHING FITS PROPERLY! I HATE IT ALL!’

  ‘I liked that pretty dress in Marks,’ her mother said weakly.

  ‘Dresses are stupid! Nobody wears dresses!’

  ‘Here,’ said her mother, passing over a larger size.

  Mary emerged. She was wearing a purple suede pinafore with a red shirt underneath it.

  ‘That’s lovely,’ said Zoe truthfully. Mary’s face immediately fell. If Zoe liked it, it must be awful.

  ‘No, no, take a look in the mirror – don’t you think you look nice?’

  ‘I look stupid,’ said Mary, refusing to catch her own eye.

  ‘What are they going to be like as teens!’ said the mother conspiratorially to Zoe, who didn’t know what else to do but smile back. ‘I think you look lovely. I wish I could get Tegan to wear something like that.’

  ‘Something like what?’ came the voice from the dressing room and the girl stuck her head out. ‘Oh,’ she said.

  ‘It’s stupid, isn’t it?’ said Mary tentatively, looking at the other girl for approval.

  Tegan shrugged.

  ‘’S’all right,’ she said. ‘The colours are nice.’

  ‘Do you want to try it?’ said her mother hurriedly.

  ‘Neh,’ said Tegan coming out. The new T-shirt was even shorter than the one before and displayed quite a lot of stomach, over some very tight jeggings. ‘This is fine.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Would you like to try something like that?’ said Zoe. She didn’t like it, but on the other hand she had never liked what her mother had always chosen for her, and was conscious that fashion was both a younger person’s game and feverishly important, although the idea of presenting Mary back at The Beeches with a pair of jeggings and a crop top that said STARLET on it rather brought out an inner snob Zoe hadn’t known was there until now.

  Mary shook her head.

  ‘It looks good on you though,’ she said to Tegan, who smiled and said, ‘Yeah?’

  ‘They can be nice to everyone but their mothers,’ said the mum quietly to Zoe.

  ‘She’s not my mum!’ said Mary, whipping round, her eyes black with fury.

  ‘I was just about to say!’ said Zoe. ‘Don’t get a paddy on! I’m the au pair,’ she explained.

  ‘Oh goodness,’ said the woman. ‘At least you get paid for it.’

  ‘You’d think,’ murmured Zoe. Mary was picking up the purple pinafore again.

  ‘Let’s take that,’ said Zoe briskly. ‘And what did you think of the stripes?’

  Mary shrugged.

  Eventually, they collected large bags full of clothes, particularly from Primark, containing new underpants, tights that actually fitted her, leggings likewise, vests, tops and two big new chunky jumpers that made her look like a student, and rather cute. One had a fox stitched into it that Hari was so obsessed with that Zoe asked if she could buy one for him in a smaller size and Mary shrugged which was as close to a concession she’d got so far.

  Finally, as a real treat, Mary took them to McDonald’s. Hari’s face lit up; it had been a long time. But then it fell again, and Zoe remembered with a start it was where Jaz had often taken him. She pulled him and his chicken nuggets up onto her lap.

  ‘Are you missing Daddy?’ she said in his ear. He nodded seriously.

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I know. He’s going to come and see you. But I don’t know when.’

  Suddenly she was conscious that Mary was watching them with great attention. As soon as she noticed, Mary pretended to be doing something else again; eating chips slowly.

  There was a silence as Zoe gave Hari a cuddle and wondered if she should just make Jaz come up here. Or at least ask Surinder to do it.

  ‘Where is his daddy?’

  The question came out of the blue and chimed so strongly with Zoe’s thoughts that for a moment she was confused, until even Mary got embarrassed and tried to look like she hadn’t even asked it.

  ‘Well,’ said Zoe, going pink. And nervous also. There were two missing parents at the table. ‘I don’t live with Hari’s father; I never really have. Although he loves Hari very much. He’s travelling at the moment, which is why I’m here looking after you.’

  ‘Then are you going back?’ asked Mary casually.

  ‘Why?’ said Zoe. ‘Do you want me to?’

  Mary shot her a sudden bleak look, and Zoe felt weary and sad.

  ‘I don’t care,’ said Mary.

  ‘Okay. Well. I have no plans at present to leave, I’m afraid.’

  ‘So when is Hari going to see his dad?’

  Zoe would have given anything to get out of the conversation.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘It’s tricky.’

  ‘Grown-ups always say things are tricky.’

  ‘Things are tricky,’ mumbled Zoe, going pink. ‘Life is tricky.’

  Mary let out a great sigh. Zoe leaned forwards.

  ‘Do you miss your mum?’

 
For a long time Mary didn’t say anything and Zoe started to panic, as if she’d done something very wrong. Then eventually Mary pushed the now cold and unpalatable food away and sighed again.

  ‘Yeah.’

  Hari looked up, staring at her face intently. He grabbed his mother’s chin, then pointed to Mary, then back at himself.

  ‘Yes,’ said Zoe, completely understanding. ‘Like you.’

  The sadness of it, of all three of them sitting there, missing someone from their lives, staring at the congealing chips, was the total opposite of the fun day Zoe had planned.

  ‘She’s going to come back for me,’ said Mary stoutly. ‘She’s coming. Soon. I’ll probably have to go away with her.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Zoe. ‘Well then. You’ll have some new clothes for when she does.’

  Mary seemed cheered by the thought of this, and more cheered when Tegan and her mother entered and sat down. Watching the girls chat – Tegan had a diamanté-studded phone and was showing Mary goodness knows what, but Mary was clearly very impressed – Zoe thought again how deprived of normal girls’ company she was. Listening to the friendly woman babble on about Squishies and Fortnite and sleepovers and birthday parties and dentists’ appointments and all the general mishmash of a child’s life, all she could do was smile and agree, marvelling at the gulf between the girls’ lives, hoping, as things took on a more even keel, that she could push more of this.

  ‘Where are you?’ she asked the woman finally. ‘Maybe Tegan could come over and play one day?’

  ‘Stromness,’ said the woman. ‘We’re down for the day. It’s only a forty-five minute flight from here! Where are you?’

  ‘Three hours south,’ said Zoe, and they both said ‘Ah’ politely, then went their separate ways; but Mary was definitely jollier as they walked away.

  ‘You’re good at making friends,’ observed Zoe as they went to look at shoes, and – Zoe insisted – to buy small presents for the boys.

  For once, Mary didn’t scowl. She looked thoughtful, as if this were a potential characteristic that had simply never occurred to her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Buying shoes was so dull that Hari lay down on the floor and fell asleep, but they were eventually done, with a pretty pair of Lelli Kellys (Zoe had slightly baulked at the price of but handed the money over, thinking if you couldn’t have a pretty pair of shoes when you were nine years old when could you?) and a pair of smart pale blue Timberlands they found in the sale that would do for literally everything else. Their bags now were weighing them down, and Zoe went and found them an ice cream to keep them going. She noticed Mary out of the corner of her eye, counting and recounting the bags, peeking inside them as if she couldn’t believe she had so much treasure.

  She looked up.

  ‘We have to find something for you. Daddy said.’

  Zoe had completely forgotten – as they’d been leaving that morning, Ramsay had told them both to get themselves something.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘Well, let me grab a jumper. I really need a new jumper.’

  Mary shook her head.

  ‘No. Let’s get something nice.’

  ‘I really don’t need anything nice,’ said Zoe. ‘I’m hoiking books about all day. Or you guys.’

  But Mary had already marched into TK Maxx and was rifling through the lines of evening dresses.

  Zoe laughed.

  ‘Honestly,’ she said. ‘I don’t need an evening dress. Trust me.’

  ‘You should have a pretty dress,’ said Mary stubbornly. ‘Everything you wear is horrible. And rubbish and boring. You’re just a bit old, you’re not as old as Mrs MacGlone. And even she wears dresses.’

  Zoe wasn’t sure which bit of this statement to be offended by first, so she decided to ignore all of it. Mary meanwhile was hard at work, pulling wildly inappropriate chiffon gowns and evening dresses off the rack. Hari was getting excited too, running his little sticky fingers along the bright pinks and shiny frocks. Mary handed Zoe a great bunch of them.

  ‘Try them on!’ she ordered.

  ‘You haven’t even checked the sizes!’ protested Zoe.

  ‘Well, they’re all beautiful! You can see what fits!’

  * * *

  They were not, in fact, all beautiful. A canary chiffon made her look like she’d be rejected for even the back row of Strictly Come Dancing’s audience and made her slightly sallow skin look liverish. A navy-blue diamanté column made her look like a fierce dowager. But right at the bottom of the pile, crumpled and inauspicious-looking in the way of TK Maxx, was a red parachute silk Katharine Hamnett dress, a name Zoe didn’t even recognise. It had a wide circular skirt and a boat neck and a huge silk red sash that tied it up; it didn’t even come with a size.

  Zoe slipped it over her head, wincing as she did so at the state of her bra. The fabric felt cool and luxurious against her skin, and as it shrugged down she tied the sash around and stood back, preparing herself to look yet again like a ridiculous dolly dressed up for a children’s party.

  Instead the dress . . . She turned to the side. The skirt swirled and settled round her legs. Ooh. She couldn’t deny . . . She turned again.

  The colour set off her dark hair and eyes; complimented them. The fact that she had next to no bust left suddenly didn’t matter any more; being flat-chested stopped the dress from looking blowsy or obvious and instead it sat rather chicly. Chic? Really? That was not a word Zoe had attached to herself for a very long time. She glanced back over her shoulder. Every time she moved, it billowed out like a silk cloud, rippling and resettling around her.

  ‘Let me see!’ came an impatient sound from outside the fitting room. Impulsively, she felt down to the bottom of her handbag and came across an old nub of lipstick.

  ‘What do you think?’ she said, pulling open the curtain. Hari jumped up and ran towards her and gave her a hug, feeling the soft material up and down his cheeks.

  ‘Do not get spit on it,’ she said, smiling. Mary just stared at her.

  ‘Nice?’

  Mary shrugged.

  ‘Yeah. Sure. Get that one.’ Hari nodded in fierce agreement. Zoe looked at the price tag – it was heavily discounted, but even so. It seemed ludicrous to be buying a light silk dress in a cold climate going into winter when they needed so many other things . . .

  On the other hand, she couldn’t help thinking, it had been such a long time since she’d had something pretty.

  ‘Oh look,’ frowned the saleslady, coming forwards. ‘There’s a stain there.’ She pointed to where Hari’s mouth had landed. ‘Let me take off another fifteen per cent.’

  And to something like that, even Zoe was not immune, as they all snuck back to the car, even Mary giggling. Worn out by the day, both the children fell asleep in the back seat on the long way home, and as darkness fell and Zoe was concentrating on the road, she halted briefly to let some sheep pass and glanced into the rear-view mirror, and saw that Mary’s face, drained of all its aggression and fury, looked as young as Hari’s in the light from rare passing headlights.

  ‘Goodnight, sweet girl,’ murmured Zoe as she took off again, the stars popping out above the car like a dream, soft music playing from the radio, the miles purring slowly away beneath her feet, as the children flew home on dream wings.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was Zoe’s day to sit in Kirrinfief for the morning, to assuage her conscience. She didn’t mind, but it was frustrating knowing how much better she could be doing at the visitor centre.

  Sure enough, the first person through the door was Mrs Murray from the shop, looking cross. ‘Is Nina not back yet?’ she huffed. Zoe considered making a slow 360-degree arc of the little van to check, including looking under the tiny desk, but decided against that level of sarcasm before eleven o’clock in the morning.

  ‘No,’ said Zoe. ‘She’s still got a way to go. You should go visit,’ she added, her conscience striking her as she realised she hadn’t visited herself in some time, although s
he had carried on giving care packages to Lennox. She could have, she now thought, popped in when she’d been to see Mary – Nina must have heard about it – but everything had been so panicky and rushed.

  ‘Oh, I wish she’d just have that baby,’ said Mrs Murray. ‘Can’t they just take it out?’

  ‘I think they want it to bake all the way through,’ said Zoe. ‘Probably for the best.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind six weeks in bed,’ said Mrs Murray, a common sentiment by people who’d never actually had to do just that. Although it had to be said, Nina did seem to be managing better than most.

  Zoe smiled sympathetically. ‘Hey, I have the new Blood Roses in!’ she said. Surely this was a no-brainer? She pulled up the eight-hundred-page historical fantasy series – a feminist Game of Thrones about an immortal woman who exploded in gouts of blood every time a man was rude to her, razing entire cities to the ground and causing utter devastation. Famously turned down by every publisher in the country, it had gone on to do quite remarkably well with women everywhere.

  ‘Ooh,’ said Mrs Murray. ‘Yes, I’d love that. Put it aside for me and I’ll pay Nina when she’s back. Thanks. Also, Nina has to tell Lennox he can’t rotate the field.’

  Zoe blinked.

  ‘Sorry, you’re going to have to run that past me again.’

  ‘He’s refusing to do the Samhain because he’s rotating the field. Nina can talk him round. Tell her to look sexy or something.’

  ‘She’s eight months pregnant.’

  ‘Nothing wrong wi’ that,’ came a quiet voice behind them, and they both turned round, startled. Lennox was standing there.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ said Mrs Murray.

  ‘Well, you asked me about Samhain and I told you you couldn’t because I was rotating the field – which I am – and knowing you don’t take no for an answer, I figured you’d be down recruiting everyone.’

  Mrs Murray folded her arms.

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t . . .’

  Lennox gave the pair of them a firm look.

  ‘Well, count me out,’ said Zoe. ‘Because I don’t have the foggiest idea what either of you are talking about.’