The Hopes and Dreams of Libby Quinn

by Freya Kennedy

  Still, she couldn’t help but breathe a very audible sigh of relief when she saw her parents’ car turn into the street, her father with a look of pride and excitement on his face that made her heart soar.

  3

  Les Miserables

  ‘It’s not as bad as all that,’ her father said. ‘I mean, once we get the trades in, we’ll get it sorted quick smart.’

  ‘You really think so?’ Libby asked.

  ‘Yes. Absolutely. Well, maybe not quick smart, but it will get done. Patience, my pet. And maybe rethink that proposed opening date?’

  Libby’s heart sank. She didn’t want to delay the opening date. She had chosen the fifth of August, which was a mere ten weeks away, for a reason. It was her grandad’s birthday.

  ‘Your grandad will understand,’ her dad said, putting his hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Of course he would,’ her mother said, her voice soft, but Libby wouldn’t. It was all part of her plan, to open her shop on what would have been her grandfather’s eighty-seventh birthday.

  ‘We’ll see,’ she told her parents. ‘I’m prepared to do as much work as I need to. I don’t have anything else to take up my time and if we can get people on board…’

  She noticed the look pass between her parents. The look that said she was reaching too far, but they were underestimating her determination.

  ‘We’ll do whatever we can to help,’ her father said. ‘You know we will. We just don’t want you setting yourself up for a fall.’

  ‘I appreciate that,’ Libby told them. ‘But just give me a chance.’

  Just as she said that, a large crash interrupted them – a crash that turned out to be the cracked yellowing ceiling plaster in the hallway to the flat finally giving up the ghost and bringing a nice flood of sludgy brown water with it.

  * * *

  Libby was doing a brilliant job of not giving into despair. She focused on the good things. There was a water supply to the shop. She wouldn’t risk drinking it, but it would be good enough to clean with. The pest control people had been efficient in laying traps and searching for any possible entry points. They’d be able to get it under control, they’d told her, and it shouldn’t take too long.

  Her dad had been true to his word and had arranged the first of many skips, and had been able to shore up in the joists in the hallway and cut off the supply to the leaking pipe. She had shooed her parents away eventually, knowing that she really could only make limited progress that day and also knowing that she really, really wanted to have some time alone with her thoughts, and her memories of Grandad Ernie, in the shop. She allowed herself some time to dream a little more – to close her eyes and imagine the transformation this place could undergo. The exposed brickwork she would make use of, copper light fittings, comfy chairs, repurposed bookcases. She wanted to give it a sense of always having been there, but also offering everything the modern reader might want.

  It was enough to light a new little fire in the pit of her stomach and she decided to make a start on putting her own mark on the store. First of all, she liberally sprayed the old drapery counter with sugar soap and set about scrubbing it down – revealing a lovely soft varnished finish underneath the layers of grime. When it was done, she stood behind it, and allowed herself a little role play – chatting to imaginary customers, hitting the buttons of her cash register and grinning like an eejit at the thought of this shop coming to life.

  She’d been so engrossed in her task, she hadn’t noticed the change in the weather outside – blue skies now gone and replaced by ominous clouds. She only realised when she moved on to her next task – that of beginning to tackle the windows – that it was starting to rain, but not even a deluge of rain could dampen her spirits.

  The shop’s many window panels were one of the things she loved most about it, but she didn’t like the matted newsprint stuck to them, or their general state of disrepair. Some of the wooden frames were slick with mould, and that was when they weren't rotting due to the damp air. Then, of course, there were the panes of glass which had been broken and long since boarded over. She had already booked a glazer to come out and measure up the following week, but for now she scraped off the newspaper and poured copious amounts of window-cleaning cream onto a cloth and rubbed it in large circular motions over the glass. Nothing said ‘this is a place undergoing a transformation’ more than windows obscured by large swirls of pink gloopy cleaner.

  Arms aching, T-shirt long since dirt-splattered and damp, Libby decided to step outside to look at her handiwork – and only cursed a little when she heard the click of the door to the shop closing behind her as she stood in the now much heavier drizzle and tried to look through the obscured windows to where her keys – to both the shop and the flat – sat on the counter, right beside her mobile phone.

  She rattled the door, as if the action would jolt the lock to open and let her in. She contemplated kicking the door in – but she doubted she had the brute force needed and it would only be an extra cost she would have to cover.

  Looking around her, Libby tried to think of a clever solution to her problem, but the only thing she could think of was taking her damp, dirty and probably very smelly self to the bar across the road and trying to ask a hopefully friendly barkeep if she could use a phone to call for help. She’d given her parents her spare set of keys and if she could just get them dropped round to her, she could possibly save the rest of this day.

  The Ivy Inn looked like a fairly amiable spot from the outside. It didn’t look like an exclusive wine bar, but nor did it look like a student drinking den.

  Since they were going to be neighbours, she figured it was a good thing to say hello and introduce herself anyway. Although she would have much preferred that she was looking slightly more presentable than she currently was, she left her pride in a puddle at the door of the bookshop and crossed over the road.

  With its hanging baskets, resplendent with multicoloured blooms, The Ivy Inn had a welcoming air. It promised a beer garden to the rear, and Libby was relieved she didn't have to walk through the plumes of second-hand smoke as she pushed open the heavy wooden door and walked in.

  It was already busy for early evening – groups of friends sat around chatting over glasses of wine and half-drunk bottles of craft beer. A few family groups were enjoying an early tea – children colouring in with stubby crayons or lost on their tablets while mum and dad had a medicinal drink to get them through to bedtime. The bar had once been three houses, which had now been knocked together, so it was filled with little nooks and crannies where the most reclusive drinker could escape for some peace and quiet. The entire atmosphere was warm and welcoming, just as she hoped it would be.

  Libby was conscious of leaving wet footprints on the slate floor, so she walked quickly to the bar, where a tall, dark-haired barman was deep in conversation with a couple of perfectly preened ladies.

  She shivered, even though it wasn’t that cold, the wetness of the rain having soaked through her clothes, and waited for him to notice she was there.

  And waited.

  Eventually, she tried a polite cough, which went unnoticed, and she was forced to attempt an impression at something more consumptive. That got his attention – and a rather disgusted look from the two blondes, who clearly didn’t make much of Libby’s drowned-rat appearance.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asked, his expression warm. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘Yes, well I was hoping you could. I’m Libby Quinn,’ she said, reaching her hand out to shake his – and then instantly regretting moving her arms from covering her chest which, thanks to the rain, had given her the look of a wet T-shirt competition entrant.

  He gave her hand a cursory, but firm, handshake but didn't offer his name.

  ‘Erm, I've just bought the shop across the street.’

  ‘I'm sorry for your troubles,’ he said with a cheeky smile, but Libby was not in the mood for humour. She already felt protective of her new home, and even though she k
new it required a lot of work, it made her feel uneasy to have anyone else suggest this to her.

  ‘Actually, it has loads of potential,’ she replied. ‘Or it would, if I could get back inside it. I stepped out, and the door shut behind me – and my keys and phone are still inside.’ She sniffed, and shivered a little. ‘So I was hoping, as my new neighbour, you might be so kind as to let me use your phone to get someone to bring over the spare keys?’

  ‘Well, I suppose it wouldn’t be very neighbourly of me to say no, would it?’ he asked, his tone light.

  ‘It really wouldn't,’ she said through chattering teeth.

  ‘I suppose I'd better then,’ he said, walking to the end of the bar and lifting the hatch to gesture to her to come through.

  Libby smiled at him (it took all her effort to do so) and followed him through to a back office, where he pointed to a phone on the table.

  ‘You can leave 20p by the phone for the call,’ he said, and while she was fairly sure he was joking, she wouldn’t have been surprised if he wasn’t.

  ‘When I retrieve my purse from the shop, I'll be sure to do so,’ Libby said, as she watched him walk back towards the bar – leaving the door open. Did he want to listen in? Or did he think she would make off with whatever mess of letters, invoices, empty Coca Cola cans and scrunched-up crisp wrappers that were lying on the desk?

  She dialled her parents’ home number first, swearing when it rang out. She didn’t know either of their mobile numbers off by heart. In fact, there were only two mobile numbers she did know by heart – and one of them was her own. The second belonged to Jess. Glancing at her watch, she saw it was late enough for Jess to be done with her surgery for the day. She wouldn’t have dared call her if she had still been seeing patients. Tapping the number in, she waited for her friend to answer.

  ‘Hello?’ Jess answered gingerly, not recognising the number that had flashed up on her phone.

  ‘Jess, it's me, Libby. I need your help.’

  ‘What’s up? I’ve been hanging for news from you all day,’ Jess said. ‘Are you at the shop? Do you have your landline up and running already? When can I come over for a nosy?’

  ‘As it happens, you can come over right now,’ Libby said and pulled the phone away from her ear while her best friend squealed with delight. ‘But I need you to do me a favour first. Can you call round to Mum and Dad's – see if they’re home yet? I’ve tried the landline, but no answer. But you know them, they never hear the blasted thing anyway. I’ve managed to lock my phone and my purse inside the shop and I’m standing here soaked to the skin. Mum and Dad have the only spare pair of keys,’ she explained, regretting that she had handed them over just a short time before. ‘Oh, and Jess, can you bring me a change of clothes too – my skinny jeans and a sweatshirt maybe? I’m in The Ivy Inn – you know the pub just across the street?’

  ‘Ah, that explains the strange phone number then,’ she said.

  ‘It does,’ Libby replied, peeking out of the door just in time to catch a strange woman, red hair tied up in a messy bun on her head with a pencil stuck through, staring right at her. She jumped back and felt herself step on something. Something furry – and now very upset, it seemed. A loud yelp, followed by a volley of barks, made Libby drop the phone and yelp in surprise herself.

  ‘Oh God, I’m sorry. I’m sorry,’ she muttered at the big border collie, who was now jumping on her. Was this how it would end? Mauled by a rabid dog in the back room of a bar?

  ‘Paddy! Down, boy! You can’t eat the neighbours – we’ve talked about this!’ a female voice called out – presumably belonging to the redhead who had frightened her so much in the first place.

  The dog stilled immediately and backed away from Libby as the woman walked into the room, before sitting at his owner’s feet and looking suitably ashamed of himself for his outburst.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Libby said, scrambling to reach the phone but daring not to break eye contact with Paddy, who had now adopted the look of a very docile and friendly dog and not the wild beast she’d been terrified of. ‘I stood on his tail. I didn’t know there was a dog here.’

  ‘Did Noah not tell you about him? I could swing for him!’ the woman said, crouching down and ruffling the fur around Paddy’s neck, which was adorned with a red bandana, not dissimilar to the one Libby wore in her hair. ‘Most people around here know Paddy. He’s part of the furniture and, honestly, you might not believe this, but he wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

  Libby stared at them both, her heart only just returning to its normal rate, before the sound of Jess’s distant voice cut through her thoughts. ‘Libby? Libby! Are you okay?’

  She lifted the phone to her ear. ‘I’m fine. I… Can you just get here as soon as possible? Thanks,’ she finished, before ending the call.

  Of course, by fine she meant absolutely and completely mortified, but she wasn’t going to say that on the phone, or in front of her new neighbour who probably already thought she was a few sandwiches short of a picnic.

  ‘I haven’t hurt him, have I?’ she asked, her face blazing.

  ‘He seems fine,’ the woman replied, as Paddy wagged his tail playfully as if to prove the point. ‘Say hello to the lady, Paddy.’

  At that, the dog plodded over towards Libby, plonking himself at her feet and raising his front paw for her to shake it.

  Libby couldn’t help but smile. ‘Well, hi Paddy. I’m Libby. Nice to meet you.’ She looked up at the woman. ‘I’ve just bought the shop across the street,’ she said, ‘but locked myself out.’

  ‘Yeah. Noah was telling me. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Jo and, for my sins, I’m assistant manager of this place.’

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ Libby said, before she shivered once again. ‘I don’t suppose you have a towel or something I can dry off a bit with? My friend is coming, but she’ll be a while.’

  ‘Oh God, of course. I’ll get something for you now. Did Noah not offer? Honestly, that man!’ Jo smiled, a broad smile that lit up her face, and went to fetch a towel.

  4

  The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde

  Libby had done the best she could in the ladies’ toilets with the towel Jo had given her. She still looked like a drowned rat, but her mascara was no longer running in rivulets down her face and her hair was no longer dripping. She was assessing the damage in the mirror when Jo walked in, a T-shirt in her hand.

  ‘Why not change into this, for now? It’s one of the ones we normally keep for the quiz winners. It won’t win any fashion awards and, I’m afraid, we’ve only a size XXL left, but it’s dry and warm.’

  Libby could’ve cried. ‘Thank you so much,’ she said, before walking into one of the cubicles and peeling off her T-shirt, as well as her sodden bra. She slipped the supersized T-shirt on and felt instantly better as she walked back into the warmth of the bar.

  ‘You can wait over by the fire if you want?’ she heard a male voice say. She looked around to find Noah nodding towards the far-left corner of the pub. ‘The table’s free, if you’re quick.’

  Her sodden T-shirt and bra folded into a tight bundle in her hands, Libby weaved her way through the tables to where a small open fire had recently been lit in the hearth. It was just warm enough not to be overwhelming but to compensate for the falling temperature.

  Libby lifted a copy of a newspaper that had been left on the table. It would be a good way to pass the time, and indeed to hide from any prying eyes.

  This was definitely not how she imagined making her first impression on her neighbours. If she’d had it her way, she wouldn't have met them until the shop was looking shipshape – with its own hanging baskets of flowers outside, its quirky little writing nooks set up and ready to go, and the freshly ground coffee she was planning on serving filling the place with a delicious, welcoming smell.

  She'd planned to drop handwritten invitations to all the nearby shops, bars and restaurants and invite them in for a launch with wine and cheese and maybe a little music
or poetry reading. She'd even planned to wear the gorgeous Pinko strappy maxi dress she had splurged on with her redundancy money before ploughing everything else into the business.

  Mucked to the eyeballs and with not even enough money on her for a cup of tea, or even a phone call to her best friend, had most definitely not been part of her plan.

  To distract herself, Libby faked an interest in whatever celebrity scandal was masquerading as news and hoped the traffic gods would be kind and Jess would get there quicker than expected.

  She was surprised when, just a couple of minutes later, she heard a soft cough. When she looked up, she saw that Noah was stood beside her table, a large cup of coffee in his hand and Paddy dutifully at his feet.

  ‘Jo asked me to drop this over to you,’ he said, and Libby could see the redhead give a thumbs up from behind the bar. ‘She says it’s on the house. And Paddy here wants to know if he can sit with you?’

  Libby raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Actually, that’s not strictly true. This dog hunts out any heat source and plonks himself down in front of it. It would take a better man than me to try and stop him.’

  ‘Very kind, I’m sure,’ she said. ‘My friend should be here soon and I’ll be out of your hair – and able to leave you your 20p by the phone. I'm opening a coffee bar in the shop. You can tell Jo there’ll be a free coffee waiting with her name on it when we open,’ she said.

  ‘So, that's your plan for the old place?’ he asked, sitting down opposite her, while Paddy padded to the front of the fire and lay down on the slate flooring, just as Noah had said he would.

  ‘Not as such – it's just a small part of it. I'm opening a bookshop.’

  Noah sucked in air through his teeth. ‘A bookshop in this climate?’ he said. ‘I admire your courage.’