‘Well, aren’t we the young businessman.’
‘Gimme a break. But speaking of which, what’s happening to the bookkeeping?’
Helen grimaced at the thought of more indignity. Should she confess to Vivian? She stood back as Vivian attended to a customer who had come to the counter with a load of books.
Helen was a shoebox accountant; she grappled in vain with numbers. Dealing with the intricacies of tax made her brain go into spasm. Even Arnold’s mowing accounts had stretched her capacities. The business side of the bookshop was in a cardboard box under her bed.
She had refused to delegate, or seek help, even from Astrid. She was indebted to her enough as it was. But more than that, she didn’t want to get into a fight with Astrid over whether or not there was a baby on the way; best to avoid her until the whole silly drama had run its course.
Vivian turned to his mother. ‘Bookwork, where is it?’
‘Don’t worry, all taken care of,’ said Helen.
Vivian studied her face for any hint of deception. He knew that his mother could be a master of concealment, that she hated to lose face. But the lack of bookwork worried him; however, for the moment he decided to let it go.
*
Surrounded by books, Helen felt both at home and free. Getting up at five, she took her cup of tea and in her nightie, navigated the rickety stairs down to the bookshop, where in the hushed light she placed her cup upon the counter and drifted up and down the aisles, inhaling the scent of books, which was always stronger after they sat overnight, undisturbed.
If only, she wished, her life was like a book. Not like those surrounding her, but in hardback and able to withstand the hardships and vicissitudes of life. If only life was like a book, neat and square, chopped up into chapters and sliced into pages so fine you could read the lines time after time and never tire. If only life was like a book in that everything made sense and you know all will be resolved in the end. If only life was like a book so that, if you decided you didn’t like it, you could take it back and get another one.
*
Helen went to see Razoo. The mud was gone and the ground was hardening fast. Despite the Rottweilers being kept on leashes so tight it was a wonder they weren’t strangled, Helen was still wary of them.
‘These dogs are kittens, trust me,’ announced Razoo as he led her through the passageway of books. ‘They wouldn’t hurt a fly.’
Helen wasn’t convinced. But she wasn’t here on canine culture. This was a book-buying expedition. She ordered two hundred books for children.
‘I think I ought to be selecting books for my bookshop. I know what people want, and what’s best for children,’ she announced.
Razoo scoffed. ‘Books for kids! What next? I’ll get you some, they’re just mixed in with all the rest. Didn’t you get any in the lot I delivered?’
‘Not many,’ replied Helen.
‘When I was a nipper we only had one book in our house. The Bible. Fat bloody lot of good that did.’
‘Well now you’ve got a ton of books.’
Razoo was standing near her with a contemplative look on his face. ‘The second I was as tall as my old man, he reckoned I was a man.’ Razoo paused; his eyelids drooped as if in remembrance for the childhood snatched away from him.
He began to speak again, slowly, warming to his story. ‘The old man taught me how to read the racing guide. Then we’d listen to the races on the radio. Still remember one really special race. Dinkum. The horses had names like Play with Fire, Double Shot, and Risky Lawyer. And you’ll never guess who won. It was an outsider called — and you won’t believe this — Forty Winks.
He looked to Helen for a reaction but she was too busy looking through the books. Razoo felt like a fool, as if he’d been talking to himself.
‘What bloody good does reading books do for you, eh?’ he shouted, finally getting her attention.
‘Can’t do any harm,’ answered Helen as she flipped her way through a book.
Razoo was stumped. His dogs growled as if empathising with his confusion. He scratched at his ear.
She looked kindly, even apologetically, at Razoo. ‘I understand what you mean about the horse called Forty Winks. The least expected to win, wins. Right?’
‘Yep,’ Razoo smiled, revealing his rotten teeth before placing a hand in front of his mouth.
‘You’re saying that I should stop trying to pick books for my customers.’
‘You’ll be a lot better off.’
‘Maybe you’re right, but for now, can I just pick out some children’s books to take back with me?’
‘Yeah, why not,’ said Razoo, amused by her persistence.
*
It was a fine Saturday afternoon and Ella was out the front of her cottage ripping out weeds and pruning overgrown bushes. She was planting seedlings when she first became aware of the young man who was walking at snail’s pace past her cottage. He appeared familiar, and she racked her brains as she gardened, but couldn’t figure out where she had seen him before. It bothered her, so that when she heard him pass by yet again she strolled over to the white picket fence that bordered her cottage, opened the gate, and watched his back as he continued down the path, rounded the corner and vanished out of sight. Determined to find out why this man was doing laps around the block, she leaned against the gate, and waited, watching the corner where he should come into view. Ten minutes later he appeared, walking briskly, but then slowed to a crawl on seeing Ella staring straight at him.
She folded her arms. ‘Well, well, if isn’t Mr Budd-Doyle.’
‘Doctor Ipp,’ said Vivian with a hesitant wave.
‘I wouldn’t have picked you for a stalker.’
Vivian’s cheeks burned. ‘No, it’s not that way at all, please, I’m sorry,’ he stammered.
Ella squinted as if trying to size up the situation. Was he to be trusted? ‘How did you know where I lived?’
‘My brother Gabriel told me.’
‘Oh,’ she shook her head in disbelief. ‘So you are related to that jerk?’
‘Afraid so,’ replied Vivian as he stood before her.
She was dressed in flimsy loose top and short shorts, which brought to mind a vision he’d entertained of her on his perambulations around the block, in which she lunged forward, her loose top rising to reveal a satin-skinned torso and voluptuous breasts encased in a lacy mauve bra.
‘And he’s sent you here on an errand, right?’
Vivian tried to pull his thoughts together; he rehearsed once more what he had intended saying. How Gabriel missed her, was full of remorse … but as he stood in front of her, his grand argument vanished behind a persistent vision of mauve lace. He tried desperately to think of what to say. He felt her eyes examine him. Without doubt, he believed, she knew exactly what a jittering mess he was.
Ella gave a small smile. ‘Better tell me what your errand is then. But before that, let me try and remember your name.’ And as she concentrated Vivian noticed the tiny tip of pink jutting out from between her lips. ‘It’s Vivian.’
He blushed on hearing her say his name. Up close, she was shorter and seemed more curvaceous. And her face, although not exactly pretty, was made attractive by her assured manner.
‘And you’re Ella.’
‘Yep,’ said Ella, again examining Vivian as if trying to determine his character.
Vivian began to feel nauseous. He fought it back, feeling silly, though from past experience he knew that any interaction with self-assured young women made him sick with anxiety.
The hookers in the mining town had been different. Scruffy, drug addicted, world weary and downtrodden. That’s how he preferred them. They posed no threat; he was at ease in their problematic lives. And they accepted his emotional inadequacies. But this woman was different; she seemed perfect.
All of a sudden he was panting for air, stuck in a metal cage descending rapidly into a world that scared him witless. He began to reel blindly, and felt he was sure to fall.
But then he felt her touch. ‘Vivian, are you all right?’
‘Yes, thank you, I’ll be fine,’ he said as his nerves began to settle a little.
Ella hesitated, unsure of what to do with this handsome young man, but who didn’t seem quite the full quid. She looked around for a neighbour or passer-by who could help, but the street was empty. She glanced at Vivian, he seemed harmless enough.
‘Look there’s an old sofa on the front verandah, you can lie on that. Let me help you.’
Vivian did as he was told; it wasn’t hard. She made him lie down, and then fetched a blanket from the cottage and a glass of water. She sat close to him, so close he could smell her: earth and green grass. She now wore an oversized windcheater. Still, he could have buried his head in her wonderful breasts, which looked to be begging for company.
‘Vivian, how about I ring someone, a friend, or a relative, who might come and pick you up?’
‘No.’
‘No?’ said Ella, thinking. ‘Are you sure there’s no one I can get for you?’
‘I’m not a nut case.’
‘Never said you were,’ said Ella, smiling kindly at him. ‘I was concerned about you.’
‘Honestly, I’ll be fine.’
Gabriel could be such a bad judge of character, he thought. Ella studied him, trying to determine if he was all right, to see if she could quiz him as to why he was sent to her door. She decided to chance it. ‘Now, what’s this errand Gabriel’s sent you on?’
Vivian thought about disowning his brother, but he abandoned the temptation. Right now, he realised, he wanted this woman. He couldn’t lie to her. ‘I’m here because he needs to see you. He’s missed you.’
‘I only went out with him for a couple of months.’
‘He loves you.’
Ella raised her eyebrows. ‘I chucked him, and it’s dented his massive ego, that’s all.’
Vivian was silent, having already concluded that he was no match for Ella. And nor was Gabriel.
Ella lapsed into silence as she studied Vivian’s face. Unexpectedly she felt a surge of longing for him. She found him not only physically desirable, but a vulnerable creature without guile. This emotion surprised her. She barely knew him, and her first impression had been that he was loopy. However he wasn’t loopy, he was shy. Painfully shy.
She put her hand to his forehead. ‘How you feeling?’
‘Good,’ said Vivian, with a faint smile.
‘Missing your tooth?’
‘Don’t miss the pain.’
‘Why haven’t you come in for your mouthguard, Mr Tooth Grinder?’
Vivian didn’t want to say that he had no money. ‘Been a bit tied up.’
‘With what?’
Vivian wasn’t expecting this, a woman who interrogated, but there was something agreeable about her quizzing him.
‘Oh, just a bookshop.’
‘Bookshop?’ Her eyes widened.
‘My mother and I have opened up a second-hand bookshop.’
‘A man who’s into books. What next?’
She leaned across him, plumping up his pillow, with her breasts millimetres from his face. He was in heaven and simultaneously being tortured. Ella was gorgeous. Surely this wasn’t the creature Gabriel had been frothing at the mouth about? There was some kind of mistake. A misunderstanding. She spoke while she plumped. ‘Your brother’s an idiot, but then again, you might already know that.’
He felt tempted to agree, just to get along with her. However he had promised Gabriel. ‘He’s always thought highly of you.’
She stopped pushing the pillows around and sat back.
‘Bullshit. He’s an arsehole — and you’ve been sent here to do his dirty work.’
‘Make sure you’re doing okay without him.’
Ella let out a short raucous laugh then appraised Vivian more closely. ‘One thing’s for certain. You’re much better looking than he is. You’re a bit thin. Then again, I like thin men, and tall. And you’ve got excellent teeth. So it’s a pity you’re grinding them to pieces.’
‘Oh,’ was all he could manage. He was trying to control his lascivious thoughts. He struggled for safe things to say. ‘You look too young to be a dentist with your own surgery.’
‘I’m twenty-eight,’ Ella smiled, satisfied at her accomplishments in such a brief space of time.
‘That’s quite an achievement.’
‘Thank you,’ said Ella. ‘Funny, my folks, rich as all hell and stuck up cows, didn’t want me to be a dentist.’ She began to mimic what Vivian could only guess was her mother. ‘Revolting, someone in my family gawking into people’s mouths! Don’t they have servants for that?’
Vivian watched spellbound. She was so assured and flamboyant. How could she ever fancy someone as dull as him?
‘But I can’t complain too much. Mother did cough up for the surgery.’
‘Well maybe she has faith in you being successful. That your enterprise is worthy.’
Ella was taken aback by Vivian’s assessment. She eyed him briefly before realising that his appearance, manner and speech were of an effeminate nature. And equally surprisingly, she found this characteristic attractive.
‘You sure are different,’ she remarked.
Vivian, bewildered by her observation, quickly searched for something else to focus on. ‘It’s a nice house,’ he said appreciatively.
‘It’s a dump. Investment. Short-term. Once I’ve got my practice really going, I’m out of here.’
Vivian gave up the conversational struggle and said nothing, preferring to look at her instead. He felt himself being swept away by a fast current and was glad for it.
Ella felt his eyes upon her. ‘Hey, why don’t you ask me out to dinner? Provided you’re feeling okay.’
‘Sure,’ he replied, taken aback by her forwardness.
She waited expectantly, and then gave a short laugh.
Vivian was stumped.
‘Ask me,’ said Ella.
‘Where? When?’
‘Tonight. Eight o’clock sharp. Not somewhere cheap,’ then taking note of his clothes, she said, ‘My shout. I’ll drive too.’
‘Sounds okay to me,’ Vivian mumbled, stunned at his good fortune.
*
Helen put the book on the counter. It was The Old Curiosity Shop by Charles Dickens, who she considered the greatest writer ever. She admired his profound sense of compassion and concern for children enduring horrific adversity in nineteenth century England. In his novels adults were often depicted as selfish and evil. Children were beautiful, level-headed and kind, and sadly exploited by their elders. And Dickens, to Helen’s mind, had captured the injustice of it all magnificently.
She picked up the book again, stroking it gently, turning it in her hands. She smiled, for in her hands she held paradise. And paradise for Helen was a chaotic world contained in a neat square.
A young man came into the shop as Helen was propping up The Old Curiosity Shop beside a sign which boldly declared: Book of the Week.
She heard the slap of bare feet on the wooden floor and turned, taking a sharp breath at the sight of him.
A mass of dreadlocks bounced up and down in time to the song he was listening to on his iPod. Helen immediately pictured the debauched lifestyle such a young man must live. She looked fiercely at him as though he was a trespasser with nothing but malicious intent brewing in his pea brain.
‘Can I be of assistance?’ Her tone was icy.
The bouncing head stopped as he pulled out the earplugs and left them dangling in his hair. ‘Sorry, didn’t hear you,’ he sang.
‘Can I be of any assistance?’ She was irritated at having to repeat herself to such a moron yet was still transfixed by his dreadlocks.
He caught her mood and stiffened. ‘I’m looking for a little sci-fi, please.’ His eyelids dropped to wary slits.
Well, thought Helen, he may live an underground life but he has got some manners; picked up by accident no doubt. Sadly though, his
choice of Science Fiction seemed characteristic of his generation and type. Helen determined that the young man needed re-educating.
She extended her hand to Book of the Week. ‘Now, how about this?’
Dreadlocks stepped forward and examined the cover. ‘Yeah, read it. It’s cool,’ he answered, nodding his head.
‘You’ve read it?’ she said sceptically. The bugger was lying.
‘Read all his books. The guy’s a genius.’ He paused as if determined to select the right words. Helen waited for his evaluation, expecting some inane comment.
‘A luminous social commentator of the times he lived in. A champion for the rights of children,’ said Dreadlocks.
Helen stood rigid, her mind a whirl of disbelief.
‘My favourite is Great Expectations, or maybe Bleak House. Hard Times is pretty neat too.’
She was stunned. He was smarter than she’d thought.
She was quiet for a few seconds, mulling over how wrong her judgement had been. She was turning into her mother. She didn’t want to turn into her mother, and knew she had to chew up her arrogance, bit by tiny bit, and gulp it down hard without bringing any back up.
The young man held out his hand. She shook it. ‘Good to meet you,’ he said. ‘Looks like a great set up you got here.’ He looked around, nodding his head. ‘Hey, dig the maze.’
‘Thank you. You’ll find Science Fiction over to your left. Hope you find something you like; I just wish we could keep up with demand, it’s a busy section.’
‘No worries.’
Helen waited until the young man had left the shop with his purchase, Spies in Space before she removed The Old Curiosity Shop, intending to replace it with a Science Fiction book.
She rifled through the Sci-fi section and was reduced to picking a book titled Politicians and Science Fiction: the connection. She wrote herself a note to contact Razoo to somehow persuade him to single out more science fiction.
Helen walked around the counter, and stood, inexplicably feeling a little despondent; business had been sluggish all morning. Abruptly the building seemed to let out a distinctive call, or so Helen thought. It had sounded like … Mum … Mum … like Leif calling for her, desperate to show off the red ribbon he had won at his school sports carnival. He had been happy, breathless but happy.
The Bookshop on Jacaranda Street Page 13
