Like I haven’t thought about that 692,702 times since yesterday. ‘He didn’t exactly say that. And he was just rabbiting, rambling, trying to talk his way out of his lies.’
‘I’ve never heard anyone say arse-over-tit in love with someone before. It’s a nice way of saying head-over-heels, don’t you think? Very fitting. Very him. Very you.’
‘It doesn’t matter now, does it?’ I snap, because my nose is burning with the familiar feeling of imminent tears and neither of them are helping the situation.
Mum and Nicole share a look. ‘You’ve changed since you started this, Hallie. For the first time in your life, you’ve been happy. You’ve never had a job you’ve truly loved before. You’ve never had a flat that was yours. This whole place was made for you. It’s what you’ve been waiting for all your life.’
‘And it’s not just because of him,’ Nicole adds.
‘You’ve always loved this place. There’s no way we’re letting you give it up that easily.’
I had no idea that Mum or Nicole felt like that. For the first time in ages, I feel like I’ve got family support. They’ve always been disapproving of my string of dead-end jobs and mangy flats, but to feel them rallying behind me now – from the way Nicole stepped in and took over yesterday to the fact they’re both here this morning – it gives me courage that they see the shop in the same way I do. As the thing I’ve been waiting for all my life. The thing I’d always hoped was in my future, but had given up on ever finding. Like love.
I have to push my glasses up and swipe the back of my hand over my eyes while holding The Book Thief out of the way. I want to tell them how much their support means, but I’m not going to be able to without sobbing. Instead, I turn around to look for the gap it came from on the Historical Fiction shelf and go to slide it back in, but there’s something blocking it. I wriggle it around, but the spine still sticks out like there’s something behind it. I crouch down and reach to the back of the shelf to straighten whichever book has got turned sideways.
‘The Princess Bride,’ I say as I pull it out. ‘I’ve always meant to read this. It’s got to be one of the top five movies of all time.’
Nicole makes a noise of appreciation. ‘Has there ever been anyone hotter than Cary Elwes as Westley in the whole history of TV and films?’
‘This was Robert’s favourite book. He was always telling me to read it.’ I turn it over in my hands, feeling the embossed title in the brown cover. ‘This copy looks just like the one the grandpa reads in the film.’
I open the front cover out of habit, not expecting to find anything written inside the old book that’s been forgotten on the shelf for God knows how many years.
And then I gasp in surprise.
‘What?’ Nicole and Mum chorus.
‘It was him! The guy. In the books. With Della. It’s him – he’s the mystery guy.’
‘Cary Elwes?’ Nicole asks in confusion. They clearly think I’m bonkers.
‘Listen to this.’ I read out the note in smudged ink on the faded paper. ‘My dearest Della, you are the most special thing in my life, and I look forward to every day that has you in it. There are two crowning days in my life – the day I took over the shop, and the day you walked in for the first time. Since then, every day has been an improvement. My love for you will never fade. Forever always, Robert.’
‘Well, that’s sweet,’ Mum says.
‘No, you don’t get it. Robert is the mystery man. Robert is the man Dimitri’s mum was having an affair with. The notes in the books were to him. They shared their favourite books with each other! Hers were Pride and Prejudice and Anne of Green Gables, and his was The Princess Bride! He’s the one we’ve been trying to find.’
They still clearly think I’m bonkers.
‘This explains everything! Why the books are here – he didn’t throw them away – he kept them near him, always.’
‘And if they’d been sold?’ Nicole asks.
‘He’s Robert. His number one belief was in passing books on. He believed that stories stay alive through the people that love them. With Della gone, he wouldn’t have wanted to hoard them – he’d have wanted her favourite stories to be shared with new people and bought for new generations. That’s why they’re here – not because he stopped loving her, but because he wanted her to live on through these books. I have to tell—’ I cut myself off. I can’t tell Dimitri. That would mean I have to speak to him. And one handwritten inscription in a book isn’t conclusive proof.
But Robert loved this book, and he loved the messages hidden in books like I do. It suddenly seems like all the hidden notes in the books in this shop aren’t just a coincidence. Robert stocked this shop. I said weeks ago that all he’d bought lately were second-hand books. These books. Books with messages in them. Books that had meant something to someone once.
‘The side gate!’
Mum and Nicole share another ‘she’s lost the plot’ look.
‘At Dimitri’s house! He said Robert knew about the side gate. This is how he knew. And the love of his life! Robert lost the love of his life a few years back. Della died seven years ago. It adds up. It all suddenly adds up.’
I feel excited again. Finding this note ignites my enthusiasm for books, hidden messages, and this shop. This shop is special, and I will never give it up. This is why I love bookshops. There’s a unique magic in them of never knowing quite what you might find, and that’s always been what I loved most about coming in here. As the owner I’ve found some unexpected things here too. It’s an honour to work here. It was the luckiest moment of my life when Robert picked my ticket, and I am not going to throw that away.
‘No matter who Dimitri is and no matter what he’s done, he deserves to know the truth. And I have to finish what I started with that first note.’
‘What are you going to do?’ Mum asks.
‘I’m going to get to the bottom of this once and for all.’ I glance at Heathcliff. ‘We’re going to Cornwall.’
Chapter 18
When I thought of returning the fish on that very first day, it was an omen. On Monday morning, I’m sitting on a train trundling towards Cornwall with the goldfish bowl on my lap. The bloke next to me is most amused and keeps looking over and sniggering to himself. He’s already asked me if he can take a picture to post on Twitter. Thank God no dogs have got on yet or Heathcliff might hurl himself out of the bowl and make a break for freedom.
Nicole pulled a sickie with her own job and volunteered to cover the shop for me, so at least it’s not closed after such a busy day on Saturday, because this seems like the place I’m meant to be today.
I probably could have had this conversation with Robert on the phone, but I thought if I turned up at the door of his flat and showed him the books I have in the bag by my feet, he might be more willing to tell me. Robert always was someone who thought things were better done in person and preferred real letters to emails, and face-to-face conversations rather than phone calls. And he did leave his fish behind. That’s as good an excuse as any.
I don’t know if it’s really any of my business or not, and what I probably should have done is given the book to Dimitri and let him make what he wants of it, but I feel like I started this and it has to be me who finishes it. And if I’m completely honest with myself, I’ll admit that a good fifty per cent of my reasons for taking this journey are because Robert must know a lot about Drake and Dimitri Farrer and I want to know if I can trust anything Dimitri said.
Six hours after getting on the train, after a bus ride to the station that started before it was even daylight, I finally stretch my back out in the tiny coastal train station. I put Heathcliff’s bowl down on a bench and sprinkle some fish food flakes in, gaining some curious looks from other passengers. I didn’t know what to bring for him. It’s not like taking a dog on a trip where you bring water, dog biscuits, a towel, and poo bags.
Robert left his address for mail forwarding and I thank my lucky stars that the train dro
ps me off within walking distance of his retirement home because I don’t think I can face any more trains or buses today. Well, apart from the ones home, because I’ve also got to get back today. I cannot expect Nicole to run the shop for another day.
I follow Google Maps on my phone – because if there’s one thing I am guaranteed to do in this situation, it’s get lost – and turn corner after corner of leafy coastal roads until I come to the right place.
One of the staff buzzes me in and directs me to his flat, giving Heathcliff a wary glance. Honestly, anyone would think it was weird to go travelling with a goldfish. When I finally knock on the door after a morning that feels like it’s lasted forever even though it’s barely lunchtime, the wild-haired old man who answers the door doesn’t look even vaguely surprised to see me. I phoned this morning and spoke to a member of staff to make sure Robert was up to visitors, and I assume they let him know I’d be coming.
‘Hallie!’ He greets me with the same beam he always used to greet me with when I went into the bookshop. ‘What took you so long? I thought you’d have figured it out ages ago.’
‘What? You know why I’m here?’
‘I know why you’re here.’ His eyes fall on the goldfish bowl in my arms. ‘I’m not quite sure why you’ve brought Heathcliff along, but I’m sure he appreciated the change of scenery.’
‘He appreciated the two Pomeranians we passed on the way.’
Robert laughs and steps aside to let me into his flat, going to put the kettle on without even asking.
When he’s made us a cuppa each, and retrieved the mandatory packet of biscuits, he invites me to sit in the garden. He excuses himself for a moment while I go outside and I’m sure I overhear a muffled conversation. Maybe I’m imagining it. Oh no, what if he had plans or something and now he thinks he’s got to cancel them because I’m here?
I put Heathcliff’s bowl under the shade of an open parasol above a wooden picnic table and take advantage of the sunshine and wander to the end of the enclosed communal garden to look out across the beach and breathe in the sea air. Robert wasn’t joking about his flat being right on the sand.
‘Did you have plans?’ I ask the moment he steps out the door. ‘I overheard you on the phone,’ I clarify when he gives me a confused look.
‘Oh, no, dear. Just checking on the progress of something.’ He settles himself on the bench with Heathcliff’s bowl on the picnic table beside him. ‘You found the notes then?’
‘Why are there so many of them?’ The question spills out of my mouth before I can ask him anything else.
‘Why do you think?’
I try to remember any of the things he’s said to me over the years, but the truth is I’ve known the answer from the very first note we found. ‘Because as a bookseller, you wanted to specialise in books that have meant something to someone. You wanted to pass on books that have been loved before.’
‘Stories are timeless. They spill through ages, times, genders, races, religions, nationalities. They unite us. With the world the way it is at the moment, they’re one of the only things we’ve got left that does. People are still reading books that were written hundreds of years ago. Children are still brought up with fairy tales that date back to centuries we can’t even imagine living in. That’s magic of a different kind.’
‘So you hunt out only books that have inscriptions in them? You left me the details of local car boot sales,’ I say because I can easily imagine him poring over boxes and boxes of books, painstakingly selecting only the ones that had words written inside them. Nothing was ever too much trouble for Robert when it came to books.
‘I have done recently. I’m a huge supporter of new books too, but rereading old favourites brings a special kind of nostalgia that only books can create. If you reread a book you loved as a child, it transports you back to that time and place in a way that nothing else can. It’s not the same as watching a film or revisiting a real place because it’s somewhere that exists only in your imagination. So in the past couple of years, as I’ve sold books, I’ve started replacing them with second-hand books that have obviously meant something to the previous owner.’
‘But not enough to keep them?’ I ask. Dimitri would be proud.
He shrugs. ‘I don’t think of it as being thrown away. I think of it more as being sent out into the world to find their next person. A bit like when a relationship ends. No matter how much you loved that person for however long you had them, you pick yourself up and go back out into the world to find the next person you might fall in love with, but no matter what, there will always be a part of the previous person with you. Books are like that. I think you take a part of every book with you when you’ve finished it, because for just a few hours, you’ve lived another life. You’ve experienced what the character has experienced, felt what they’ve felt, and loved who they’ve loved. I think the best thing you can do after reading a book like that is to share it.’
I’m once again reminded of how much I always liked Robert. ‘I’ve always thought that you share a special kind of connection when you meet someone who loves a book that you love …’
‘There was a reason your ticket came out of that hat, Hallie.’ Robert’s toothy beam spreads slowly across his face. ‘Books connect us in a world where a lot of connections are broken nowadays. They can help us, heal us, break us and put our broken pieces back together again. They can make us believe in magic. In love. In anything. That was my take on Once Upon A Page – that a book’s life is never over, no matter how many years pass.’
I love that. A rush of love for my little shop back in Buntingorden floods me. It’s always been a special place and I’m honoured to be in charge of it for the time being. And if I ever want to get back there, I’m going to have to ask what I came here to find out. ‘What about Della?’
‘Hallie, if you didn’t already know, you wouldn’t be here.’
We stare at each other for a long moment until he sighs. ‘How many books have you found?’
‘Three.’ I flip up the top of my shoulder bag, get them out, and go across to the bench to sit next to him, handing them over one at a time as his aged hands take them from me, running shaky fingers over each one like it’s something revered.
‘I never got the chance to write my second one.’ His watery eyes don’t move from the cover of Pride and Prejudice. ‘She was gone so quickly. One moment there, young, healthy, and happy. The next, I would never see her again.’
‘Why didn’t you ever tell him that you and Della were in love?’ I ask gently.
He knows who I’m talking about without me needing to say it. ‘It was private. She was gone and what we shared was the most special thing in my life. I didn’t want it picked apart by a grieving family. She wasn’t single when we started to fall for each other, and if I’d said anything, they would have worked it out. I didn’t want them to think badly of her.’
‘They knew she was unhappy. They wouldn’t have minded. Dimitri was happy when he found out. Glad she had something to live for. The love that she read about and wished for. The love she clearly didn’t get with their father.’
‘She had a hard life. She was married to a man who gave her about as much support as a blancmange. Dani’s condition was challenging, but she never ever complained. Reading was her escape. I’d always known her in passing, but she started coming in regularly when Dani was in remission and went back to school and things were normal for a while. We talked, of course. Discovered we liked a lot of the same things, the same books, the same food, the same activities. I was a little older than her, but age doesn’t come into it when you connect with someone on that level. She came in to buy books, then she started staying to read, and before long she’d come in and we’d just talk for hours in the afternoons before she had to pick Dani up. It became my favourite part of every day. We were in love before I knew it. Love was something I never thought would happen for me, but she blew in like a spring breeze and changed everything.’
I know that feeling.
My mind must wander, because when I blink myself back to reality, he’s staring at me with a sympathetic look on his wrinkled face.
‘Speaking of love,’ he starts. ‘You’ve obviously found out about our arrangement and come to get to the bottom of it …’
I shake my head. ‘The only thing I’ve found out is that Dimitri is the “s” in Farrer and Sons. I thought he was my friend … and more. So much more. But he’s been working for them all along, learning my weaknesses and reporting back so they can exploit them and swoop in to buy the shop when it fails miserably.’
Now it’s Robert’s turn to look confused. ‘Dimitri doesn’t work for Farrer and Sons. He doesn’t even like them. He has almost no contact with his father and as little as possible with his brother. He isn’t working for them, Hallie – he’s working for me.’
I open and close my mouth a few times before anything will come out. ‘What?’
‘I didn’t want you to be alone, but my health is failing and I couldn’t do another month or so there to show you the ropes. I knew I was throwing you in the deep end, but at the same time, I didn’t want to make you feel that I didn’t have faith in you. You were the perfect person to take over Once Upon A Page, but the only person who didn’t realise it was you. I wanted someone to be there for you, to support you, to help you if you needed it, without being heavy-handed enough to openly push a second manager or member of staff at you. Being a bookseller is a surprisingly lonely job sometimes, and you have no choice but to rely on yourself. You had to step outside of your comfort zone, but I wanted you to have a safety net – I just didn’t want you to think I thought you needed a safety net. Does that make sense?’
It takes me a while to untangle the sentence in my brain. ‘Kind of …’
‘He’d been playing around with illustrations from Pentamerone for a while. As a distraction after his sister’s death, a way of remembering a book she adored, a way of keeping himself busy … All of the above. He’d told me about the publishing deal he’d lost before, and I thought there’d be a gap in the market for a modernised Pentamerone, so I offered to pay him to sit there and finish the book he wanted to illustrate. He refused any money, of course, but he offered to help anyway. I knew he’d be the perfect person. That he’d keep to himself but he knew the shop well enough to answer any questions you had, and that he’d help if you needed it.’
The Little Bookshop of Love Stories Page 31
