‘Ah, the shop…’ More treacle.
‘Quite a commute.’
‘Hell of a commute.’
‘Which is where you come in, flower.’ Malcolm had turned to me then, in something more like his normal voice. ‘Ludo wants to sell up too. He's going back to journalism.’
‘Is he?’ I'd flushed at his name.
‘Oh, yes, didn't you know? He's going back to be our fearless, war-torn reporter in Afghani… Isbeki… somewhere, again. Says he's stultified his mind for too long. Needs to get back to where the action is. He went back to London last week.’
‘Oh.’ I felt a pang. Of regret, I suppose; but I was pleased for him too.
‘It's the right thing for him,’ I told Malcolm.
‘Of course it is. He was wasted here. But the shop, dear heart…’
*
The shop. I moved around it now, feeling strangely weightless as I skirted groups of people, as if I was moving clear of the ground. The place had filled up quickly and everyone was chatting and laughing, exclaiming as they recognized old friends. I looked beyond them to the gleaming spines I'd lined up yet again this morning, making sure they were all neatly aligned, and a fastidious inch from the edge of the shelves, which I'd also had painted the same very pale blue of the walls. I nervously rearranged the flowers in the corner on the table, fanning out the sweet peas, then moved on to smooth the cream calico of the sofa and armchairs I'd had re-covered as I passed. Surely all bookshops didn't have to be dark green with leather chairs? Up above, spot lighting, which I'd put in to make it brighter, twinkled down like so many tiny stars, and underfoot the prohibitively expensive limestone flooring – I'd almost shut my eyes as I'd written out the cheque – felt smooth and cool. Restful. All of which had been paid for with Dad's money, of course. Would he have approved? I gazed round. I think so. The money wasn't going to support the farm any more, but it was going to support a family business, and that, I believe, would have pleased him. Oh, it could have gone straight into the bottomless pit of renovating the farmhouse, could have been poured effortlessly into the roof, for instance, or the dry rot, but Ant had said no. Use it for something definitive, something to remember him by: something for you. Use it to take out a mortgage on the shop. My shop.
‘What d'you think?’ I asked him now as he approached, even though he'd seen it dozens of times in its new incarnation. Even though he'd had to approve every colour swatch, enthuse about every lick of paint.
‘Terrific.’ He smiled down at me. ‘You're terrific.’ He bent his head to kiss me, and at that moment the door opened again, and Ludo walked in, together with Alice and her husband, Angus, and a very beautiful Asian girl.
‘Ludo!’ Ant and I said simultaneously and perhaps overenthusiastically, springing apart like deflecting magnets. He and Ant lunged to shake hands, again, somewhat over-heartily, and then Ludo and I pecked cheeks as if we were encountering molten metal.
‘Hi.’ He stepped back smartly as I did too. ‘This is fantastic.’ He gazed around. ‘You've done a very good job.’
‘You think?’ I wasn't really listening: I was looking at the fashionably crumpled linen jacket, the crazy red and white print shirt, which had replaced the enormous tweed overcoat and the loosened collar and tie.
‘For sure. It's taken it out of the last century and brought it hurtling into this one. I always thought we were a bit nineties in here, but I couldn't work out why.’ He saw me clocking the new wardrobe. ‘Oh. Sunita bought me these.’ He grinned, that lovely old tigerish smile that made his eyes crinkle at the edges and all but disappear, and then with a deft arm around her waist, drew the dusky beauty into the circle. Her hair hung like a long sheet of mahogany silk, her cheekbones were high, and when she smiled, her eyes and teeth dazzled.
‘Sunita – Evie,’ Ludo said. ‘Sunita wanted to bring me out of the last century too.’
I laughed. ‘About time too. It's lovely to meet you, Sunita.’
‘It was nice of you to invite me,’ she said with a secret smile, and I knew, in an instant, she knew. Had been told, maybe in bed last night, or maybe in the car on the way down; Alice perhaps leaning forward from the back seat to divulge more information: I once had a crush on this girl. Might he have said she brought me back to life? No. But Alice might have done. And I caught a glimpse of surprise in Sunita's eyes now. Girl? Woman, surely. Ah, but you see, Sunita, I thought, excusing myself politely and moving on, you don't have to be a spring chicken to make hearts beat faster. It helps, of course, but it's not mandatory.
I moved on around the room: being the party-giver and the jug-bearer gave me a delicious freedom and I greeted my guests here, accepted compliments there, exclaiming at people I hadn't seen for ages, revelling in being amongst friends, family, on this, my opening night; a blissfully balmy, late summer's evening. I spied Ted, talking to Stacey in the bay window, and went to say hello.
‘You're sweet to come all this way,’ I said, pouring him a drink.
He knocked it back in one. ‘Don't be soft, I wouldn't have missed it for the world. Blimey, what's this, luv, horse piss? Got any beer?’
I laughed. ‘No, and you can blame me and your granddaughter for that. We didn't think we'd need it.’
‘Granddad, it's Pimm's. You'll love it!’ Stacey was indignant.
He made a face. ‘I might like it better without the fruit salad. Get us one without the gubbins in it, eh, luv?’ He handed her his glass and Stacey, raising her eyes to the heavens, went off to oblige.
‘What an occasion, though, luv.’ He rubbed his hands together excitedly. ‘The girls are thrilled to bits!’
I laughed. ‘I know. I think they regard it as their own private bookshop. They're always in here borrowing, and I haven't even opened.’
‘Ah, but you've encouraged that, haven't you?’ He jerked his head meaningfully outside and gave me a conspiratorial wink.
‘I have,’ I admitted. ‘Couldn't resist it.’
‘Course you couldn't, and who can blame you? But you must get them to work for it too. Get them behind the till of a Saturday. Teach them you don't get owt for nowt.’
‘Oh, don't worry, they've already booked their slots. And they want more than the minimum wage too.’
‘I bet they bloomin' do!’ boomed Terrific Ted, his face, I noticed, already the colour of the spotty red hanky he'd rather roguishly tucked in the top pocket of what looked like a new and dashing tweed jacket.
‘Aye, luv, you've done a grand job here. And look at all the support you've got.’ His eyes roved around, marvelling at what was now, indeed, quite a crush. ‘If all these people buy their books here, you're quids in. You've got a heap of customers already!’
‘Well, let's hope they do,’ I said nervously. ‘I'm rather counting on people's loyalty to their small, quirky, local bookshop, so handily located round the corner. Can't compete with the chains any other way.’
‘Aye, well, as that lovely lady over there was saying earlier, that's the charm o' the place.’ He nodded across the room. ‘Its quirkiness.’
‘That's my mum,’ I said in surprise. ‘Weren't you introduced?’
‘Not properly, like. I just muscled in the chatter, then someone else nabbed her. Your mum, eh?’ He looked in surprise: from me, back to her. ‘Oh, aye, I can see it now. Same smile. Same generous spirit too, I'll warrant.’
‘Oh, no, Ted, she's much nicer than me. Come and meet her properly.’
I led him across the room and introduced them. Yes, Mum did indeed look rather lovely, I thought, as I left them chatting. The girls had persuaded her to cut off her ponytail and have her hair done properly, with a few highlights, which had been a huge improvement; made her look years younger. In fact, everyone looked lovely this evening, I decided. Anna and Stacey were with their cousins behind the bar – or trestle table – where they clearly thought their duty lay, laughing at Henry, who was throwing Hula Hoops up in the air and trying to catch them in his mouth, missing every time: the boys look
ing gangly and adorable, smart shirts hanging out over pale chinos, the girls, very grown up in short skirts, huge belts and make-up; Phoebe too. She saw me looking and smiled across. Then, after a moment's hesitation, she peeled off from the others; came over and plucked at my sleeve.
‘Um, Evie?’
‘Yes, darling?’ I glanced around distractedly. Should I serve the sausages now, I wondered. Surely everyone was pretty much here?
‘You know you said to Mum that one day Jack or Henry could buy the farm back from you?’
I turned to look at her properly.
‘Yes?’
‘Would you say the same to me?’ Her colour rose up her neck. ‘If one day I wanted to, would you give me first refusal too?’
I put my jug down. ‘Phoebe Milligan.’ I put my arms round her and hugged her tight. ‘With the greatest pleasure.’ I whispered in her ear. ‘The very greatest pleasure. Don't you worry, Phoebe, that place has got your name on it, should you ever want it.’
‘Thank you.’ She beamed at me. ‘It's just, I thought I might go to Cirencester after school. You know, agricultural college. Learn how to do it properly. And, who knows, one day…’
‘Who knows indeed,’ I said warmly. ‘But I tell you what, Phoebe, in case you change your mind, I wouldn't let on to Mum yet. She'll be so thrilled you'll never hear the last of it, and then you really will have to have it.’
She laughed, and then slid back to join the gang behind the trestle table; still a bit flushed, and just briefly catching my eye again as she picked up her drink, secretly delighted.
It was warm in the room, and I threaded my way through the noisy, baying throng to the front to open a window. I propped open the double doors too, hooking them both back on the wall, then wandered outside. The sausages could wait a minute. I wanted to see something first. Out on the pavement, a few people had overflowed to stand with their drinks, one or two smokers amongst them, laughing and chatting, blowing their smoke in thin blue lines up into the dusty sky. They smiled and raised their glasses when they saw me.
‘Cheers! Well done!’
I smiled and raised my glass back. ‘Thanks.’
But I didn't stop. I wanted to cross the street; to be at a vantage point where I could look back and see it all properly. I strayed across to the other side of the road, weaving around a lone cyclist. The tourists were leaving now, and with the students yet to arrive, there was an exhausted feel to the city: a brief hiatus. The distant hum of traffic from the city centre was audible, and the subtle September breeze, warmed by its journey across hot pavements, scented by various bars and restaurants, filled my senses. As I turned on the opposite pavement to look back at the shop, my heart contracted a moment, then kicked in.
Brightly lit and buzzing, juxtaposed by its darkened, quiet neighbours, it looked quite the place to be this Friday night: quite the party of the moment. In fact, it verily hummed. Voices sang into the night, and now and again, the occasional shout of laughter broke out like a spark from a fire, cracking right down the street to the Bodleian Head, or up into the skyline of treacle-coloured Cotswold stone. My eyes roved critically over the shop front. Two shop fronts originally, of course, one Malcolm's and one Ludo's, with separate entrances, but now seamlessly merged by a set of double French doors. All the panelling, the woodwork, some of it carved and intricate, especially around the bay windows, had been painted off-white, the detail picked out in the same duck-egg blue as the interior. Quite a lot of discussion had gone into that blue. Quite a lot of colour charts spread on the kitchen table with plenty of opinionated teenage voices. The doorframes had been painted off-white too, and either side of them, on the pavement, sat two lemon trees in round, leaded pots.
‘They'll get nicked,’ Malcolm had warned, the moment he saw them.
‘I'll bring them in at night.’ I'd retorted.
‘You'll get lazy, you'll leave them, they'll get nicked,’ he'd repeated.
‘We'll see,’ I'd smiled, and he had too, at my enthusiasm. Naivety, perhaps.
Behind the lemon trees the window displays continued what I felt to be a vaguely Tuscan theme: in each of the bays was a long, rather beautiful, bleached oak refectory table, a matching pair I'd found at a local auction and snapped up in triumph. Both were covered in books: some were propped up, some just lying flat, some in piles, and one or two were open as if still being read. On one table, atop a tome about Impressionist painters, was a Panama hat – I know, I know – and on the other, a large ceramic bowl of china oranges. Malcolm had smiled at these last two, muttering something about a cuddly toy, and then about dust, but I hadn't been able to resist. My eye travelled up now above the windows, to something that, as Ted had so rightly observed earlier, I hadn't been able to resist either. Across the hoarding, in pale lemon scroll – another colour that had been the subject of hot debate amongst the females of the family – the name of the shop had been picked out in bold, swirling letters:
Hamilton and Daughters
I smiled. Raised my glass. ‘Here's to us,’ I said softly, into the night.
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
The Secret Life of Evie Hamilton
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
The Secret Life of Evie Hamilton Page 42
