The Village Green Bookshop: A Feel-Good Escape for All Book Lovers from the Bestselling Author of The Telephone Box Library

by Rachael Lucas

  And then she decided to just go for it. Propelling herself forward, still holding his balled-up fist in one hand, she landed an open-mouthed kiss on his closed, rather stubbly and definitely resistant mouth. There was a split second when she wondered if he was going to part his lips – she held herself there, waiting, frozen in between one moment and the next, and then recoiled backwards.

  Phil laughed. ‘What on earth was that?’

  She plopped back on the sofa with a gentle thud. ‘It was affection, Phil.’ Her voice was crisp.

  ‘Well, obviously, but what inspired this sudden burst of passion?’

  And as if someone had pulled out a plug, all her feelings came rushing out. ‘We haven’t had sex in forever. We never kiss. There’s no physical affection between us. You don’t—’

  ‘I’ve been flat out at work and you’re wrapped up in sorting out the shop and making plans for a village bookshop. What d’you expect?’

  ‘It’s been longer than that.’ She exhaled, and sagged back onto the cushions. He was looking at her as if she was a little bit simple, and talking to her as if she was a very young child.

  ‘It really hasn’t. Look, you’re drunk, I’m tired, and I’ve got some work to check before I come up. Why don’t you go and warm the bed up, and I’ll be there before you know it. I’ll cuddle you to sleep and we can talk about this more in the morning.’

  She bit her lip. The sitting room wall was lined with cardboard boxes full of books she’d already packed. She’d promised to travel light, but going without her familiar friends had felt too hard. Right now she wanted to pick up a copy of John Donne’s poetry and comfort herself, but he was locked away somewhere in the depths of the pile.

  Phil was still standing there, looking at her as if she were a dementia patient or something. He held a hand out to help her up. ‘Go on, blossom, up you go.’

  She allowed herself to be pulled up to standing and headed for the door, feeling slightly more the worse for wear than before. Maybe red wine, white wine and champagne had been a bit much. ‘I’ll see you in a second,’ Phil said, patting her affectionately on the bottom as she left the room.

  She was asleep seconds after washing her face and brushing her teeth.

  The next morning, she woke – dry-mouthed and fuzzy-headed – to find the bed empty. Creeping downstairs – it was still early and she loved the peace of having the place to herself – she found Phil snoring on the sofa, sleeping laptop open on the coffee table beside him. He hadn’t made it to bed last night. A tiny, creeping sensation of unease passed over her, but she brushed it to one side. Once they got to the village, everything was going to be okay.

  Chapter Eleven

  The amazing thing, Hannah thought, was just how quickly everything seemed to slot into place. Never before had she experienced anything like it – normally life had so many bumps and twists and turns in the road that she’d become used to things taking twice as long as planned. Instead, the whole experience seemed blessed in some way. Beth and Lauren were so desperate to get away from the village that it was only going to be another week before the big move took place.

  She had one more trip to make, to sign some paperwork and meet the woman from the farm that supplied the post office with locally reared meat (‘You’ll love her, she’s hysterical!’ Beth had said, which somehow only filled Hannah with foreboding) – and then the next time she’d be there was when she was taking over. She felt a flurry of nerves at the speed of it all if she stopped to think about it for too long. But beneath that, there was the strangest feeling of certainty that she was doing the right thing.

  The next morning she headed down the M6 again. She’d done the journey so many times of late that it felt as if she was wearing tracks on the route between Salford and Little Maudley. Pulling off the motorway and into the increasingly familiar countryside, she felt her shoulders dropping and the tension easing as the roads grew narrower. The sun was high in a pale blue sky. Pausing at a temporary traffic light, she looked out of the window and saw a group of cows gathered under an oak tree, sheltering from a burst of unexpected Indian summer heat. The temperature guide on her dashboard said it was twenty-four degrees, and it was only half past eleven. It was definitely warmer down south. Maybe they’d all get tans from lying in the back garden next summer – maybe they’d even be able to use the inflatable swimming pool they’d bought three years ago when there was a two-week heatwave in the north of England. Although – a horn beeped, and she realized the lights had turned – back then Ben had been twelve, and she’d still been the centre of his universe. God, she hoped village life wouldn’t be too boring for him. But also, she really hoped it was boring enough that Ben could focus on his GCSEs or his football or something that didn’t involve coming home in a police van.

  When she reached the centre of the village and parked outside the post office, she saw that the green was abuzz with people hanging coloured bunting and setting up trestle tables.

  ‘Well, hello again!’ It was Helen Bromsgrove, de facto queen of the village. ‘I’ve heard all about your plans from Beth. I’m Helen – you probably remember that, of course.’ She was so self-assured. Hannah never expected anyone to remember who she was from one day to the next. ‘You must come round for drinks when you get settled. When is your husband joining you?’

  Beth appeared, waggling a finger. ‘Now then, Helen, stop trying to get all the gossip out of my cousin before she’s even settled in.’

  Another woman had entered the shop – plumpish, dark hair, expensively dressed in floral patterns that looked like Joules or Boden, which seemed to be a uniform down in the Cotswolds. She gave Helen a fleeting sideways glance with eyebrows raised, which Hannah clocked. The dark-haired woman flushed slightly and turned to busy herself with folding up some paper napkins and placing them beside pretty floral cups and saucers.

  ‘Come on,’ Beth said, giving the woman’s back a glare. ‘Let’s get you inside. I’ve found something you’ll love.’

  ‘What’s the story with that woman with the dark hair?’

  They went into the cottage kitchen and Beth poured two glasses of iced water, passing one to Hannah and taking a sip of her own. She looked at her cousin over the top of the glass, mouth pursed in thought.

  ‘Just one of those people who likes to be at the centre of everything. And of course Helen’s queen bee here in the village – chair of the PTA, on the WI committee, a parish councillor, all that sort of thing. Mina kind of tags along behind her, and she’s a bit of a cow.’

  Hannah stirred the ice in her drink with a finger thoughtfully. ‘I guess village life sort of magnifies all that stuff?’

  ‘It can do, yes. Little Maudley likes to present itself as a tight-knit community, but it’s like any group of people – there’s always loads of stuff going on behind the scenes. I end up hearing it all because I’m in the shop all day.’

  After they’d had a drink, Hannah took a walk around the village to see what was going on. There was a huge hand-painted sign hanging on the side of the village hall, proclaiming that the annual fête was taking place the next day. She bumped into the dark-haired woman again and smiled at her, but the woman’s answering smile was tight-lipped and she quickly scuttled off. In the car park of the village hall, an elderly woman with bright blue eyes was sitting on a bench watching proceedings. She had a shrewd, thoughtful expression, and she lifted her chin and sized up Hannah for a moment before she spoke.

  ‘Hello,’ she said.

  ‘Hello.’ Hannah smiled.

  ‘I gather you’re moving to the village.’

  ‘I am, yes.’

  ‘And you’re going to be taking over the shop.’

  Hannah’s eyes widened. This woman might look like a sweet old dear, but she was clearly very switched on.

  ‘I – yes?’

  ‘Such a strange habit, answering a question with a question. I blame those Australian soap operas.’

  Hannah, who had often pulled Ben up for
his upward inflection at the end of sentences, laughed. ‘Sorry. I think I’ve caught it from my son.’

  ‘So what brings you to this village in particular?’

  ‘I didn’t expect any of this to happen. It’s all been very sudden.’

  ‘The best things in life often are,’ said the woman, looking off into the middle distance for a moment. She was lost in thought for a while before she shook herself and extended a gnarled, liver-spotted hand in greeting. ‘I’m Bunty, by the way. How d’you do?’

  Hannah smiled. ‘I’m good, thank you.’ And in that moment, she realized that actually – she was. It was a strange feeling.

  Chapter Twelve

  She’d planned the first morning a million times in her head. She was going to have an early night, set the alarm for half five, get up and be ready bright and early for the newspaper deliveries. Beth had told her a million times that she didn’t need to do that – they were shoved into the secure porch, covered from the rain (not that they’d had any all week) – but she wanted to feel like she was doing the whole thing right.

  Of course, it didn’t exactly go to plan. Ben was up in the night with an upset stomach. The streetlight outside shone a glowing orange through the curtains which kept her half-awake, and then she woke at three – and four – and four thirty, just in case she slept through the alarm. Then the birds started yelling from the clematis that grew outside the bedroom window. When the alarm finally did blare through her brain she was in the heaviest of dead-limbed slumbers and waking felt like dragging herself through a sea of thick, oozing mud.

  Stopping to turn off Ben’s bedroom light – he had a terrible habit of falling asleep with it on – she staggered downstairs and put on the kettle, dragging a brush through her hair. Once she’d mainlined a huge mug of coffee, though, she started to feel more human. The village street was deserted save for a lone jogger who gave her a cheerful wave as he trotted past. She recognized him as David, husband of Helen, the village linchpin.

  ‘Morning,’ he said, stopping for a moment to catch his breath. ‘How’s it going? I gather Beth’s gone and you’re on your lonesome?’

  ‘First day nerves.’ Hannah made a face. ‘I’m just hoping it all goes okay.’

  ‘It’ll be fine. You’ve got Flo in the cafe if you get stuck, and no doubt Helen will be in later to see how it’s going.’

  Helen was a bit of a whirlwind, but Hannah quite liked her. And frankly, today she would be pleased to see any friendly face. It seemed like a terrifying prospect all of a sudden: Phil wasn’t there for backup, she felt like the butterflies in her stomach were wearing Doc Marten boots, and the reality of being responsible for everything without Beth to guide her suddenly seemed quite terrifying. She hadn’t worked full-time in – well, in years. And now, if she messed up, there was nobody to blame but herself. She swallowed hard and tried to take a deep breath. How hard could it be?

  ‘Morning, love,’ said a man pulling up with a white van. He jumped out and hefted a huge bundle of papers. ‘Didn’t get the personal treatment with Beth. This is nice.’ He winked.

  ‘I’m not sure you’ll be getting it with me every day.’ Hannah stopped a yawn with her hand. She headed inside as he pulled away, unwrapping all the newspapers and placing them carefully on their racks. Then she straightened the already straight piles of leaflets and flyers that stood by the front of the counter and looked around. Everything had been organized neatly by Freya, one of the sixth-form students who worked there after college. She’d done a brilliant job and left it looking absolutely impeccable. Hannah looked at the clock – it was only six. The shop didn’t officially open until eight. Maybe she could just lie down for a quick half-hour snooze and then she’d feel more human.

  ‘Mum?’

  Hannah could hear a distant voice. She pulled the pillow over her head and tried to burrow back into sleep.

  ‘Mum!’ The voice was more urgent now.

  ‘I’m sleeping. There’s lots of cereal in the kitchen cupboard.’

  ‘There isn’t, because we’ve only just moved and you haven’t done the shopping yet. But there’s lots of cereal on the shop shelves,’ Ben said meaningfully.

  ‘Oh shit.’ Hannah sat bolt upright.

  ‘Language,’ said Ben from her bedroom doorway, raising a sardonic eyebrow.

  ‘Sorry. Shit. What time is it?’ She grabbed for her phone, feeling sick with having just woken from a deep sleep and a sense of overwhelming nausea that she’d managed to screw things up before she’d even started.

  ‘Quarter to eight. I thought you said the shop opens at eight?’

  ‘It does.’

  ‘Didn’t you say you were going to be up super-early?’

  ‘I did.’ She pulled on a pair of cropped leggings and a long tunic vest, quickly tidied her hair and headed to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face. There was no time for the shower and pretty sundress and light-but-casual make-up she’d been planning. The villagers were going to have to take her as they found her. In this case, that would mean a bit scruffy and bleary round the edges.

  ‘Morning.’ An elderly woman was tying a terrier to the post outside as she unlocked the front door. It wasn’t even eight yet, but there were two people waiting. The woman and the teenage boy (who had thrown his bike carelessly against the wall) both made their way inside before she could even remark that the shop wasn’t officially open yet.

  ‘Can I just have this, please?’ The boy handed over a can of some sort of energy drink.

  ‘I’m afraid you can’t, no.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘You’re under sixteen. I can’t serve you energy drinks. It’s the rules.’ Beth had drilled it into her – and given her a crib list of all the teenagers in the village liable to come in and try their luck buying alcohol with fake IDs.

  ‘Fine,’ said the boy, rolling his eyes at her and giving a cheeky smile which suggested he’d only been chancing his luck with the new girl behind the desk. ‘I’ll swap it for a Diet Coke, then.’

  ‘Just these, please,’ said the woman, meanwhile. She placed a copy of the Daily Telegraph and a pint of milk on the counter. Hannah rang it up and handed back the change. And that was it – she was in business.

  There was a flurry of customers after the bread delivery – people came in and swooped down like locusts, clearing the baskets almost as soon as they were filled. She was under the counter looking for a replacement till roll when she heard someone clearing their throat.

  ‘I guess I’m too late for the famous sourdough,’ the voice said. It was faintly northern and vaguely familiar. She stood up. Standing opposite her, sunglasses pushed back in his dark hair, which stood up in slightly untidy spikes, was Jake, the handsome footballer. She felt her knees give a disobedient wobble.

  ‘I’ll save you one next time, if you ask nicely.’ He was so far out of her – married, in any case – league that it actually felt quite safe to be vaguely flirtatious.

  He gave her a crooked half-smile. ‘Special treatment?’ He lifted one of the wonkily cut, colourful flyers announcing that Little Maudley Junior FC was seeking a new coach.

  ‘Call it a thank you for saving me from losing my eggs the other week.’ She looked down at the leaflet. ‘Are you considering a new career?’

  ‘Funny you should say that. I was about to say that these are out of date now, so you can chuck them in the recycling.’

  ‘Really?’ She took them from him and absent-mindedly placed them back down on the counter.

  ‘Yep. You’re looking at the new coach.’

  She recoiled slightly, snorting a giggle. Since they’d bumped into him, Ben had done nothing but go on and on about how amazing it was to discover The Actual Jake Lovatt living in the same village. ‘Isn’t that a bit . . . beneath you?’

  He looked at her directly with his strange, green-blue eyes. ‘There’s no such thing.’

  She flushed. ‘Sorry, it’s just – I mean—’

 
Jake laughed. ‘Yeah, I know. I’m at a loose end, though – and grassroots is where I started, so it feels like a good thing to give something back.’

  ‘My son – Ben – he’s obsessed with football. He’s hoping to join the team.’

  ‘We’ve got a trial tomorrow. Bring him along.’

  ‘What time tomorrow?’

  ‘Half eleven on the playing field. We’ll be there for an hour and a half. Come and say hello if you’re passing.’

  ‘Ben might die of horror. I’ve gone from the person he wants there cheering him on at every match to the most embarrassing mother on the planet.’

  ‘I bet he can’t wait to tell you if he scores, though, right?’

  She nodded, smiling. The games she didn’t watch, he always rushed in the door to give her a blow-by-blow account of what happened.

  ‘Thought as much. All right, tell him to be there ten minutes early so I can fill in the paperwork. And remind him to bring his shin pads, or he won’t be able to play.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Ah, hello!’

  They both jumped as Helen Bromsgrove bustled into the shop. Catching sight of Jake, she put an automatic hand to her smooth blonde hair. Hannah felt even scruffier by comparison, remembering her lack of make-up and untidy tangle of curls.

  ‘It’s lovely that I’ve bumped into you, Jake – have been meaning to ask if you’d like to pop round for dinner one night.’ Hannah watched as Jake’s eyes flickered from left to right, like a cornered animal looking for escape. ‘David and I would love to introduce you to some of the locals, and of course there’s so much you could get involved with, village-wise. Would be very quiet, just a few chosen guests. Shall I give you my card? Or perhaps you could pop your number in my phone?’ She started fishing in her handbag, and Jake took the opportunity to make his escape.