‘So what should you be doing?’
‘Nothing much,’ Hannah said, thinking of the boxes Phil had dropped off that still had to be unpacked. In them were all her books – or all her favourites, at least. She felt a bit sick then, realizing that at some point they were going to have to divide up everything they owned. Things like that made it all feel very real. She decided to block it out and just forget about it for the day – it couldn’t be that hard to do, surely?
Moreton-in-Marsh was a gorgeous little village crammed with the sort of shops you could spend hours in. They wandered around, looking at expensive kitchen equipment and gorgeous hand-painted fabrics and watching a busload of tourists unloading, cameras around their necks.
‘Let’s go for lunch before they all descend, shall we?’
They’d stopped outside a quaint little restaurant with gingham checked tablecloths and pretty, mismatched old-fashioned tables and chairs. Nicola pointed to the menu.
‘This place looks gorgeous.’
‘Go on, then. We can do the bookshop afterwards when we’re stuffed full of cake.’
‘Exactly.’
They sat waiting at the table. The cafe was already busy. A group of fifteen tourists had followed them in and were now busily trying to rearrange the tables and chairs so they could all sit together.
‘Can I get you a menu?’ The woman running things looked more than a little harassed. She passed them a menu and said she’d be right back to take their order.
‘So what made you want to come and look at the community bookshop?’ Nicola traced a finger down the menu. ‘Ooh, Welsh rarebit and salad.’
‘I’m going to have the brie and red onion panini.’ Hannah was desperate for a glass of water or some orange juice. ‘And probably about a gallon of fluids.’ She took the menu from Nicola, who was checking her phone and scrolling through emails.
‘Oh God,’ Nicola said, looking up and nodding slowly in realization. ‘Are you feeling delicate after last night?’
‘Just a little.’ Hannah cringed. ‘I pretty much had a glass of everything on offer. Or more than one.’
‘And what did your husband think of Helen and the other guests?’
‘Um.’ She looked down at the gingham tablecloth. ‘Well, he didn’t come, actually.’
‘Oh no,’ said Nicola, her sweet, open face a picture of concern. ‘Is he okay? Nothing happened, did it?’
‘He’s fine,’ Hannah began. The woman came back with a notepad and pen and took their orders. ‘He’s fine. We just . . . well, we sort of split up last night. Not so much of the sort of. I mean, we did.’
‘Oh my God,’ said Nicola, putting a hand over Hannah’s. ‘Are you okay?’
Hannah nodded. ‘I think so.’
Nicola squeezed her hand tighter and Hannah realized that her eyes were brimming with tears.
‘Oh God, are you okay?’
‘I’m fine.’ Nicola shook her head, dabbing her eyes with a paper napkin and laughing at herself. ‘I’m just – I dunno, I swear it’s all these different herbal remedies I’m taking to try and get pregnant. I think they’ve turned me into someone with permanent PMT. I can’t stop weeping at those adverts on TV for homeless dogs and lions who just need five pounds a month.’
Hannah giggled. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t laugh.’
‘I know, but it is bonkers. Enough about me, though. How are you feeling? Do you want to talk about it, or would you rather we changed the subject?’ Nicola shifted in her chair to allow a tattooed, studenty-looking boy to set down their drinks and cutlery.
‘Food won’t be long,’ said the youth as he turned away. He flicked a tea towel over his shoulder as he took orders from the table next to theirs. It was surprisingly crowded despite the time of year – but through working in the shop, Hannah was learning that the Cotswolds had a steady flow of tourists all year round.
‘Those ear things are so weird,’ Nicola said under her voice. ‘Can you imagine what happens when he takes them out?’
‘I didn’t notice,’ Hannah said, taking a sip of deliciously cool local cider.
‘He’s got those ring things, so his earlobes are all stretched in huge circles. They always make me imagine taking them out at night and having big dangly spaces.’ She shuddered.
Hannah shook her head. ‘I have a rule that I don’t get stressed out about stuff like that because as soon as I do, it’s more than likely Ben’s going to end up with it. Or a tattoo of a spider on his face, or something.’
‘Ben?’ Nicola shook her head. ‘He wouldn’t do that.’
‘He might,’ Hannah said, crossing her fingers without thinking. ‘I hope not, though. The good thing about him getting so serious about football is, right now it’s taking up all the space in his brain that was previously being used for mischief. He isn’t even getting into trouble at school.’ She paused. ‘Anyway – weirdly, I think I’m okay. I know it might sound strange, but I think I realized as soon as I woke up that maybe it’s been coming for a while. You know when one of you needs to say something, but nobody does?’
Nicola nodded. ‘Yes, I know exactly what you mean.’
‘Well, that’s where I think we were for a long time. I mean, you can quote me on that when I’ve drunk a bottle of red this evening and watched The Notebook and I’m weeping at the thought of being alone forever, obviously.’
‘I will.’ Nicola laughed again. ‘Right, so let’s talk about something else. Something practical. You need something to take your mind off everything, and so do I. I swear if I spend another day obsessing over where I am in my cycle, I’m going to go bananas.’
‘Okay. So let’s think about the bookshop. I’ve got a notebook in my bag . . .’ Hannah reached down and pulled it out, along with a pen. ‘Let’s make some plans.’
‘And we can size up the opposition after we’ve eaten.’
‘Exactly.’
They ended up sitting chatting for an hour and a half – long after the huge tourist group had left and the owner had returned all the tables to their rightful places. Stuffed full of cake and delicious flat white coffees, they left a tip and headed down the main street to the bookshop.
They paused outside to admire the window display. Like theirs, it was a community shop, with the focus on second-hand books.
‘But they’ve got gorgeous stationery and paintings and things as well, look.’
‘We could sell stationery.’
‘If we sell stationery, I’ll end up bankrupting myself buying it all,’ said Hannah, laughing. ‘It’s my only vice. Well, that and wine. And chocolate.’
‘Crisps?’
‘Mmm.’ Hannah pushed open the door. ‘Them too. Living beside the shop is a blessing and a curse.’
Inside, the little shop had been designed so that every single inch of space was used well. On the wall behind the counter was a sign announcing the monthly book group, and a children’s story time every Thursday.
‘Oh, I would love to do that,’ sighed Nicola.
‘You could. As we’ve said, I bet Flo would love it if you did it in the cafe. She doesn’t open until eleven three days a week, so you could just do it in there and clear up afterwards. And I spoke to Bunty the other day about having a book group in the village. I think it would be amazing.’
‘I do too.’
Hannah ran a hand along the spines of the classics shelf. They’d clearly decided that the villagers of Moreton-in-Marsh were likely to enjoy Dickens and Wilkie Collins – she still wasn’t sure if Little Maudley’s residents would. This bookshop had quite a bit more room, though, while the Village Green Bookshop (as she’d taken to calling it, in her head) would be a much more bijou affair, with shelf space at a premium.
‘I used to be in a book group in Suffolk, where we lived before. Well, I say book group, it was more like a wine group,’ admitted Nicola.
‘Yeah, I was in one when we lived in Scotland. It was much the same. It got to the point where nobody would read the book and we
’d all just get together and gossip. But I’d really like the chance to sit down and talk about books.’
‘Me too.’
Hannah looked up at the wall to scrutinize the neatly calligraphed sign informing shoppers about the Moreton Monthly Book Club.
‘Share your love of books with like-minded readers,’ Hannah read.
‘Interested in joining us?’ A man emerged from behind a shelf. He looked as much like a bookshop manager as you could possibly imagine: white hair, a battered tweed coat with leather patches at the arms and a woollen pullover atop a checked brown-and-white shirt.
‘We meet once a month. It’s lots of fun.’
‘Actually, we’re from Little Maudley,’ Nicola said confidently. ‘We’re just getting some ideas for our bookshop – it hasn’t been running long.’
‘A book group is the perfect answer,’ he said earnestly. ‘Everyone has a book to read, and it gives them something to aim for. Then we sit down and have a good chat about what we liked or didn’t, and discuss the literary content. It’s very intellectually stimulating.’
Nicola sneaked a sideways glance at Hannah. He was charming and incredibly intense, but very sweet.
‘It sounds very – challenging.’
‘It is. Rigorous.’
Moments later, having left the shop, they turned to each other, laughing.
‘Rigorous,’ Hannah said, raising an eyebrow.
‘Stimulating.’
‘I’m not sure I’m looking for either of those,’ confessed Hannah. ‘I just thought it might be nice to have a chat about books with some people who aren’t my teenage son, because right now all I seem to do is work or try and elicit more than monosyllables from him.’
They started walking back along the high street and paused beside an old-fashioned cart selling coffees, cakes, and ice creams.
‘Shall we?’ Hannah looked at the rainbow of flavours on offer.
‘Yes. Definitely.’
They ordered, then headed back towards the car park, ice creams in hand.
‘I read a lovely book once, called The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. Have you read it?’ Nicola chased a trickle of melting strawberry ice cream down the cone with her tongue. ‘These are gorgeous, aren’t they? Even if it’s not exactly ice-cream weather.’
Hannah shook her head. ‘I haven’t, no. My friend Katie loved it. There’s a film of it, isn’t there?’
‘Yes – haven’t seen it but I don’t think it’s supposed to be as good as the book. Things never are. Anyway, they have a book group in it of sorts, but they don’t read a specific text; they just gather once a month to talk about what they’ve been reading and why they love it. Or something like that. It’s ages since I read it.’
‘That sounds like a lovely idea,’ Hannah mused. If they did that, there wouldn’t be such pressure for everyone to get on board with reading the same book, which had always been the problem in the past when she’d been to these kind of evenings. ‘Maybe we should do something like that.’
‘I think maybe we should,’ Hannah agreed. Hanging out with a collection of book lovers was her idea of heaven. It definitely gave her something more positive to think about than the prospect of telling Ben about the split, which was nagging away at the back of her mind. Somehow, she suspected he wouldn’t actually be that surprised, but – well, she’d have to deal with it when she got back.
Chapter Twenty
Jake was happy to see that Sarah was finding her feet a bit more in recent weeks. She’d taken up his offer of a drive through to Oxford and had spent a whole day pottering around the shops, drinking coffee and – after feeling reticent at first – spending the money he’d given her. She’d arrived with nothing and he’d opened a bank account in her name, depositing a large amount of money and telling her it was the least he could do. She’d replaced the ill-fitting outfits he’d bought her from the shop in Bletchingham with some clothes of her own choice – still simple, plain and clearly designed to make her blend in rather than stand out. But she’d begun to flourish, and it was making him happy.
He’d offered her the chance to come and help out at football training, but something about that had seemed too exposing to her. Instead she seemed quite content walking the dogs in the fields and round the woods, relaxing and watching Netflix, and cooking vast three-course meals for them both to eat. He patted his stomach absently – it was definitely slightly less concave than it had been. Maybe that wasn’t a bad thing, though. Sarah had filled out and looked much less haunted and hollow-cheeked.
He checked his watch. He was giving the lads an extra midweek training session because they had a big game coming up with Melissa Harrington’s Ridgeway Grammar team. If he didn’t get a move on, they’d all be down on the all-weather pitch before he got there.
‘I’ll see you later, okay?’ he called to Sarah, who was making vegetable soup in the kitchen.
‘See you,’ she said, then carried on singing along to the radio.
He threw his water bottle onto the passenger seat and climbed into the car. Because they’d stopped training on the grass pitch – the full week of rain they’d recently had was the final straw – and were instead using the all-weather pitch at the school in Bletchingham, he was doing a run round the village to collect the boys who weren’t able to make their own way into town.
His first stop was The Old Post Office. He hadn’t seen Hannah since the night of Helen’s dinner, but hadn’t stopped wondering how she was getting on. She’d clearly had something on her mind that night.
He parked outside and decided to go into the shop, knowing perfectly well that if he’d waited, Ben would have been outside in moments. But he told himself that he needed to pick up some drinks for half time, and crossed his fingers hoping that when he walked in Hannah would be there.
His luck was in – she was standing just inside the doorway, hands on her hips, her face flushed and wreathed in smiles. She looked fresh-faced and very pretty.
‘Oh, hello!’ She smiled a welcome. ‘Perfect timing. Look at our finished handiwork.’
She waved a hand in the direction of the little bookshop alcove. Above the archway, the words ‘The Village Green Bookshop’ had been spray-painted, surrounded by stacks of stylized books, a bright-red image of the telephone box library, the date, and a graffiti tag.
‘Ben did it. What d’you think?’
‘It’s very cool.’
Ben, who was standing by the bookshelves, looked quietly pleased with himself.
‘You ready?’ Jake asked him.
‘Yeah.’
‘Go and wait in the car, then.’ He tossed the keys over. ‘I’ll just be a sec. Got to get you lot some drinks.’
Ben looked at the keys to the Range Rover reverently.
‘They’re for opening it, not nicking it and going boy racing round the village lanes, I should add.’
Hannah snorted with amusement. ‘He wouldn’t dare. He’s been in trouble at school this week already, so he’s on a warning, aren’t you, my angel?’
Ben rolled his eyes as he left. ‘It wasn’t my fault.’
‘What’s going on?’ Jake asked her as he gathered bottles of sports drink and put them on the counter.
‘Oh, God.’ Hannah shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I honestly thought moving down here was going to be the end of all the nonsense, but he bunked off for the second part of the afternoon with a couple of boys from his class. I don’t know if I can deal with it all right now, along with everything else that’s going on.’
He looked at her, head to one side slightly. ‘Everything else?’
‘Oh, just –’ She paused for a moment, hand on the till. ‘You know. Life stuff. Getting this place sorted. Sometimes doing it all on your own is exhausting.’
‘I can imagine it’s hard.’ His heart went out to her. He’d love to invite her round for dinner, have a chance to chat to her with nobody else there – watch her just relax and unwind from all the stress.
‘Anyway,’ she said, brightening, ‘We’ve got the shop sorted, and I’m sure it’s just a blip.’
‘Hopefully.’ He put the groceries in a bag. ‘D’you want me to have a word?’
‘Would you?’
‘Course.’
‘He listens to you. The thing is, I can do so much, but sometimes being the only parent who’s actually around . . . Well, I feel like it goes in one ear and out the other.’
‘Yep, I get it.’ Ben wasn’t a bad lad, but he needed someone to give him a kick up the backside and remind him to stop messing about.
‘I’d really appreciate it.’ She looked directly at him for a moment, her hazel eyes meeting his.
He felt an irrational urge to reach across and cup her face in his hands, smooth the frown from her forehead and tell her she’d be okay. He shook his head slightly and stepped back.
‘Leave it with me. I’ll just point out to him that if he wants to get anywhere in football, he needs to keep his nose clean.’
‘Thanks, Jake.’
‘No problem.’ He picked up the bag and turned to leave – then caught a glimpse of the poster on the wall by the door. ‘What’s this?’
‘Oh.’ Hannah looked uncomfortable. ‘It’s my brainwave. Or maybe brain fart, I don’t know. I suspect nobody’ll turn up.’
‘A book group? Of course they will.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Can I come along?’ He waited for the inevitable expression of surprise.
‘To a book group?’
‘Believe it or not, I can read.’
She went slightly pink. ‘Of course you can.’
‘But you weren’t expecting me to be a reader, right?’
‘Umm,’ she teased. ‘Well, it’s not really – well, there aren’t that many footballers who are judging the Booker Prize in their spare time, are there?’
‘I might be the first.’
‘You might.’
‘So is that a yes, then? Am I allowed to come along, or will I lower the tone?’
Hannah laughed. ‘Of course. At least there’ll be two of us there.’
‘That might be quite nice,’ he said, almost without thinking. She caught his eye again and for a brief moment there was a strange, electric silence. He felt his heart banging in his chest. ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘I’d better get these lads off to training.’
The Village Green Bookshop: A Feel-Good Escape for All Book Lovers from the Bestselling Author of The Telephone Box Library Page 16
