Page 33 of The Mended Hearts Bookshop

Lucy pressed her finger to her plate, picking up the rest of the crumbs and slipping them into her mouth. “Alright,” she said after a minute or so. “A bath sounds nice.”

“SO, YOU’RE JUST going to let a stranger live in your flat?” George hissed.

“She’s not a stranger, her name’s Lucy,” said Pen. “And keep your voice down, she’ll be down any minute. She’s quite lovely, you’ll like her.”

“Most con artists are good at making people like them, it’s sort of a qualification for the job,” said George. He frowned in disapproval. “Pen, you can’t do this. You can’t just… help people like this.”

“Do you hear how ridiculous that sounds?” asked Pen. “Of course I can help people. The world would be a better place if we all helped people. Lucy’s a good person, a nice person, who’s had some bad luck. It could happen to any of us.”

“I don’t understand how you can be like this,” George said, but he was getting used to the idea, or becoming resigned to it, one or the other.

“I’d be a hypocrite if I weren’t like this,” Pen said, pushing over a mug of hot chocolate. “Don’t be cross with me, I hate it when you are.”

“I’m frustrated, not cross. Well, maybe a bit cross. I worry about you. And how would you be a hypocrite?”

“You’re the one always telling me that I always think everything will be alright, that I’m the eternal optimist. Well, I’d be a hypocrite if I thought that and then wasn’t part of the solution to actually make things alright, to make things better for other people, wouldn’t I?” Pen said reasonably.

George shook his head. “You’re one of a kind, Pen. I’m not at all sure that the world deserves you in any way.”

Pen’s phone buzzed and she picked it up, checking the notification and then punching the air in glee.

“What?” asked George, a mustache of chocolate on his top lip.

“This,” said Pen, handing him her phone and a napkin.

He scanned the email on the screen and grinned. “You know, sometimes things really do turn out alright, don’t they?”

“Do they?” asked Lucy. She was clean and shining, dressed in an old shirt of Pen’s and jogging pants that were far too big. “I’m Lucy, by the way.”

“George,” said George, not quite as warmly as Pen might have liked.

“So what’s turning out alright?” asked Lucy, coming behind the counter and regarding the coffee machine.

“Well, we want to buy the bookshop next door,” Pen explained. “I mean, the community does, as a project, and we’ve just heard that the council is getting a special grant for development and councilwoman Thurst, who you haven’t met but she’s lovely—”

George cleared his throat. “She’s a harridan,” he put in.

“She’s lovely,” Pen repeated, glaring at him. “Has just told me that the council will be accepting presentations for ideas on how best to use the grant money.”

“Which you want to use to buy the bookshop from that woman next door,” Lucy said uncertainly.

“Her name’s Ash and she’s also lovely,” said Pen.

Lucy didn’t look convinced. “What if the council says no?”

Pen shrugged and grinned. “Then we’ll have to come up with another plan, won’t we? Something will turn up.”

“This looks complicated,” Lucy said, still looking at the coffee machine.

“It’s not at all. I’ll teach you how to use it,” said Pen.

“How to use it?” George asked. “Um, why would you do that?”

“Because I work here now,” said Lucy.

George opened his mouth to object, but Pen jumped in just in time. “And given that today’s your afternoon off, you can be our test subject, right, George?”

“I came to pick you up to go to the pub,” grumbled George. “And why can’t you be the test subject for her terrible coffee?”

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