Page 5 of The Bookshop at the Cornish Cove

‘I’d rather not but they’ve all been laundered.’

‘Still.’ She shuddered. ‘Not for me.’

‘But you know that the environment would be?—’

‘Coffee, darling?’

I sighed knowing that she was interrupting me to shut me up. She had a tendency to do this when I wittered on about how we could all do our little bit to help the world be a more environmentally friendly place.

‘Yes, please, Mum.’

It wasn’t that she wasn’t interested in yet another lecture from me about recycling and sustainability, it was more that she’d heard it all before. Many times. I placed the bookmark I’d been holding inside my book to keep my page and closed it, before moving over to the other side of the room and tucking it under the counter. Clem, a handyman from the village, had designed the shop so that everything that could, faced the window, so we were making the most of the spectacular view. Both the counter and the bookshelves had been made from reclaimed timber because he knew how important recycling was to me and I’d been delighted when he showed me his plans and even more enamoured when they were put into place. His partner Meredith had a real eye for interior design and gave me some fabulous advice about decor and upholstery and I don’tmind admitting I had a little cry when I saw it all come together. We’d made sure we’d chosen environmentally friendly paints for the walls and the chairs had been re-covered in material made from recyclable plastic. It really was quite amazing what you could get hold of these days, if you shopped around.

I stood behind the counter now and just had a little moment where I thanked my lucky stars, and my Aunty Theresa, proud as punch of my little empire.

On the shelving unit to the left of the counter there was a display of candles and I took a moment or two to choose one which I felt was suitable for the day ahead.

Mum brought two steaming mugs through and smiled at me.

‘You could just choose the first one you look at, you know.’

‘I could, but where’s the fun in that?’

‘You do make me smile. I was watching you from the kitchen. Turning them over to read the names, then having a sniff. Some go back on the shelf and some make it to the next round before you go through it all over again. You’re such a creature of habit, my little cherub.’

‘If I must put up with the smell all day, it needs to be something I like. Couldn’t bear it if it was something awful that stinks out the whole shop.’

‘What’s today’s stink of choice then?’

‘Pumpkin spice. Here you go.’ She sniffed the one I passed her and wrinkled her nose.

‘Nice. Shall I go and turn the sign round then?’

‘No, you’re OK, Mum, thanks. I’ll do it.’

Turning the sign round on my very own bookshop, from closed to open, and putting the door on the latch, was one of my favourite times of the day.

4

Five minutes later the bell above the door chimed and Karl the postman appeared. Lovely man, like me born and bred in Driftwood Cove and always cheerful with a beaming smile when he was out and about.

‘Just a few for you today, Nancy.’ He handed over four letters, a couple of them in brown envelopes and both looked quite official. I thanked him but I wasn’t in the mood to open them. Yesterday my latest bank statement had arrived and it was quite depressing to see all the withdrawals and hardly any credits. I knew that you had to speculate to accumulate but I was getting worried at the way business had slowed now the summer trade had died down. I’d cut back on everything I could and made sure that my minimum payments were as minimal as they could be. Luckily, living with Mum helped a great deal. It was lovely that she didn’t mind me being back home.

When I left school, armed with my excellent exam results, I’d been lucky enough to be accepted by Exeter University where I studied art history, and I lived in a shared flat, but the costs of living away from home had way exceeded what we ever thought they would, so when I finished my education there, I moved backcloser to home and found a brilliant teacher training college in Truro. Mum and Dad had been amazing but it had nearly crippled them. The guilt I felt at hating my job ate away at me and I became quite depressed having to get up and go to a job that I didn’t want to go to. The money that had been gifted to both Mum and Dad and me, in Aunty Theresa’s will, had more than replaced the money that I’d been paying them back, and meant I could take a step back and evaluate what was important to me. And now I was standing here in my very own bookshop.

I shoved the brown envelopes under the counter and tried to forget about them as I removed my paints and a bag full of scallop shells, which were still a bit whiffy but they’d be fine once they’d been painted and varnished.

As I looked out of the window to the bay beyond, I saw that Dennis was meandering round the harbour, heading in the direction of the shop, and my heart fell a little.

I thought back to Dennis’s words about wanting to be friends at my open day. It had been a lovely event, people popping in and out all day long. Sadly, that only lasted that weekend; a week later most of the holidaymakers had gone home and it was back to normal here in Driftwood Bay, and I was left wondering whether opening a bookshop in a small seaside town had been a good idea after all.

When I originally bumped into Dennis in the harbour for the very first time, there had been a little frisson between us. The fact that he was a bit of a dish hadn’t passed me by, and if truth be told, there was a little bit of me that thought there may be something more than friendship between us, but instead of that spark igniting, the more I got to know him the more I grew less fond of him. Being a business consultant, big in London apparently, he was very matter of fact and to the point. He certainly didn’t fawn over my shop. He couldn’t help himself passing on opinion after opinion, even when it wasn’t asked foror required. And everything about him was about money: his car, his clothes, his demeanour. He just exuded wealth.

Couldn’t be more opposite to me in fact. Yes, I knew that Aunty Theresa’s money was the catalyst for me opening the shop, but as long as I could get by that would be enough for me. I didn’t want to be rich. What I wanted to be was happy.

The next time I looked up, the harbour was as quiet as could be. Not a soul around. The turquoise sea before me twinkled in the early morning sunlight and I sighed, hoping that I would never forget to be grateful for where I lived and where my business had been born. I laid out my acrylic paints before me and removed a seashell from my handbag, and for the next hour or so, lost myself in creating a gorgeous beach scene with a little red and white lighthouse in the distance inside the shell.

I’d been so immersed in what I was doing that the bell above the door made me jump.

---