Page 12 of The Bookshop Ladies

‘Oh!’ It was all Joy could manage and to be honest, she thought, she had done well to even manage that. The woman was the spitting image of Yves. She had the same fine blonde hair, the striking green eyes that were almost emerald beneath her long brown lashes. But this woman did not have the same spidery web of laughter lines. She was young, in her twenties at the most. In a flash, Joy remembered an old photograph that Yves had kept. It had been taken when he was at university, a snap in some café or bar. Yves and this girl could have been twins. Joy found herself standing there, anchorless for a moment, her mouth open. ‘Hi.’ She tried to regain some of her dignity. ‘I’m looking for…’ It was no good, she didn’t have the words for it.

‘A book?’ the girl said then, because of course, everyone in here was looking for a book.

‘I was looking for…’

‘Ah, I see, you’ve spotted our only post-1990s copy.’ She was joking of course. Now that she had made her way up the stairs, Joy noticed she was tall. Taller than if she’d been Joy’s daughter. The girl placed a pile of books on the desk in front of her, reached back to kick down the trapdoor behind her with a careless smartness that Joy envied. Only a twenty-year-old could get away with such abandon. ‘You’re on holiday?’

‘No. I…’ Perhaps she should just buy a newspaper and make a run for it, but the little voice in her head pressed her on.

‘Ah,’ the girl smiled. ‘I haven’t seen you before but then, I don’t get out much…’ again that gut-wrenchingly familiar shrug. Joy wanted to reach out and touch her, just to see if maybe anything more about her might reveal something of Yves.

‘No, no, I’ve only just arrived but I…’ Joy heard herself say a little stupidly. Was this what it meant to go along with your kidnappers – Stockholm syndrome, only the parameters had shifted? She was making small talk with a woman who had to be Yves’s flesh and blood. Everything about it felt surreal, as if she was watching from outside herself, somehow.

‘If there’s something you’re particularly interested in, I can order in for you…’ the girl was saying now and it felt as if she was somehow appraising Joy, taking the measure of her.

‘Yes, I’ll be here, but I didn’t come to buy anything, I…’ she waved her hand towards the door, as if this girl would understand that she had been pushed here by the hands of fate.

‘Ah, I see, it’s the job. Well, when I say job, it’s my uncle Albie’s idea to call for volunteers!’ she threw her hands up in the air. ‘Oh, I am so happy, if you have come for that. In summer, we get a lot of tourists and loads of Americans too.’ She laughed nervously.

‘The job?’

‘Well, theposition, really, I suppose. It is not much. A few hours a week, or as many as you might fancy, but if things work out,’ she stopped. Joy had a feeling that what she wanted to say wasif thingspick up, ‘then who knows…’ She was smiling broadly now. Joy wondered if she’d worn braces. She had perfectly straight teeth. Yves’s had been crushed at the bottom and with uneven spaces at the top.

‘I’m here for the job?’

‘Great, fantastic news.’ They seemed to be as shocked as each other, but the girl grabbed Joy’s arm. ‘I’m Robyn Tessier. This is my shop. Have you worked in a bookshop before?’

‘I… No. Well…’ she thought of the little gift shop in the visitor centre where she had worked as a student. That was a lifetime ago. Although, to be fair, they did sell some books by local authors. ‘Sort of, I mean, I’ve worked in publicity, you know, public relations, in Paris. I did quite a few bookshops.’

‘Really? Oh my, well, that sounds very impressive, I’m afraid by comparison you might find us a little parochial…’ And there it was – that same reserve. Joy wondered if this girl had inherited Yves’s discomfort at being around others that he’d spent his whole life covering over.

‘Not at all, it was all politics and pamphlets and earnest causes…’ She looked around the shop. ‘I love your shop.’ She heard herself breathe and she realised she truly meant it.

‘Yes, it’s very special. I can’t take credit for the building or even most of the stock to be truthful. The original building belongs to my mother’s family, but it’s been a bookshop for over forty years now. Before I took over, it was run by a lovely old man called Douglas Howard. He died a year ago and I bought the stock from his family.’

‘You’re the only one to work here?’

‘Of course and I’m not complaining, I mean, I know how lucky I am to spend my day surrounded by books, but I took out a loan to buy the stock and…’ she stopped, then smiled. ‘Well I do like to eat three meals a day and…’ she shrugged.

‘Aren’t you…’ Joy wanted to say very young, but instead, she settled on, ‘wonderful to have achieved so much at such a young age.’

‘Oh, I’m not so sure. All I’ve done is talk the bank manager into a loan and my mother into allowing me to use this place.’

‘Every new business takes time to get off the ground, you do know that?’ Joy murmured.

‘What kind of books do you like to read?’ Robyn asked.

‘Anything, really. Probably fiction, more than anything else, but I enjoy art history books’ (God knew, she’d read enough of Yves’s over the years), ‘travel books and I always have a good thriller on the go.’

‘Okay, that seems like a good place to start. Our tourists generally don’t surface until July and, when they do, they only come looking for books later in the morning and then they disappear again for lunch. Would ten o’clock suit you to start in the mornings, say two days per week? I mean, five or six if you fancy it, but I don’t want to put you off.’ Robyn tilted her head a little to the left, exactly as Yves had so often done while waiting for her to make a decision.

‘I…’ Joy couldn’t think, not clearly. She had come here to find out about her husband’s secret daughter, to tell her about the painting so she could fulfil her husband’s final wishes, and here she was, standing tongue-tied before the girl. ‘I… okay.’ Once the word was said, she realised, it was not the power of speech she needed to worry about, but rather the power of reason.

‘Fantastic,’ Robyn looked almost as surprised by the turn of events as Joy, then she threw her hands up in the air, ‘that’s wonderful news, I’m so happy. We’ll start tomorrow, yes?’ she hardly took a breath. ‘But today, we should have coffee to celebrate.’

‘Oh, no, I can’t… I mean, I must be getting on, I have to…’ The truth was, Joy suspected she might be in a state of shock and the only place she wanted to be was back in that little flat above the bakery getting her head around what she had agreed to. Suddenly, she felt as if she had lost her footing. What on earth was she doing?

‘Oh? Okay? You need to go now? But I’ll see you tomorrow at ten o’clock and we’ll have plenty of time to get everything sorted then?’ Robyn was smiling widely now as if she genuinely couldn’t wait to welcome Joy. Joy felt her stomach turn over with something she wasn’t sure she could put a name on. Guilt? Yes, guilt. This girl had done nothing wrong. It was hardly her fault if she was the product of an affair between her mother and Joy’s husband. Joy could not come back here. It was ridiculous, she didn’t even fully understand how on earth she had left Robyn with the notion that she might be interested in a job, much less actually apply for one and, even more crazily, accept one here. It was the very last place she wanted to spend time, confronted by evidence of her husband’s infidelity.

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