Page 20 of The Bookshop Ladies

Fern was in her little studio, trying to decide between too many shades of mauve when the phone buzzed. It was a welcome distraction. Unexpected, because usually, Robyn never rang during business hours, always in the evenings.

‘Hey Mum.’ Robyn sounded cheerful.

‘Hey yourself, what’s up? I normally don’t hear from you during shop hours.’

‘No, well, that’s because I have some news…’ her daughter said and there was an edge to her voice as if it was something she was excited by, but not entirely sure about.

‘A man?’

‘No! Why do you always assume it has to be a man? Have you learned absolutely nothing from Margot? Maybe I’ll just let you guess…’

‘We could be here a while.’ Fern would welcome a half hour wasted on the phone with Robyn at this point. Actually, she would welcome anything to take her away from the painting that seemed to have stalled on her. It was meant to be a broken heart and it was currently breaking not only Fern’s heart but emptying her spirit as well, she simply couldn’t get it right.

‘Okay, then, I’ll have to tell you so…’ Robyn took a deep breath. ‘I think I have found someone to work in the shop with me. Voluntary, just half-days, but…’

‘Oh, that’s wonderful news, darling.’ God, she thought, what did that say about her as a mother? She hadn’t even realised Robyn needed help in the bookshop; it certainly explained why she never seemed to go out and socialise in Ballycove. ‘It’d be good for you to get an occasional break from it, get out and meet some people your own age.’

‘I’m so delighted, we’ve only just met… She came into the shop and, to be honest, I’m not even sure she was planning on looking for anything at all, much less to come and volunteer her time, but I really like her and I have a good feeling about it…’

‘Well, you can’t ask for more than that, I suppose,’ Fern said and when she put down the phone she couldn’t quite figure out why it was that something felt a little off with her, it felt as if there was that unmistakable energy of thunder on the air.

13

Against all her expectations, Joy Blackwood was at work half an hour early.

‘Cappuccino?’ Robyn asked, as Joy removed a silk scarf from her shoulders.

‘Cappuccino,’ Joy repeated after her and although Robyn wasn’t sure that was a yes, she decided to take it as one.

‘Great, let’s go mad and celebrate your first morning with the good stuff, I’ll raid the petty cash in your honour,’ Robyn said, liking the way Joy’s lips trembled in a timid smile before she nodded in agreement. Fortunately, the best coffee shop in the village was just two doors down. Robyn rarely went there for coffee since it meant closing up the shop, but now the owner welcomed her warmly and congratulated her on hiring her first employee. He insisted that the drinks were on the house to celebrate and this simple generosity gave Robyn an unexpected rush of pleasure, so she was smiling broadly by the time she returned with their elevenses.

‘I’ve always thought it must be wonderful to work in a bookshop,’ Joy confided as they sipped their coffee. ‘I worked in a gift shop, once, but that was a long time ago…’ she stopped and Robyn thought she could imagine Joy working in a library.

‘Well, I’m just glad you walked into my bookshop and not into the travelling library by accident.’

They spent the rest of the morning with Robyn telling Joy as much as she could about the shop. ‘Every book has a price on the back. It’s all in euro. For British tourists, we can take sterling, although, I’d rather not.’ In an act of supreme optimism, she kept a jar beneath the counter with a small amount of English change.

‘Are there many?’ Joy asked. It was early in the season and hard to imagine how a little village like Ballycove could fill up with tourists.

‘You’d be surprised. People mainly come in here for the daily papers, but there is the occasional book lover among them.’

At lunchtime Robyn usually made do with a chocolate bar and a cup of coffee. Today she decided to go to her flat upstairs, leaving Joy to mind the shop. ‘I’m only upstairs; you can push through the door and call me if you need me.’ But just as she had closed the door behind her, she heard the tinkle of the shop doorbell and hovered for a moment on the stairs. God, she felt like a new mother dropping her child at nursery for the first day.

‘You!’ a familiar voice said just a second later. It was Robyn’s uncle Leo. Never the friendliest man but he had a heart of gold, once you got past the bluster. His mother, Peggy always said with Leo it was all about closing your ears and opening your eyes. He did far more for people than he could ever make up for in small talk. ‘You’re working here? In the bookshop?’ he spoke quickly. ‘Have you tried to break the front door of this fine establishment too?’ Robyn leant against the door, ready to rescue her new employee, but stopped then.

‘Hello Mr Keeling… that will be three euros, please,’ Joy said in her very no-nonsense American voice. Robyn smiled, because most women either fawned over Leo or ran a mile from him.

‘Good grief,’ Leo grumbled at the cost, he did this all the time, so much so that Robyn hardly noticed usually. You couldn’t blame him, the daily paper had gone up in price twice in the last year.

‘And God bless you too,’ Joy said, pretending to misunderstand. When Robyn peered around the doorway, she was surprised to see Joy smiling as Leo left, wordlessly pulling the door behind him.

‘I don’t think he’s a fan,’ she said. ‘I only hope I haven’t started to put off customers already.’

‘Don’t worry, for every grumpy one, you’ll meet ten more that are full of Celtic charm. And as for Leo, he’s my uncle, so he has to come back even if you have the mother of all fallings-out with him.’ Robyn meant it. Leo would do anything for her. Hadn’t he sanded and varnished the floor, a long and tedious job? Yes, in spite of how he seemed, Leo was a good egg. God, she’d be a long time waiting for Kian to varnish the floor, he wasn’t what you’d call the most practical of men. She could say he was too cerebral, but the fact was, he was all fingers and thumbs, a risk to himself and others if left anywhere near a power tool.

Falling in love with Kian had sort of crept up on Robyn. It had been a series of moments. Yes he was handsome, but there were lots of other good-looking boys her own age to fall in love with.

It started on the day after she met him. Her mother had organised for them all to go and have a picnic on the beach. Robyn hated the beach. She hated the fact that when she looked in the mirror, there was no hint that one day she might be even half as beautiful as her mother. On that particular day, they had arrived at the beach in time to commandeer a small hollow beneath the sandy cliffs, perfect for hiding from the summer crowds, and Robyn wrapped herself up in a towel after her swim, engrossing herself in a book she was absorbed in. She might have stayed there for the day, had the most awful shrieking sound not made her jump, and a seagull come crashing down into one of her mother’s beautifully wrapped baskets. For a moment, Robyn sat there, startled. But then Kian came racing up the beach.

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