Page 34 of The Bookshop Ladies

‘Who said I wasn’t keen on him?’

‘Ah come on, Albie, my defences are low and, to be honest, I think…’ She wanted to tell him, she just didn’t know where to start. Could she even put into words what it felt like to see that photograph of Patrice when she’d been looking for something else entirely?

‘I suppose I always wondered about him, you know, the way his first marriage ended and the way he’s never been close to those two boys of his, it always seemed a bit…’ He shrugged and, of course, Albie was the sort of man who worried about leopards and spots, even if he’d never actually admit it.

‘Well, it looks as if you have been right all along,’ she said. ‘He’s been having an affair.’

‘Oh, dear me, I’m so sorry.’ Fern could see how painfully the news had hit him. ‘But are you sure, I mean, it might be that…’

‘With his secretary,’ she confirmed in a monotone.

‘Well that’s not very original, is it?’ Albie got up and walked to the kitchen, returning with two glasses of rum.

‘It’s a cliché, but there it is and I’m here and I have absolutely no clue what to do next.’

‘You don’t think you should sort it out with him?’ Albie was treading gingerly.

‘Hewalked out. He didn’t give me the chance to do any talking or asking or anything else, for that matter.’ She would have liked to cause a scene. In hindsight, if you were ever going to have a full-on diva moment in your marriage, wasn’t that it? Wasn’t it the time to wear a turban, huge jewels, long red talons and lips to match and throw every plate at the wall, after embedding every golf club you could lay your hands on in his windscreen? At the very least, she should have taken the opportunity to rip up his precious handmade suits.

‘So he’s with her now?’

‘I don’t know. I presume he is.’

‘And she’s young?’

‘Little more than a child.’ Her husband was almost sixty, for heaven’s sake – had he lied about his age? ‘Probably twenty, maybe twenty-two at most. Robyn’s age, just about.’ Fern almost felt sick thinking of it all. ‘It’s just so sordid.’

‘There, there, don’t go upsetting yourself any more about it.’ Albie put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into him. He smelled comfortingly of fabric conditioner, mints and freshly poured rum. ‘I don’t need to know the details; all we need to think about is putting you back together again.’ He was whispering in her ear, the same way Peggy might have. And suddenly it was all too much for Fern. She began to cry again, with huge big wailing sobs.

‘It’s all right, it’s going to be all right, you’ll see, it’ll take time, but sure haven’t you all the time in the world and then, one day, you’re going to wake up and you’re going to see, everything is all right.’

By dinnertime, Fern had managed to pull herself together enough to go back to the flat and face Robyn. She sent her daughter a message, saying they could make something together. It was as Fern was pushing in the door at the side of the bookshop that she noticed the elegant woman emerge from the little café just a few doors up. She was carrying two large mugs, identical to the ones in the flat. They were unmistakable, made by a potter friend of hers and a gift from Luc for their ninth wedding anniversary.

Of course, Robyn had mentioned that she’d taken on someone to help in the shop.

‘Hi, you must be Joy.’ Fern had to pretend that inside she wasn’t collapsing, she even managed what she hoped was a smile. Joy was an incongruous sight here in the middle of Ballycove with her grey trouser suit and an expensive-looking silk scarf tied jauntily at her throat. She was, Fern realised, one of those women you see walking along streets in Paris, understated, elegant, coolly in control of their lives.

‘Hey and you must be Fern, Robyn’s mother?’ Joy said softly. There was an unexpected gentleness to her and the scent of a delicate perfume in the air between them only added to the impression that here was a woman’s woman – she would not go behind anyone’s back to steal their husband. She was the very opposite of Patrice.

‘Ah, the coffee looks as good as Robyn tells me so,’ Fern nodded to the mugs in Joy’s hand.

‘Yes, as good if not better than any coffee shop in Paris.’ Joy laughed nervously.

‘Well, it’s lovely to meet you, perhaps I’ll pop down and try one with you both one of these days, I’m here for the summer so…’

‘That would be lovely, I can recommend the cappuccino most of all.’ Joy pushed through the door and Fern found herself liking the woman already. How lovely that Robyn had found someone who was both good at her job and great company. Fern had to be grateful that at least there was one ray of sunlight on the horizon.

23

Joy was shaking like a leaf as she placed the mugs on the counter. How on earth had she managed to remain calm in the face of the woman she had agonised over so much for the last six months?

‘God, I need this, I don’t know when I’ve worked so hard, certainly not since I’ve opened the doors of this place.’ Robyn said she had been reorganising an alcove at the back of the shop. The idea was that they would fill it with books about pets. Perhaps Dolly realised, because she had skulked in that little alcove for the last few days and now it was almost ready, she regarded it with the disdain of a queen, looking down on accommodation that would never be quite up to scratch. Dolly had instead settled on a spot in the politics section – well, you had to hand it to her, she had standards. Robyn stood, arching her back; no one ever thought about the fact that working in a bookshop can be torture on your spine. She stretched a little, then she looked at Joy. ‘What? What is it? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘Hah, you’re crazy sometimes!’ Joy laughed nervously, a glassy, tinkling sound that to her own ears was too high-pitched. ‘Actually, I just bumped into your mother outside the door, if that counts?’ She was trying to be funny, but it was lost on Robyn.

‘Ah, I’d better run up and say hello,’ Robyn said and then she glanced down at the list of authors and poets on her wish list for the night of the reception.

‘Of course you should,’ Joy said, desperately needing to get her thoughts together and figure out what to do if Fern Turner put two and two together. There was no doubt in her mind that she would have to leave Ballycove. Which strangely, she realised, she didn’t want to do. ‘Go on then, that list isn’t going anywhere until you get back, even if that’s not until tomorrow.’

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