Page 14 of Book People

Books were never anything as insubstantial as a dream for me. Books are part of me, they’re in my blood. So many people have these fantasies of what owning a bookshop is like, where they sit there all day reading and there’s a cat on the counter and tea and lots of people browsing. They can’t conceive of the mundane reality of stock control and ordering, and updating computer systems, doing business plans and taxes and managing debts. Of watching your orders go down because of online bookshops and e-books, and losing readers to computer games, streaming services and doomscrolling on their phones.

She was one of those people, I just know it. Building little castles in the air. Dreaming of little bookshops that look like someone’s Instagram feed, created fromAI. Little bookshops made of pretty pink smoke. Pipe dreams.

‘Bookselling is more than just pretty shelves,’ I say, knowing I sound like the snob she thinks I am and not caring. ‘Booksellingis bloody hard work. It’s spreadsheets and debt and knowing your customers better than they do themselves.’

‘I didn’t think it was easy, if that’s what you’re implying.’ There it is, that flicker of temper in her eyes. A glitter of sparks. ‘I inherited the building from Mum, but I didn’t have a lot of money when I came here. I had to take on some debt to get the building up to standard. I was going to give myself a year to see if I could make it work.’

Ah. So she has a time limit, has she?

I should feel some modicum of relief at this, that if her business tanks she’ll leave. But I’m not relieved. I feel even more tense.

‘What? And then you’ll leave Wychtree?’ I ask.

She lifts a shoulder. ‘I’m not sure. I haven’t thought that far ahead.’ Her fingers tighten around her glass. ‘You’d like that, though, wouldn’t you?’

‘Yes,’ I say bluntly.

‘Why? Is it me or the bookshop you don’t like?’

There isn’t any reason for me to lie, so I don’t. ‘Both.’

Colour creeps into her cheeks. ‘I can understand you not liking the bookshop, but why me? What have I ever done to you?’

‘You exist, Miss Jones,’ I say succinctly, because I’m not going to explain to her why her presence annoys me so much. ‘That’s all you need to do.’

Her mouth firms and another silence falls.

‘So why books?’ she asks, throwing my question back at me.

‘Because it was never going to be anything else. Books are not my “side hustle”. They’re my livelihood. My history. My legacy.’ I sound pompous and probably ridiculous, and far too fierce, yet I can’t help myself. She should know that her bookshop threatens not only my business but the very core of who I am. I can’t take it lightly and I never will.

After my mother died, Dad wanted me to become a doctor, and to please him, I tried. I even got into medical school, but when that acceptance came, every ounce of my being rebelled.

He didn’t care about the bookshop. He was running it into the ground, and, while me being a doctor would have been his dream for me, it wasn’t my dream for myself. The only dream I ever had was my mother being still alive, and the only way for me to get anywhere close to that was to keep running the bookshop, the bookshop she loved far more than my father ever did.

Kate Jones’s eyes get very wide as I hear the pompous words come out of my mouth, and her gaze intensifies. It’s as if she’s seeing me for the first time, and I don’t like it. I’ve revealed too much.

I should go, so I pick up my whisky and drain the rest of it, preparing to leave, when Mrs Abbot approaches. She’s one of the customers who stopped ordering from me when Miss Jones arrived, despite the fact that I’d never poured scorn on her reading material, not once.

She smiles at the both of us. ‘Well, look at our two rival booksellers sharing a friendly drink.’

Miss Jones gives her back one of her own warm smiles, and watching it makes me feel restless. ‘Just talking to Sebastian about his festival.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Mrs Abbot turns a faintly judgemental look on me. ‘I wondered if you knew about it. I’m glad he’s finally bringing you on board.’

Right. So it was her who told Miss Jones about my festival.

If I say I’m not bringing her on boardanywherethen I’m going to look like an arsehole to a woman who already doesn’t think much of my bookshop. And if I agree that I’m bringing Miss Jones on board, then I actually have to bring Miss Jones on board, which will defeat the purpose of my festival.

Either way I’m fucked. I’m going to look like an arsehole and I probably deserve it, but still, as ever, I’m furious.

Then Miss Jones says, ‘Oh, yes, Sebastian’s been lovely about it. We’re just in the middle of organising a few events.’ Her eyes sparkle like crystals in the sun. ‘I thought we could have a romance panel and extend our book club night to guests. And I’d love to have a cosy mystery evening where everyone can bring their dogs.’

Hell. On. Earth.

Yet Mrs Abbot is smiling. ‘What a wonderful idea,’ she says, then turns to me, still smiling. ‘That’s wonderful, Sebastian. I’m so pleased. I’ll get my ticket tomorrow. I’ll mention it in the romance book club chat, Kate.’

‘Oh, please do,’ Miss Jones says.

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