Page 11 of The Battle of the Bookshops
Thursday was going well. It was nearly lunchtime, and Flo was doing a great job reading to her second set of six-year-olds, with all the appropriate voices and as much arm-waving and drama as her injuries would allow.
Jules and Jess, the school library coordinator for the district, stood to one side, watching in admiration as Flo gave it her all. The children—each dressed as their favorite character from a book—were spellbound and motionless, all of them wide-eyed and some open-mouthed.
“You’re so kind to do this,” whispered Jess, a curly-haired woman of Jules’s age whom she had instantly warmed to. “Capelthorne’s has always been brilliantly supportive of the schools around here. I’m incredibly grateful.”
“Happy to help. We know how important it is to get them into the reading habit as young as possible,” whispered Jules, but then she noticed Jess was looking past her, right over at The Portneath Bookshop across the road.
“Ha!” whispered Jules in triumph. “You won’t catch that lot hosting story time. They’re all about the bottom line.”
“Hmm,” Jess murmured noncommittally, not meeting Jules’s eye.
“Okay, tell me... what?” Jules sighed. Whatever it was, it would be bad, and Roman would definitely be behind it.
“It’s just that, well, it’s amazing of them really—they’ve donated a big box of books to each of the primary schools in the district,” admitted Jess, shiny-eyed at the memory. “I say ‘they,’ but I mean, I actually met that Roman guy who’s taken it over. It was his idea. My partner, Aiden, and Roman are old friends from ages ago, but I didn’t meet him until he came back from New York last year, and I’ve not lived here long. Anyhow, not that I’m looking, because me and Aiden, but... wow, just wow—handsome or what?” Jess pressed her hands to her flaming cheeks at the thought.
“The books?” Jules reminded her tartly. She was now officially over hearing how handsome and swoon-worthy Portneath’s very own Jeff Bezos was.
“The books!” replied Jess, chastised. “And not just remainders either, but recent bestsellers, all formats, all ages, audio, the lot!” And then she caught Jules’s expression. “Sorry,” she added. “Obviously we don’t expect Capelthorne’s to...”
And that was the point, wasn’t it? Jules pondered, patting Jess on the arm in a display of forgiveness, dredging up a smile with difficulty. Capelthorne’s just didn’t have the budget to make grand gestures like that, but Portneath Books did. Of course it did, and how could Capelthorne’s compete? Jules could only hope the Portneath Books marketing budget ran dry before Capelthorne’s folded. She was pretty sure it was well funded, though, what with Roman’s bright and shiny shop refit and his family’s deep pockets. He had opened that bookshop on a whim, she fumed silently—a rich man’s plaything—and one-hundred-year-old Capelthorne’s was going to be the one paying the price.
Or was it? Not if she had her way, she decided, catching Jess’s anxious look in her direction and trying to consciously wipe thefrown off her face. Poor Jess, who was sweetness itself, was obviously mortified at having said anything to offend.
The children, with a tiny prompt from Jess, gave Flo a round of applause when she got to the end of her story, and then they got up excitedly to spend the book vouchers each had clutched in a sticky hand. Some had extra money provided by their parents—five-, ten-, and even twenty-pound notes—but most were happy to choose from the World Book Day one-pound deals. Finally, each child had solemnly transacted at the till with Flo, who was still wearing her witch’s hat, and had been handed their precious choice of book in a brown paper bag with the Capelthorne’s logo printed on it.
Flo breathed a sigh of relief when the doorbell dinged to signify the exit of the final child—at least until the next consignment arrived.
“This is great stuff,” said Jules encouragingly, deciding not to tell Flo about the enemy’s grand book giveaway gesture.
“It’s exhausting, but it’s all good,” agreed Flo. “We should have more things like this in the schedule. I might have let the promotion side of things slip a bit in the last few years...”
“That’s understandable,” Jules said quickly. “You’ve got me to help you now. I thought I’d put together a marketing plan, a calendar of events for the next few months, seeing as I’m going to be around—there’s the hundred-year anniversary for one thing. That can be the theme for the whole year.”
“Ah, yes, that,” said Flo, without energy. “Which reminds me, I have to do something about this lease thing running out, if it even does. I’ll dig out the file and make an appointment with our solicitor to see what’s what.”
“I am sooo glad you’re staying,” Freya announced happily for the umpteenth time.
“Yeah, well... Aunt Flo needs me, plus—let’s face it—I don’t have a career anymore. So, I may as well.”
“You mean your boss would refuse to give you a reference or something?” Freya looked world-weary at the thought.
“I mean my boss will already have bad-mouthed me everywhere. It’s a small world.”
“Same with French restaurants,” admitted Freya. “Youch. Bad luck.”
The two women were stretched out full length on Freya and Finn’s bed, watchingFriendson Netflix and eating pizza that, slightly surprisingly, Freya had stashed in the freezer. It was Freya’s one night off from the restaurant, and Finn was up at Hollytree Farm, helping his brother, Ciaran, give the milking parlor its yearly clean.
“God, this is good,” Freya went on, licking her fingers and reaching for another slice. “I’m starving.”
“I thought you’d be above frozen pizza with all your fancy French ways,” teased Jules. “Remember when we used to do this?” She waved her pizza slice. “Saturday nights at your house in Middlemass? Your mum used to make us popcorn and let us watch films in her bedroom.”
“I remember eating chocolate flakes in her bed with you,” reminisced Freya. “We got chocolate crumbs everywhere! She made me change her sheets the next day. It was that time we were watchingMean Girls.”
“Whichtime?” Jules asked, laughing. “We werealwayswatchingMean Girls.”
They both fell silent. TheMean Girlsfilm had been a seminal experience for both of them. It had made the bullying from the real-life mean girls at Portneath High just a little bit more bearable.
Freya’s mum had been so kind, Jules remembered. She wouldsolemnly sit both of them down at the kitchen table with tea and homemade cake, letting the two of them witter on endlessly about all the things that preoccupied all teenage girls who weren’t at the top of their particular food chain. It had seemed so important at the time, who kissed who, what so-and-so said to so-and-so... She would give them a patient adult ear and wise counsel whenever they were open to hearing it. Jules’s mum, by contrast, couldn’t have been less interested.
