Page 6 of Winter Nights at the Bay Bookshop
‘Me too.’ Cassie joined me behind the counter as I scrolled through five photos showing books left at different locations around the town.
‘I think you’ll recognise all the locations this time,’ she said.
The first photo showed a picture book about sailing boats placed on a bench beside the boating lake in Hearnshaw Park and the second location was the train station. E. Nesbit’s classic,The Railway Children, was perched on a stone ledge with a train just visible in the background.
‘Are they all themed?’ I asked Cassie, surprised because the locations were usually random.
‘They are this time.’
I scrolled through the final three photos which were all commercial fiction novels – a crime novel featuring a murder at a lighthouse left by Whitsborough Bay’s red-and-white-striped lighthouse, a romcom featuring dancing placed on the bandstand in the outdoor area of The Bay Pavilion and a historical book set during World War II resting against the town’s war memorial.
‘It’s good to see the Pixie back,’ I said, ‘but it’s still killing me that we have no idea who they are.’
The Paperback Pixie had been leaving gifts of brand-new books around Whitsborough Bay for fifteen years, possibly longer. At first, they were somewhat of an urban legend with rumours that there was a book benefactor in town but, with no social media set up, there was no photographic evidence. Across the summer a year after I graduated from university, the Pixie left a book out every week and our local newspaper,Bay News, picked up the story. The article included photos of a couple of the books and interviews with recent and previous finders but no insight into who the Paperback Pixie was. It stated that the journalist had never intended to identify them because they personally believed that much of the charm came from the mystery behind it. Dad had laughed at that and said it was more likely the journalist had failed in their attempts to expose the Pixie and was trying to save face.
After the news article, the Paperback Pixie ramped up their activities, setting up on the socials and gifting books more frequently. There were occasionally non-fiction books – usually nature-related or local interest ones – but the majority were fiction and I loved how they embraced all genres and all ages with their book choices. They were beautifully presented too with a piece of colourful ribbon tied in a bow around the book, which was then placed in a clear plastic bag to avoid damage. One of our customers found a novel and brought it in to show us. Inside was a Paperback Pixie-branded bookmark and a postcard congratulating them on finding the book, hoping that reading it brought themhappiness, escapism, adventures to new places and a chance to meet new friends, along with a request to add a photo and tag the Pixie on the socials.
‘I’d better get myself sorted,’ Cassie said, taking her phone back and heading towards the stairs. ‘Cuppa?’
‘Ooh, yes, please.’
‘Where’s your dad, by the way?’
‘With a customer in the children’s section. Better make him one too.’
‘Will do. I’ll send them up in Jeeves.’
I checked behind me and pushed the button to send Jeeves down to the lower ground floor to wait for the drinks. A customer came down the stairs with a guidebook on the Cleveland Way – a 109-mile walking route which passed through Whitsborough Bay – telling me he’d completed the walk in his twenties, a few years after the trail opened, and was about to do it again now in his seventies. We had a lovely chat about some of his favourite parts but I was dying to get back to the Paperback Pixie’s latest gifting so, as soon as the customer left, I whipped out my phone. Scrolling through the latest photos once more, I wondered for the umpteenth time who they were. Cassie believed it was a woman, Dad was convinced it was a man, and I thought it might be a group. We’d often wondered whether they were a customer of ours. They were clearly local and we’d have loved them to buy local too but we knew all our regulars well and, other than at Christmas time when they might buy books for gifts, they typically had favourite authors and genres. I couldn’t think of a single regular who’d bought even a selection of the eclectic mix of books the Paperback Pixie had distributed. It was possible they ordered from our website but, if they did, the books were sent to different addresses as we hadn’t spotted any correlation between orders and the Paperback Pixie’s activities. Presumably they ordered online elsewhere. Probably The-Site-Which-Must-Not-Be-Named – our joking literary reference to the world’s biggest online retailer – which was a shame when we could have guaranteed absolute discretion and even offered a discount.
The drinks arrived in Jeeves as Dad approached the counter with his customer, a pile of colourful picture books and a couple of accompanying cuddly toys. The woman looked to be about the same age as Dad so I guessed she was buying for grandchildren. I ran her purchases through the till and took payment while they continued their conversation about books they’d loved as children and how enduring certain titles were like Eric Carle’sThe Very Hungry Caterpillar, which had been first published in 1969 but was still a huge hit with kids today as demonstrated by over 50 million worldwide sales.
‘Sounds like you’ve had a lovely conversation,’ I said to Dad after the customer left.
‘Her daughter’s just adopted three-year-old twins so this is the first haul of bedtime reading. She wanted a mix of big names and new authors so I’ve been in my element helping her choose.’
Although my dad was a big reader across most genres, his passion was children’s books, particularly those for early years. His interest in how children learned to read had initially taken him into early-years teaching but he’d joined the family business after his mum, my Granny Blue (short for Bluebell), had shocked everyone by announcing that she’d secured a significant book deal with a major publisher. She’d never shared any desire to write a book, let alone that she’d actually put pen to paper and written several novels. Under the pseudonym of Josephine Forrest she was now a multi-million-copy seller of sagas set on the Yorkshire Coast. We had a large section in the shop devoted to signed copies of her books and always had a big turnout for each book launch.
‘I was beginning to think you’d be there all morning,’ I said, smiling at Dad.
‘Could easily have been. Have I missed anything?’
I retrieved the drinks from Jeeves and filled Dad in on the reappearance of the Paperback Pixie after their absent summer.
‘I’m so glad he hasn’t stopped doing it.’ He laughed as I raised my eyebrows at him. ‘Or she, or they. Still no clues as to their identity?’
‘None. I don’t think they’re a customer and I’m going to have to just live with that.’
‘Time to take the poster down?’
Dad nodded towards the large noticeboard attached to the storage cupboard beside Jeeves. It displayed useful information such as our opening times, book club details and forthcoming author events. Pinned to it was an A5 poster posing the questionAre YOU the Paperback Pixie?and urging them to get in touch – anonymously if they wished – to discuss working collaboratively.
I removed the pins and took the slightly dog-eared poster down, shaking my head. ‘No. I’m going to do a new one instead, bigger and brighter this time. If the Paperback Pixieisa customer, they’ll have no chance of missing it.’
‘And if they aren’t?’
‘Then we’ve lost nothing.’
Dad’s phone beeped and he took it out of his trousers pocket, frowning as he studied something on the screen.
