Page 73 of Bea's Book Wagon
With the wagon set up and ready for visitors, Bea took a deep breath and walked up the steps to the village hall. She’d been watching people steadily pouring inside for the last fifteen minutes, the queasy sensation in her stomach increasing, but as she opened the doors she was instantly met with a reassuring hum of conversation and laughter. The hall felt like it was literally buzzing with anticipation, and the cake table seemed to be the most popular place in the room, with scones, cupcakes and flapjacks being served alongside mugs of tea and cups of squash.
‘Bea!’ cried Maggie, who was sat in the front row next to Beth.
‘Hiya,’ said Bea, relieved to see a few familiar faces.
‘It’s packed in here tonight,’ said Maggie, looking around the room. ‘It’s never usually this busy,’
‘Really?’ said Bea, the knot in her stomach tightening again. ‘There’s definitely more people than I expected…’
‘Oh, don’t worry, love. You’ll be great. And we’re so excited to see the book wagon, aren’t we, Beth?’ said Maggie.
‘Absolutely! There’s a few things I want to add to my TBR list…’ said Beth, encouragingly.
‘Thanks,’ said Bea, forcing a smile.
‘Here we go, Bea,’ said Jean, handing her a paper plate with a huge slice of Victoria sponge. ‘Take a seat just there,’ she said, pointing to a chair at the side of the stage. ‘We’ve got some WI business to get through first, so just relax and tuck into that.’
‘Okay, great,’ said Bea, taking a huge bite. Jam and cream oozed down her chin.
God, that was delicious.
She could see why Jean had won at the fête; the sponge was so light it could give the Cosy Cat a run for its money…
Bea listened attentively as Jean explained the order of events for the evening. She even joined in with the chorus of Jerusalem, mumbling her way through the verses she didn’t know, and, before she knew it, she heard Jean say, ‘Please give Beatrice Miller a very warm, Blossom Heath Belles’ welcome …’ Bea sucked in a breath and took centre stage.
The first person she spotted in the audience, sitting in the middle of the front row, was Violet Davenport. She hoped it wasn’t a bad omen…
* * *
Bea tried to get the audience on side early by promising to be more entertaining than the recycling man, and she distinctly heard laughter ringing around the hall. She talked about her lifelong love of literature, the hours she’d spent in the library with her mum as a child, the years she’d spent trying to get a job in publishing, and how she’d come up with the idea of opening a mobile bookshop after spotting a horsebox coffee shop in Rye market.
She’d left out the part about quitting her job on impulse and getting drunk as a lord before buying her wagon on eBay: there was only so much she had to share, surely?
The audience had been full of questions: did the wagon still smell of horses? Where did she get her design ideas? Had Nathan really built all the shelves by hand?
She finished the talk by giving the audience two book recommendations, The Women Who Wouldn’t Leave by Victoria Scott, a heart-warming story about the power of sisterhood and community that she felt was perfect for WI members, and A Force To Be Reckoned With: A History of the Women’s Institute by Jane Robinson, which showcased the movement’s past as a force for change, from the suffragettes right through to its current campaigns. She remembered to let them know that both books were available to purchase from the bookshop.
As everyone gathered their bags, Jean took to the stage to remind them all that the wagon would be open for browsing for the next hour. Bea slipped out of the hall to turn on the fairy lights.
The bookshop looked magical; the dusky evening sunlight was the perfect backdrop.
‘Oh, look at these totes,’ said Joyce, putting one that declared, ‘There is no such thing as too many books,’ over her shoulder to show her friend, Clara.
‘I’ll take that!’ said Clara, popping a selection of books inside. ‘I’ll take these, too, thanks, Bea. That should keep me going for a while.’
‘Excellent,’ said Bea, turning on the card machine. ‘Don’t forget the Blind Date with a Book boxes are inside the hall, you might want to check those out too.’
‘Come on, Clara, let’s see what we can find,’ said Joyce.
‘I’ll take this,’ said a booming voice. Bea looked up to see Violet Davenport standing by the door, waving a book over her head impatiently.
‘Miss Davenport, lovely to see you again,’ said Bea, as politely as possible.
‘Have we met?’ Violet asked.
‘Yes. At the village fête, you were kind enough to help direct me when I was struggling to park.’
‘Ah, that’s right, you were going against the flow of traffic if I remember rightly?’
