Page 25 of The Cornish Cream Tea Holiday
‘I have,’ Thea said. She had it in the notes app on her phone, along with her and Esme’s holiday list, but she’d almost got it memorised. Questions about the conditions of the lease, what she could and couldn’t do in the property, whether she could put fixed bookshelves up, the terms of notice. There were so many things to check, and in her limited experience, landlords and estate agents – people who wielded control over properties – had oodles of confidence, because they had oodles of power. When faced with those confident people, Thea was often the exact opposite.
‘I’ll be about,’ Alex said. ‘If you want to call me while you’re there, just tell them you have to confirm something with your business advisor.’
‘I will. I so appreciate this, Alex.’ She hoped that, once she had found the right location, she could stop asking for his help so often. He was always so kind, always had time for her, but she needed to rely on herself more as her plans progressed, even though the thought of having fewer reasons to speak to Alex gave her a pang of sadness.
‘Anything for you,’ he said. ‘Now, tell me all about your day.’
Thea leaned her head against the sofa. ‘I went on my second coastal walk of the holiday, but this one was a lot better than yesterday’s. There was a crevice in the cliffs full of seabirds, and the cacophony while they wheeled about and perched – nested too, I guess: I’ve never seen, or heard, anything like it.’
‘How did you find that?’
‘I had a guide,’ she admitted. She could hear the soft shushing of the sea through the open window, but there were no sounds from next door. She wondered if Ben had given up for the day, or if he was measuring tiles, being quiet and industrious. ‘Someone who took pity on my solo attempt.’
‘That’s great,’ Alex said. ‘And tomorrow, Rushwood, you’ll ace your meeting, then you’ll be one step closer to bookshop world domination.’
‘I will, won’t I? I can’t quite believe it.’
They hung up, and Thea spent a few idle moments wondering what Alex was doing. Was he in his flat, watchingTV or reading, or had he just got in from seeing friends? She imagined him sitting next to her on this sofa, talking face to face rather than on the phone. She’d kept the main light off, the room lit only by lamps, the one on the table next to her bright enough to read by. But despite the shadowy corners, it felt cosy rather than sinister, the space calm and relaxing with its soft, neutral colours.
Her mind drifted back to Ben, and she wondered whether he had a clear vision for the improvements he wanted to make, or if he was deciding room by room, feature by feature. She tried to imagine living somewhere like this, with character and lots of space, the unbeatable view and the ocean scent on tap. To her, it was almost too good to be true, and yet Ben didn’t seem overjoyed with his situation. She wondered why that was.
She had realised, soon after pulling off her boots, that he hadn’t actually invited her to the cook-off on Friday. He’d simply mentioned it, and she had jumped at the chance. Was she coming across as too eager: a lonely woman on a solo holiday, clawing for scraps of company? She hoped not. She hoped that, when she told Ben about the other reason she was here, he’d be impressed.
With that thought, as much as Alex’s reassuring words, comforting her, Thea closed the window, turned off the lamps and went upstairs to her freshly mended bed.
‘What are you planning to do with it, then?’
Jamie Scable, the landlord Thea had arranged to meet, whose company owned the vacant shop on Main Street, had his hands on his hips and was staring out of the window, not looking at her. He was around mid-twenties,she guessed – a few years younger than her – and was wearing a shiny grey suit, white shirt and bright red tie, despite the heat. His dark hair was slicked into helmet-like submission by God-knows how much hair gel.
Thea felt unprofessional in her pink and white sundress, her dark hair pulled back into a simple ponytail, but when she’d looked in the mirror that morning she thought she’d struck the right balance between being businesslike andher, because Esme always told her that she shouldn’t hide her true self behind a persona, otherwise every relationship would start off on the wrong foot. Now, though, Thea felt so wrong-footed it was as if the floor was unstable.
‘I’m going to open a bookshop,’ she said, clasping her hands in front of her.
He turned to look at her, his gaze sharp. ‘Is that right?’
‘It seems like a good match,’ Thea said. ‘Port Karadow and a bookshop, I mean: in keeping with the vibe of the town. I know there was one here until fairly recently, so I’m filling a gap in the market.’
Jamie nodded along, but she could see he wasn’t convinced. He confirmed it when he said, ‘It won’t last. You’ve just mentioned the one that failed.’
Thea took a moment to find her voice. ‘It doesn’t mean that mine has to.’
‘Port Karadow has a few independent places left, but the trend’s the other way. People want to know what they’re getting. The standard of Starbucks coffee, clothes from Primark. Gift places still do well with the tourists, if the stock’s local and unique, but with Amazon dominating, books are one of the hardest sells these days. You’d be betteroff with an antiques shop, or one of those ninety-nine pence places.’
Thea couldn’t think of anything worse. ‘Everyone loves books,’ she said.
Jamie chortled. ‘Not everyone. Last book I read was some Dickens thing –Bleak House. We had to do it for GCSE. I just wait for Netflix to do them.’
Then you’re missing out on so much, Thea thought, but out loud she said, ‘Does it matter to you what kind of business I open?’
‘Course it does.’ He was walking around the shop like a billygoat unafraid of trolls.
The space was simple, clean and a good size, with a solid-looking floor and a generous storage room behind the main area. There was also a tiny office, kitchen and toilet. It was halfway down Main Street, not too far from an old-fashioned ironmongers that had a window bursting with tools, lights and garden decorations, proving that some independent places were thriving. Thea could imagine running her bookshop here, nestled amongst the other popular shops on the main tourist street. She wouldn’t be far from Cornish Keepsakes, with its beautiful hampers. Books could easily be accommodated into hampers: they were perfect for them, in fact.
‘Why?’ she pressed, when Jamie didn’t elaborate.
‘Because if you fail in six months’ time, then I have to re-advertise, re-let, and have a whole lot more paperwork to deal with. I want a solid tenant who will stay the course and cause me no trouble.’
Thea wondered if Ben would admire this man’s honesty, or whether he’d think it was cruel and dismissive, like shedid. She could feel her shaky confidence crumbling further, as if her skeleton were disintegrating. She thought back to Alex’s pep talk and clutched her phone tightly, her list of questions open on the screen.
