1
Bonnie
Wood’sWritingEmporium,orsimply, “The Emporium”, as ninety percent of Twyford, Winchester refers to it, is still dark as I approach. So much for Janice opening up this morning. The woman is as trustworthy as a Nigerian prince wanting to send me twenty million quid via email.
How I wish Clive would hire someone with an ounce of competency. But noooo, old muggins here has to put up with a woman who’s older than sliced bread and couldn’t care less about running a bookshop—just because Clive nobbled her niece twenty years ago and is still paying for it. Actually, I’m the one paying the price, considering I have to pick up Janice’s slack.
Hey-ho, just another wonderful day for me. At least I get to unbox a few new releases today and then read them this evening. That’s enough to get me through the working day.
My phone chirps with a notification from my best friend. It’s just a string of emojis I decipher in seconds because that’s our language now. Ironic, really, how I work in a place that encapsulates and celebrates the English language, yet I opt for a book, teapot, and film emojis to communicate. I’m an embarrassment to the books I so love.
The gist of the message is: Kelley will come round tonight for an evening of reading, tea, and a film that will only serve as background noise. We are rockstars. Some may say we’re losers, but whatever. I’d rather carve my eyeballs out with a spoon than go clubbing or raving. Are those still things people do? Hmm, thoughts like that might be why my other best friend, Pete, calls me old, even though I’m mid-thirties.
Speaking of Pete, he has also messaged me with an old granny emoji. Rude. He knows Kelley and I intend to get our literary fiction on tonight and is unsurprisingly disgusted. He may like to gyrate next to sweaty people while hopped up on sugary alcopops, but that’s not me; never has been, never will be.
You may wonder why we are friends. That’s easy. Pete is a loveable arse who saved me time and time again from school bullies. Really, our friendship shouldn’t work because we are very different, yet it does. He likes Kelley too. Occasionally, we all hang out, but mainly I see them separately.
I send him a Face with Tongue Emoji in reply before pocketing my phone. There are only ten minutes left until the shop is supposed to be open. Nothing major would happen if I were a few seconds late. It’s not like we have customers lining up outside, but I know for a fact we will have a few regular shoppers turning up to grab the new stock soon.
I unlock and go through the morning routine at double-time. As predicted, there are three regulars peering through the window as I approach to turn the sign that currently readsClosedtoOpen.
“Is the new Wallace Skipton book in?” Audrey asks the second the door opens.
“Waiting in the back for me to unbox,” I reply, smiling.
Audrey is probably my favourite customer. She’s completely batty about books. We’ve spent many a morning conversing about the latest murder mystery or “romantic panty dropper,” as she likes to call them.
In the distance, I see Janice wombling up the street like she’s not got a care in the world. I can’t even say anything because she’ll make up some crap about me being ageist or something, which is laughable. I guarantee I act older than her. She just pulls that particular card when she wants to get out of being responsible for something other than putting the kettle on.
Grumbling to myself, I turn and greet the other two shoppers. Melody and Jasmine are two young art students who are part of the local sapphic book club. I always let them know when something interesting comes in and, of course, we discuss it at length.
God, I love my job.
“Morning,” Janice calls. She’s as fake as her hair colour.
“Janice, you were scheduled to open up this morning.”
“Really? Well, bless my soul, I must have got jumbled up.”
My arse she did. I smile sweetly. “Never mind. You can close.”
“Oh, but…”
“I have a doctor appointment,” I lie. “You don’t mind, do you?”
Considering we have an audience, Janice smiles with thin lips, her eyes narrowing. “No, Bon Bon, no problem at all.”
I grit my teeth because I detest it when she calls me Bon Bon. Do I look like a fucking hard toffee? No. Janice is just the worst.
Doing a quick breathing exercise, I push Janice and her bullshit to one side. I have boxes of books to unload. We have two new thrillers, one romantic comedy, and one sapphic mafia. I’ll leave Janice to do the thrillers. My sights are set on the rom-com and mafia books. I love both genres, as does Kelley, which is why we pre-ordered a copy of each book.
“Bonnie, is that it?” I hear Kelley squeal. I laugh because I should have known she wouldn’t be able to wait until this evening to get her hands on the new mafia book.
“Yes, it is, and I cannot believe you didn’t even last a couple of hours.”
Kelley smiles brightly, her massive curls surrounding her bespectacled face. I’ve never met someone with such wild hair. It’s also the blackest black I’ve ever seen. I’m pretty sure it actually absorbs light. I was just flipping through a new art book about the mafia-level artist feud over the rights to use the blackest black, but honestly, I still think Kel’s hair could give Anish Kapoor a run for his money.
“Momma needs to touch those fresh pages,” she says seriously. I roll my eyes before handing over her copy. Of course, the first thing she does is bring the thing up to her nose and take a big whiff. “Oh, yeah!”
