‘Oh.’ He’d gone on holidays before, trips to mainland Scotland with his dad that he told me exactly nothing about other than the books he’d read while away, but he’d usually given more notice than this. I would have been annoyed if there wasn’t something I was keen to keep from him for as long as possible. ‘That’s okay. Have a nice holiday.’
‘It’s not a holiday,’ Hamish said flatly, like I was being purposefully obtuse. ‘I’m leaving the island to go to university.’
My full attention snapped to him, the guts that had been pummelled by the awards committee shrivelling. ‘What?’
Hamish kicked at the wooden floor, like abusing the shop made this conversation more bearable. ‘I’m leaving tomorrow to go to university in Edinburgh to study literature.’
‘Oh.’ Dismay and questions cluttered my mind, but I managed to shove them out of the way. I forced my face into something like a smile. ‘Congratulations, Hamish. I’m so pleased for you.’
He gave me a withering look, like he could see all the thoughts in my head and knew only a tiny amount showed any pleasure in his going off and studying so far away. ‘I’ll be coming home to visit Dad a lot and I’ll change the display then. I canwork here in the holidays too. I’ll be around when the shop is busiest.’
I leant against the counter. I hadn’t thought of the window display, but it would have been a chore to maintain the high standard Hamish had set. More than his surly presence in the shop and barely passable attempts at tidying most of the shelves, his window displays would have been missed most, by both the customers and my profit spreadsheet.
That wasn’t true. Hamish might be the living embodiment of a storm cloud, but he had marched into this shop as soon as he was legally old enough to work and had loved it – in his own special way – through all the years he’d been here.
‘Thank you.’ I didn’t round the counter to attempt any form of friendly farewell. He would hate that. ‘I’ll miss you. And I’ll be glad to have you back during your holidays.’
Hamish kicked at the wooden floor again. A pitiful part of me wondered if he’d leave a scuff mark. That was all I’d have to remember him by.
He turned and marched for the door. I refused to cry until he was out of sight. I clenched my tear ducts and gritted my teeth as he yanked open the door.
He paused on the doormat, his boots compressing the cheerful pattern of bristly books. The sea hissed and gulls cried out overhead. If I were human, I wouldn’t have heard him mutter, ‘I guess I’ll miss you too.’
I let out a shuddering breath when the door shut behind him, then squared my shoulders.
‘You have things to do,’ I said. ‘Then you can fall apart.’
Mechanically, I slotted the days takings into the safe under the till. My jaw aching with how hard I pressed my teeth together, I walked across the shop and flicked the sign to closed. I slid the lock across, then turned off the lights.
‘Get upstairs,’ I commanded, my chest tight. ‘Then you can cry.’
I made it halfway. I stumbled, and crashed down into the hard wooden slats. My hands and knees throbbed with pain, and the dam broke. Huge sobs wracked through me. I pulled my scarf up to cover my face and cried into the soft blue fabric.
I might not have been so wrecked if the award rejection and Hamish’s departure had slammed into me separately, but together they formed a perfect one-two knockout.
I tried desperately to ignore the needy part of me that craved external validation. I’d left a law degree I’d been incredibly good at to open a bookshop on a tiny island that most people hadn’t heard of. I’d followed a dream, and that’s what was important. I didn’t need anyone to tell me I’d done the right thing.
The Indie Bookshop Award had offered what the needy part wanted, though. I hadn’t applied for it, so I’d convinced myself that any validation it brought would be freely given. I hadn’t realised that even without striving to be nominated, from the moment I’d been notified of my bookshop’s place on the longlist, I’d been dreaming of winning.
The bulk of me knew I’d done the right thing in coming here, but the rest wanted someone else to look at what I’d done and pronounce that it was good. Award worthy. A valid reason to leave the prospect of a stable and well-paid career and move to an unknown Scottish island.
And I hadn’t advertised for a member of staff. Before Hamish walked through the bookshop door and stated his terms, I’d not sought out a colleague. I’d thought I was fine alone, that the shop was small and eccentric enough that one man running it on his own added to its vaguely chaotic charm.
I couldn’t have known how much I’d come to love having Hamish as an employee. He was surly and barely paid any attention to my instructions, but he loved books and he loved theshop. He’d simply been there. Regularly, I’d had another person in the shop working towards making it the best it could be.
It wasn’t even a consolation that no longer regularly paying his wages would mean that the gap between my profits and costs would grow a little.
From now on, I’d be alone. I didn’t realise how bolstering it was to have someone else dedicating their time to the shop until it was torn away.
I’d have no one to help me make my apparently mediocre shop any better.
I jumped at several sharp stabs on my ankle. Lowering my scarf from my face, I blinked tears from my eyes.
Kat stood on the step below where I’d fallen. Her fur was fluffed as she glared at me.
I’d heard about other pets who cared when their owners were in emotional distress. Mine just wanted me to get the hell out of her way so that she could get upstairs, then feed her as soon as possible.
‘Sorry.’ I sniffed, then eased my legs to one side of the stairs. Kat ran past, making sure to flick her tail into my tear stained face.
