A few minutes later, warm from the effort of moving the furniture by herself, she crawls into a makeshift den made from pillows and blankets, to eat the rest of her dinner in there.
Sometimes life calls for a pillow fort. And sometimes you just have to build that fort yourself.
Book Lane Recommends
Books to fall in love with
One Dayby David Nicholls
Love Storyby Lindsey Kelk
Here We Go Againby Alison Cochrun
Venetiaby Georgette Heyer
9
Alfie spots Matilda Nightingale from the shop counter, her hands cupped around her pale face, her nose pressed up against the shop window. She sees him watching her and smiles, the smile doing something to Alfie’s stomach that he puts down to the ready meal he ate last night which may or may not have been past its expiry date. From her spot curled up in an empty cardboard box on the floor Georgette lifts her head and, Alfie could swear, gives him a wry look.
He unlocks the door and there she is, wearing her usual rainbow scarf and tweed coat. And are thosecroissantshanging from her ears?
‘Am I too early?’ she says a little breathlessly, checking a green leather watch on her wrist. ‘I was hoping to pick up my next book on the way to work. But if you’re not open yet I can come back later or tomorrow …’
‘Don’t worry, I was just opening up,’ he lies.
She follows him inside and he heads immediately for the collection shelf. When he turns around she is stood by the non-fiction section, pulling a book out from the shelf and moving it to a more prominent position, cover facing out.
‘Sorry,’ she says, leaping back, the tips of her ears turning pink.
He presses his lips tightly together, pushing back a smile. ‘A big fan, are you?’ he says, an eyebrow rising as he takes in the book she has rearranged.
The cover shows the smiling image of pop star Aimee Rain. Her memoir has just come out in paperback. As he placed the order he imagined his father cringing and it made him wonder, as he so often does, what he would make of the shop. But Alfie has personally never been a fan of snobbishness when it comes to books. His job is to stock the books that people want to buy – or at least as many of them as will fit into the modest space.
‘Sorry, it’s an editor’s bad habit,’ Matilda Nightingale replies, adding, ‘I worked on the book with her. That’s my niche – celebrity memoirs.’
‘Ah, so you work in publishing. And that’s quite a niche. You must have some stories.’
‘A couple. I bet you do too. Nightmare authors. Difficult customers … like me.’ She raises an eyebrow.
He doesn’t take the bait, instead says, ‘What’s she like, then, Aimee Rain?’
‘Actually, one of the good ones.’
‘Would you even tell me if she wasn’t?’
‘Of course. But then I’d have to kill you,’ she dead-pans. ‘Or at least get you to sign an NDA.’
Georgette has poked her head out of the cardboard box and in a less than graceful move she half jumps half flops out on to the floor, where she winds herself between Matilda’s legs, purring extravagantly. Matilda bends to stroke her and Georgette reclines, exposing her soft belly and leaning her head back on the floor like a Grecian goddess.
‘I have to apologize, she’s a terrible flirt.’
But Matilda is already scratching Georgette’s ample belly, and Alfie watches as both Matilda and the cat seem to relax. The tense line of Matilda’s jaw softens, her lips parting slightly.
‘That’s OK, I love cats. My husband always wanted a dog …’ Her jaw tightens again and he can see her throatmove as she swallows, blinking quickly. ‘Your Georgette is a lovely cat.’
‘She’s not reallymycat. She’s technically a stray but she keeps coming back because I feed her the fancy kind of food. She’s going to bankrupt me.’
‘I think all bookshops should have cats,’ Matilda says, Georgette’s eyes now softly closed as she luxuriates in being stroked. ‘They just seem togotogether.’
