Should I point out the stuff on her shoulder? It could be bird poo, and if I was carrying that around with me I’d be grateful if someone let me know. But it’s hard to tell, and her hostile vibes, which have killed off any remaining desire to browse, are propelling me towards the door.
A flurry of sudden activity catches my attention. She’s disappeared from view and, judging by the sounds, is rummaging for something under the counter. I pause to study local guidebooks by the door. The girl reappears with a clingfilm-wrapped sandwich. She tugs off its wrapper and devours it in enormous bites. She’s acting like it’s the first thing she’s eaten all day, and I’m wondering now if perhaps she’s not supposed to eat at the counter, and wants to guzzle her lunch before her boss appears.
The sandwich is finished, and now a Twix appears, plus a sugary doughnut from a brown paper bag. There’s more eating happening in here than in the tearoom a few doors down. As she chomps into the doughnut a jet of red jam spurts out, hitting both her top and the counter. ‘Ugh!’ With a groan she uses the paper bag to dab at both the counter and herself, seemingly ineffectually.
‘Don’t you hate it when that happens?’ I remark, trying to convey sympathy.
‘Uh. Yeah.’ She looks at me briefly as if I have no business being here, browsing books, in abookshop. How weird that this delightful shop is being staffed by a powerful customer deterrent. A little disappointed now, I’m about to leave when the door is opened again, this time by a tall man with wavy mid-brown hair, smattered with a little grey. Carrying a huge box that covers the lower half of his face, he props the door open with a broad shoulder. Then, before I can offer to help, he swivels and sets it down on the shop floor as the door closes behind him.
‘Hi,’ I say.
He straightens up and smiles. ‘Hi,’ he says. ‘D’you need help with anything at all?’
‘No thanks,’ I reply, aware of the dramatic change in atmosphere from the moment he walked in. ‘Just been having a browse,’ I add. ‘It’s a lovely shop. I could get lost in here for hours.’
‘That’s the idea.’ He’s handsome in a rugged, unaffected way; tall and slim, in faded jeans and a sweatshirt, with soft grey-blue eyes. ‘Take your time,’ he adds. ‘And if there’s anything you’re looking for...’ He turns to the girl. ‘Everything okay, Liv?’
‘Yeah.’ Apart from the jammy blob on her chest, all evidence of the counter picnic has gone.
‘Any sales while I was out?’
‘Nope.’
‘Any customers? Phone calls?’
A terse shake of the head.
‘Right. So, if we could price up these, that’d be great,’ he says, breezing over her minimal communication. ‘They’re mostly history. A couple of nice editions of classics too. And some poetry. Lovely family, they were. Sorry to see their books go but they’re downsizing and won’t have the space. So, I’ve another pick-up to do later,’ he adds.
‘Okay,’ she murmurs vaguely, as if it’s of no concern to her what he does.
Now I detect a glimmer of exasperation, but he seems to gather himself quickly. ‘Did you offer our customer some coffee, Liv?’
‘Uh, no, Dad.’ Ah, his daughter’s been manning the fort.
‘Would you like some?’ he offers. ‘There’s a pot made...’
‘Better not,’ I say reluctantly. ‘I’m meeting a friend soon.’
‘Well, next time then, if you’re in town for a while?’
‘Yes, definitely,’ I say as something occurs to me. ‘Your shop’s name. Off the Rails. Did it used to be on the station platform?’
‘It was, yeah. Not in my time, but the guy who set up the shop started off there. Then the building needed refurbishing and he wasn’t sure if they’d let him move back in once it had been done. So he found this place. And when he retired I took it over from him...’
‘Well, I love it.’ I smile, glad now that I hadn’t left a moment earlier. ‘I remember it,’ I add. ‘The Railway Bookshop, I mean. I came on holiday here as a child.’
‘It was a real gem, wasn’t it?’ He grins too. ‘I was obsessed with the place. My parents rationed my visits to one a month. I had to make do with the library in between times.’
I chuckle. ‘That sounds familiar...’
‘So are you on holiday here?’
‘No, I’m actually, um...’ How to put it?No, I’m assuming someone else’s identity and actually conning an older lady who’s shown me nothing but kindness?But then, he’s not here to interrogate me. He’s just a bookshop man being friendly to a customer. ‘I’m kind of working,’ I reply.
‘Oh, really? Whereabouts?’
‘It’s... well, um, it’s a bit out of town. I’m helping to clear out a house to get it ready for sale.’
