Love With a Chance of Drowning by Torre DeRoche – a memoir set in the South Pacific in a leaky boat with a woman in love, who just so happens to fear the ocean.
All best wishes,
Gus.
I smile at Gus curating a reading list and insisting I work through them. The best way to get to know someone is by reading books that moved them. Books that changed their lives and left their mark. These titles seem like they’ll awaken the long-dormant adventurous side of me as good travel memoirs can, when you take a dive into unchartered territories with vistas you can only dream about, leaving you breathless after an epic voyage or gruelling expedition where you don’t actually have to do any of the physical work, except keep up with the words as they fly across the page.
I scan the note again. A couple of sentences stick out:Ignore the gossip and conjecture as best you can and get on with the job of selling books so that the bookshop doesn’t indeed close. If that were to happen, I’d never forgive myself. I probably won’t anyway, but that would make my transgressions infinitely worse.
What transgressions is he referring to? It’s clear that he didn’t retire in the usual way, with a big staff party, a gold watch and a thank you for giving up the best years of his life. He’s admitting to some sort of fault but for what? Why won’t anyone be drawn on it? Do I need to know to be able to do my job? No. But is the nosy part of my personality intrigued? Yes. I sense his regret and a deep sadness. I’m still suffering overwhelming pangs of anxiety after my missteps so can empathise. What if it’s a simple misunderstanding? Maybe I can help Gus and get him back where he belongs – the Barefoot Bookshop.
It’s likely he and Xavier butted heads over the bookshop, although in the letter Gus seems to respect him, so…? My musing is cut short when the three Lucys walk in, laughing and chatting away. They’re hustlers, I remind myself, and I’m not to be taken in by their little old lady act.
‘Harper, it’s so nice to see you running the Barefoot Bookshop. While we’re sad to lose Gus, having a woman in charge of ordering stock can only be a good thing.’
‘It’s not like Gus didn’t acquiesce to your every demand,’ Lucia says. ‘In fact, you’re the reason the romance section here ballooned out.’
‘So sue me. I love love. Not all of us can read crime books all day, you know.’
‘You’d think you read crime books for tips, the way you cheat in every game we play!’
Lucy Lou clucks her tongue. ‘Not only is Lucy good at cheating, she’s even better at pinning her crimes on us when she gets caught out.’
‘Crimes? What crimes? You jest.’
Lucia stares her down. ‘Ah, last night did you or did you not cheat at two-up with that lovely man from Connecticut and then blame me?’
Lucy scoffs. ‘I shared the spoils with you, did I not?’
‘That’s beside the point!’
‘It’s the very point! And now here we are ready to spend our ill-gotten gains on books. You should be thanking me.’
‘Hardly.’
‘There’s no hardly about it. This doth-protest-too-much act is purely for Harper’s benefit.’
Lucy seems to be the leader of the pack, or at least the one who gets in the last word. Still, if I don’t speak up I have a feeling their bickering will continue unabashed without any input from me. ‘Hi, ladies! It’s nice to see you again.’ They’re all about the same age – mid-seventies maybe, with similar white-blonde bobbed hair, wearing the ubiquitous frangipani sarongs that are popular around the resort. They have a golden glow about them, as if the climate here agrees with them; maybe it’s that and their early morning yoga sessions. I’ll admit, I’m a little jealous they’re in better shape than me. Their sassy personalities shine through too.
‘You’ll get used to our squabbles,’ Lucy says. ‘We’re island sisters, not by blood, but by choice. We retired here after our husbands died and before you ask, no, we didn’t poison them, that’s a terrible rumour that Brian perpetuates. I mean, strychnine is so easily traceable and hard jail time is no joke.’
‘Especially at our age,’ Lucia says. ‘No, I need a bed with a firm Posturepedic mattress.’
‘Not to mention the importance of a memory foam pillow,’ Lucy interjects.
Confusion dashes across Lucy Lou’s features. ‘Memory foam? Do they catch your dreams?’
Lucy rolls her eyes. ‘You’re not serious?’
Lucy Lou blushes. ‘Well, where does the memory part come in?’
‘The indent of your great noggin, you know?’
‘Ooh.’ Lucy Lou laughs. ‘Shame it doesn’t catch your dreams, now that I would pay for.’
‘Anyway.’ Lucy shakes her head at her friend. ‘Back to what I was saying before I was so rudely inter?—’
Lucia speaks over the top of Lucy. ‘In fairness, we didn’t even think of knocking our husbands off. If we had, we might have retired to the island a few years earlier without our balls and chains.’ At that the women double over laughing.
