Worried her plans might be thwarted, she made her case. ‘For the window. Yellow is nice and bright. Perfect for a spring launch. Trust me. It’ll complement the décor really well. Blue looks great in Penzance but Polcarrow is a much more gentle place, I really think the yellow will be perfect. There’s a view over the sea. It’ll be nice for readers to sit and look through what they want to buy.’
Clive gave a dissatisfied grunt. ‘Are you sure? I get that it’s a good space, but we want people buying books, not just lounging around.’
Effie steeled herself. She was not going to back down where the chairs were concerned. ‘What we need is customers. Polcarrow is a little out of the way but the shop is next door to an adorable café. If we create a cosy atmosphere with a sea view the shop will end up all over social media and that’ll draw the customers in.’
‘Hadn’t thought of that, good thing you’re setting this up, not me. You’ve clearly got your finger on the pulse. Do what you need, Effie, but I want books sold not just girls posing on armchairs with them, all right? Gotta go, keep me posted, send some more photos. I’ll let you know when I’m popping down with the till.’
Effie hung up and glanced around the shop. She snapped a few pictures then fired them off to Clive. Sometimes she wondered why on earth he ran a bookshop, as he wasn’t much of a reader. He’d inherited the shop from his father, who had been a bookworm, the business having been started by Clive’s grandfather. Clive was keeping it running through a sense of sentimentality, which was admirable.
However, Clive didn’t seem to understand that book lovers liked to linger among the shelves, pulling off books, inspecting the covers, reading the blurbs, flicking through the pages, sometimes giving them a surreptitious sniff. Clive wanted sales. Effie, who loved a wander around a cute characteristic bookshop, who followed lots of them on social media, understood what readers wanted. Books were a safe haven, an escape and the shops that sold them needed to reflect this. She wanted this shop to provide a place of comfort and wonder to readers, to have them step through the door and feel as if they’d been gathered into a gentle, bookish hug.
Effie closed up and let herself out into the cool evening air, twilight already starting to draw in over the bay. Locking the door, she wished the shop goodnight. As she pulled away, her hand ran down the door. Stepping back, she took in the dull, flaking red paint, which gave off the unkempt, unloved vibe of an abandoned shop. Effie picked off some more of the paint, exposing the wood beneath. Painting the door was next on her list of jobs.
Taking a few steps backwards, the ethereal evening light softening the village around her, Effie took in the shop, the vacant window, the empty shelves, a locked-up shell of potential. She thought of the two yellow armchairs, as bright as the spring sun, as joyful as a daffodil. Her mind fell to the tin of navy door paint she’d ordered, which remained unopened in the kitchen. Nothing about the heavy night-time shade felt right. Could she extend her yellow theme out here? A door the colour of the sun to greet the dawn? Clive said he trusted her. Would this be step too far? Yellow was warm, welcoming and hopeful, everything she wanted the shop to be.
Chapter Nineteen
‘Do you need a hand?’
Effie glanced up from where she was kneeling on the doorstep, scraping the old flaking paint off the door. Her heart leapt at the sight of Jake hovering; his checked shirt pushed up over his tanned forearms, his golden hair glinting in the sunlight. Effie swallowed as she dragged her eyes up his body to meet his.
‘I’m actually quite enjoying it,’ she said as she sat back, ‘it’s very cathartic to be scraping off this old paint.’
‘I can see. Going well?’
‘Yes, I spoke to Clive.’ Effie stood up and wiped her brow. ‘Sue popped by yesterday and we had a chat about what I’m going to be doing in the shop. She is full of ideas! Story time for the kids, why didn’t I think of that? Although Clive was less enthusiastic about the idea but he told me to carry on with whatever I’ve been planning. I know the door is meant to be blue but I was feeling defiant and yellow is just so much brighter.’
Jake gasped, ‘You rebel!’
Effie laughed, ‘I can always paint it blue later if he’s not happy, but I thought yellow would be so nice and bright what with it being springtime. How were your friends?’
‘Good, good. It seems mad that Mags and Ewan are having a baby. It doesn’t feel like five minutes ago we were all sneaking cans of cider down to the cove. They liked what I’m offering. They booked me in for next week.’
‘Oh Jake, that’s amazing!’
‘Thanks. Still daunting though. Now, do you fancy a hot chocolate and you can tell me about these plans you’ve hatched?’
‘I’ve already had my daily hot chocolate, but a cup of tea would be lovely.’
‘I’m sure you’re allowed more than one hot chocolate,’ Jake told her.
Effie shook her head. ‘I like my little rules. Plus, it wouldn’t be a treat if I was drinking them all the time.’
‘Fair enough. I’ll grab us some lunch. I’m starving and it looks like you’ve earned a break.’
Effie watched Jake head into Lola’s. Effie had missed him, a feeling she hadn’t wanted to inspect too closely, even though he had only been away overnight. It had, however, been good to throw herself into the shop without the distraction of Jake’s sunny, disarming smile.
The previous evening, following her chat with Clive, Effie had sat down with a notebook and made copious lists of things she needed to do to make the shop look inviting, events she could host and stuff she needed to buy. She’d then gone on a mini online shopping spree buying Easter- and book-themed accessories for the opening. The gorgeous rainbow-coloured rug for the children’s area had arrived first thing and it looked delightful.
Jake came out of Lola’s carrying two takeaway cups and a couple of paper bags. ‘Fresh pasties,’ he said. ‘I’ve not had a single pasty since I’ve been back in Cornwall.’
‘What? How long have you been back?’ Effie asked as she downed her tools and followed him over to the harbour wall and perched on it, scanning the sky for seagulls.
‘About a month. Six weeks-ish.’
‘A month! No pasties? Have you had a cream tea?’
‘Erm, not yet . . . Confession, I’m not actually a huge fan of them.’
