Making her way off the beach, Effie wandered along the harbour road, past the ice-cream-coloured fisherman’s cottages, wondering who was lucky enough to be tucked up in them on a Sunday evening. She made her way up the main street, past the tiny local shop and the chippy to the church. Effie found churches fascinating. She wasn’t religious herself, but the fact that the buildings had been the centre of the community for hundreds of years amazed her.
Effie tried the door but it was locked. A vague memory surfaced, an article about a mural, had it been in Polcarrow? Clive had mentionedCornish Lifemagazine and she seemed to remember her mum talking about it. She ran her fingers over the seashells pressed into the mortar around the door. They almost shimmered in the evening light. She took a photo before making her way out of the churchyard and up the winding streets, passing the cottages they’d driven past, wondering how the locals would feel about a bookshop opening. Would they like it? Who didn’t like a bookshop? Would they welcome her? Or see her as an incomer to the village?
Stomach rumbling, Effie made her way back to her flat.Her flat!She’d never had somewhere to call her own before. It would all be fine. She’d meet new people, she’d make a success of the shop, everyone would envy the life she’d set up by the sea.
However, that first night, with the flat scrubbed clean, dinner eaten and night descending over the beautiful seascape she’d admired during the golden hour, Polcarrow felt bleak and dark, miles from civilisation. But Effie knew she had two choices: sink or swim.
Chapter Seven
‘Did you actually view the shop before you signed the lease?’ Effie asked with more annoyance than she’d intended when she called Clive at half past nine the following morning.
‘Erm, er . . . Well . . . Of course I did!’ he spluttered before deflecting. ‘The location, Effie! The location! It’s perfect. Look, I know what you’re going to say, it needs some work, but trust me, it will be perfect.’
‘Some work,’ she muttered as she wiped dust off the windowsill.
Effie glanced out of the window where the spring sunshine was glinting off the waves in the harbour. Yes, it was perfect, but she wasn’t going to be won over so easily.
‘The view is spectacular,’ she conceded, ‘but the shop is a mess. It’s going to take a lot more than a once-over with some cleaning products. The walls need repainting, the shelves are varnished wood, it’s not in keeping with the main shop aesthetic. I sent some photos.’ She paused, heart pounding. She wasn’t used to being so assertive. It felt good. Terrifying, but good.
The silence down the phone was heavy. What if Clive was reassessing whether or not Effie was suitable for the role. Just as she opened her mouth to try and back-pedal, tell him it was fine, she’d find a way, Clive sighed down the line.
‘I saw those,’ Clive said. ‘I did view the shop, the estate agent said loads of people were interested and I just had a hunch, you know? Didn’t want anyone else to get it. Maybe I didn’t think through how much work just a lick of paint actually would be. I got a bit carried away. Effie, but this really is the perfect location though. I feel it in my bones. Do you see that?’
‘Well, yes,’ she admitted, ‘it is beautiful but—’
‘There’s three weeks until opening. I’ll hold off sending the stock, but you let me know what you need to get the place looking shipshape, all right? I’ll send anything you need.’
Effie could sense he was trying to get off the phone. Clive didn’t like confrontation. She glanced around the tired interior and told him, ‘I’m going to need to redecorate. So, I’ll need to order painting materials and equipment.’
‘That’s fine, Effie, honestly, send me a list and I’ll order it in and let you know when it’ll be delivered. See, this is why you’re perfect to open the new shop, you think outside the box.’
‘But I’ve never decorated before,’ she told him, glancing around at the walls, trying to convince herself that a couple of coats of paint would be enough. ‘Could you send someone to do it?’
‘Ah, well, I don’t really have the budget for that, I’m afraid, one of the reasons I sent you down early. You’re a capable woman, Effie, but if it’s too much I can send Zach to help?’
Effie’s blood ran cold. ‘Erm, no, I’m sure I can manage by myself.’ Zach would love to know she was struggling, so there was no way he was going to find out. ‘It’s just some paint.’
‘That’s the spirit!’ The relief in Clive’s voice almost convinced her she could do this. ‘Right, send that list, got to go, keep me posted. That view, Effie! That view! The book bloggers will love it!’
Having ended the call with Clive, Effie surveyed the shop. With the morning sunlight streaming in she could see its potential emerging from the shadows. It was a good space. A comfy chair in the bay window for customers to sit and peruse their purchases whilst admiring the sea view would be a social media win.
Grabbing her notebook, Effie perched on the windowsill and began to make her list. White paint, brushes, rollers . . . anything else? She wasn’t sure. How hard could painting be? She picked up her phone and opened her message app, her finger hovering over her dad’s number. He’d know what to do. Effie hesitated. She’d been here less than twenty-four hours; she couldn’t contact her parents already. Also, it wasn’t their problem to fix. This was an opportunity to stand on her own two feet.
Instead, she fired off a list of what she needed to Clive, instructing him to have it delivered as soon as possible, otherwise, she’d have to delay the opening. As the new shop had been already announced on their social media pages, Effie knew threatening to put back the opening would put the fear of God into Clive, and the equipment would likely arrive via express delivery.
Rolling up her sleeves, Effie filled a bucket with hot water and grabbed some cleaning products, switched on an empowering rock music playlist and set about scrubbing the shelves so that they’d be clean enough for her to start painting. She was halfway through her second bucket of water and ‘Bat Out of Hell’ when the door was pushed open. So engrossed in what she was doing, the tinkling bell made her heart leap.
Effie spun around, dropping her cleaning cloth and silencing her phone. ‘We’re not open yet,’ she called out, panicked, taking in the glamorous woman who stood in the doorway. Her fiery red hair was rolled into an elaborate vintage style, an old-fashioned apron pulled across her blue floral dress. She cast her eyes around the shop, as if checking it out for size.
‘Oh, I know that, I’ve just come to say hello—’ the woman bustled in ‘—and I won’t be the first to pop by,’ she advised, stepping forward and holding out her hand to Effie. ‘I’m Lola, by the way, I run the café next door. We’ve all been dying to know what’s going on in here since the sign went up.’ Her eyes left Effie’s and skittered around the empty shop.
Effie shook Lola’s hand. ‘It’s going to be a bookshop.’
‘A bookshop! How delightful! No one had bookshop on their sweepstake. We were all dreading it being another souvenir shop.’
‘Well, we do sell souvenirs,’ Effie said, ‘but tasteful ones.’ Tasteful ones? What on earth? New people, out of context, always made her anxious, especially confident glamorous ones. Effie watched as Lola made her way around the little shop, running her fingers along the shelves and disappearing into the small office where Effie heard the sound of cupboards being opened and closed.
‘This reminds me of when I took over the café,’ she called, ‘a ghastly mess. But I had it shipshape within two weeks. Repainted everything. Have you been in?’ Lola asked as she emerged from the back room.
