I do my best to put all thoughts of holding on to Kate’s hand out of my mind as we linger in the store a while, exploring the back rooms, the kitchen, the upper floors. I find the spot where the leak appears to be, and she oohs and aahs at the views from the little porthole window in the attic. She rubs it clean with her scarf, and gazes out at the sea.
‘Brody! Come and look!’ she says, sounding like a kid on Christmas Eve. I bend down to take my turn, and I’ve got to admit, it’s pretty breathtaking. The round window perfectly frames the bay, the waves rolling in on the sand, the sunlight glinting on the rock of distant islands. Leak or not, there just might be something special about this place.
We go back downstairs to the main bookstore, and with a little help from Kate’s optimistic narration, I see it more clearly through her eyes. She points out the cosy corners, the welcoming spaces, the way the bookshelves flow so naturally through the room. I leave her to it, while my practical nature focuses more on the ancient plumbing than anything more fanciful.
Or maybe I’m just avoiding the emotional side of things, because a broken faucet is definitely a hell of a lot easier to fix than a broken person.
Our encounter with Ginny has clearly affected Kate deeply, and as we look around the place, she talks about how she hates the idea of Moira, a woman she’s never even met, admitting defeat.
‘It’s horrible, isn’t it?’ she asks, absent-mindedly straightening a pile of crime thrillers as she speaks. ‘The thought of someone like Moira being laid so low? And yes, before you say anything, I realise I don’t actually know her! But those cards… the invitations she wrote… they were so beautiful. So hopeful and positive and strong. They made me feel like I could be hopeful and positive and strong as well, and now we get here and she’s had a fall and she’s given up on life, and Ginny was so sad, and…’
She makes a visible effort to pull herself together, and takes a deep breath.
‘I’m sorry. I’m wittering on, aren’t I? I tend to do that. Ignore me.’
Huh, I think. That would be impossible. I couldn’t ignore this woman if I tried. Admittedly, partly because she talks so much, but partly just because of her energy – she gives out this weird mix of vulnerability and courage, somehow combining complete openness with moments of guarded self-protection. I don’t know her story, but she must have one, or she wouldn’t be here. Neither of us would – what we’ve done isn’t normal, for sure.
I’m still a little pissed with myself for making this fool’s errand. What does it say about me and my life that I got on that train? That I followed the instructions and just turned up?
‘That’s okay,’ I tell her. ‘I don’t mind you “wittering on” if you don’t mind me being quiet.’
I poke a piece of the wooden baseboard with my boot, and it comes loose with the slightest touch. The place is literally falling apart before our eyes.
Kate stares at it, and then at me. She looks upset, and I’m hoping she’s not going to start crying again. Instead, she heads off to one of the shelves, and after a few minutes returns with a couple of books. She hands one to me, and says: ‘Poetry for you. The collected works of W.B. Yeats. And for me, this…’
She holds up something calledDIY for Dummies, and adds: ‘It’s all about the balance, isn’t it? Maybe you need to be less practical, and maybe I need to be less emotional. We can start with these, because books are always a good place to start…’
I open the book, read a few lines of something called ‘Never Give All the Heart’. It’s beautiful, and I choke back a groan as I slam it closed again. Nah. Too much. I might start crying as well.
‘I know we’re both feeling let down right now,’ she continues. ‘Well, I know I am at least. I’m trying desperately not to start blubbing again, and I suspect you’re dealing with it by kicking things, and being all manly.’
‘Nope. This is just the way I always am.’
‘Okay, well, extra extra manly then… you know what I mean.’
She gulps, and bites her lip, and I see the effort she’s making to hold it together. Like me, she came here expecting something life-affirming, and now she’s in a freezing cold, dust-ridden book graveyard with a man she barely knows. Her skin is pale, and there’s a tremor in the hands holding the book. It’s enough to kick me out of my own funk.
‘Yeah. I do know what you mean,’ I tell her. ‘And it sucks ass.’
She smiles at that, at least.
‘It really does. Though I’d say it sucks arse instead. What… what do you think we should do?’
There’s a quaver in her voice, and I can tell she’s not feeling as brave as she’s trying to pretend.
It’s also a good question. We’ve come a long way, we’re both tired, and in my case severely in need of a lie-down. Bonnie Bayseemed pretty small as we drove through it, but I suppose it’s possible there’ll be a hotel, a place where we can spend the night.
We could also look at heading back the way we came, trying to get a cab to Finnsburgh, which seemed to be the closest town of any size. It’s not ideal, but it might be the only option.
She’s looking up at me expectantly, apparently genuinely waiting for me to answer. There’s a look of such worry on her face, such intense anxiety, that all I want to do is make her feel better.
‘I think,’ I say firmly, relieved to have someone else to think about, ‘that we should go get a drink.’
‘If in doubt, go to the pub?’ she responds, a whisper of a smile forming on her lips.
‘Damn right.’
Just one pint of Guinness, and then I’ll be gone. I certainly don’t plan on spending any more time here – Kate can talk it up as much as she likes, but as it is, the Edge of the World Bookshop is about as welcoming as a punch to the gut.
