She’s not wrong of course, and we’re all smiling as I wheel Moira behind the counter. She just about fits in with her chair, and I start to mentally plan for making a few adjustments to make it easier for her. She seems thrilled to be back, and has a comment for each of her customers – a thank-you, a joke, a recommendation for another book they might like. It’s uplifting, seeing her back in her element.
One by one the crowd leaves, heading to the Kestrel. Just as we’re about to follow them the door opens, the bell letting out its warning tinkle, and a tall guy dressed in a smart suit walks in. He has cropped red hair, and a neatly trimmed beard. He looks like money, but also looks human when he greets Moira.
‘Mrs McLeod,’ he says warmly. ‘It’s so good to see you out and about!’ I’m no expert on regional accents, but his is different from the locals.
Moira nods at him, and introduces us. ‘This is James Fraser,’ she says. ‘He’s from Edinburgh, but don’t hold that against him. His partner is from Peterhead at least, knocked some of the posh out of him. Kate, Brody, this is the gentleman who wants to turn my wee bookshop into a, what do you call it, fashion hotel?’
She winks, and it’s perfectly obvious she’s pretending not to know what she’s talking about.
‘Boutique,’ he responds, ‘as you well know. I was in the area, visiting our property in Aberdeen, and I thought I’d pop by. I haven’t heard back from you.’
‘Aye, that’s because I haven’t contacted you, son. I will, when the time is right. This place is going nowhere, and like I said last time we spoke, I promise not to sell it to anybody else before I’ve talked to you. It won’t be right away though, I warn you – we’reopening up for the summer. Bonnie Bay needs its bookshop for the time being.’
He holds his hands up in surrender, and his smile seems genuine enough. He might dress like a shark, but there’s some decency in there.
‘Fair enough, and it is looking a lot better! My offer stands, but in terms of timing, I’ll need an answer by the end of September. I’d like to get the work done ready for an opening in summer next year, and if it’s a no, I’ll need to look elsewhere. I’m not pressurising you, just being honest. Anyway. It was nice to meet you both. I’d better go. Date night!’
‘Give David my love, won’t you?’
He leaves, and Moira makes apfffftsound as she looks around. At the books, the shelves, the ancient cast-iron cash register. ‘Boutique hotel! Can you imagine? He’s even said he’ll keep the name – the Edge of the World Inn!’
Yeah, I think, I can actually. This building is bigger than it looks, and the upper rooms are barely used. It would work – one of those small luxury places that leaves trays of croissants outside your room for breakfast, and offers bespoke concierge services.
‘Are you still going to sell?’ Kate asks curiously. She’s put a lot of effort into this place so far, and I guess she’s invested.
‘I don’t know yet, child, but he’s gone and given me a deadline now, hasn’t he! I have a lot to think about. What you two have done so far is marvellous, but I don’t know if it’s sustainable. I’m getting no younger, and it’s more work than it looks. The doctors in their wisdom tell me they can’t rule out me getting mobile again, but they can’t promise it either. And I’m eighty-three, maybe I’ve earned my retirement, eh?’
I’m sure she has. It’s a good age to work until – some of us are already lightweights at fifty-one. It touches a nerve, and when I get back to Chicago, I need to put some wheels in motion. I’vealready been approached by a buddy who runs a security firm, and I need to work. I need the purpose, especially now Shannon has left.
I fight off a moment of sadness at the thought of leaving, and wheel Moira back down the ramp. By the time we arrive at the pub, there’s some kind of carnival going on. Everyone is wearing little paper hats, and as we walk through the door they start blowing into party whistles and throwing handfuls of brightly coloured streamers at us. Moira is delighted, laughing as she’s wheeled away by Xander, leaving Kate and me looking on at the festivities.
‘You want a drink?’ I ask, turning to her and picking bits of tissue paper from her hair. Her hazel eyes meet mine, shining.
‘No,’ she says quietly. ‘They don’t need us here any more. I want to go, Brody. I want to make love to you, and then I want to lie in your arms for the rest of the day. I want to cling on to what time we have left together, because life is too short and too precious to waste even one magical moment.’
I get it. It’s been an emotional day. Even I’m feeling it, and I’m a past master at making myself as numb as humanly possible. She’s right, though – they don’t need us here. We’re just transient, temporary, brief visitors to this place. We’ll finish the bookstore, we’ll give Moira her last summer, just like we promised. Then we will leave, and she will probably sell up.
For some reason I hate the thought of that – of leaving, of life here carrying on without us. Of the bookstore closing down.
‘Are you okay?’ Kate asks, looking up at me with concern.
‘Yeah. Just… thinking, I guess. That never comes naturally to me.’
She shakes her head. ‘You’re not what you pretend to be, Brody. You think a lot more than you like to admit.’
She’s right, and it’s not necessarily a good thing. Maybe now is a time for feeling instead – for not wasting one magicalmoment, like she said. I lean down and kiss her, because I always want to kiss her. Her body presses against mine, her hands sliding around my neck and pulling me even closer. We fit together like perfection, her gentle curves moulding into me.
‘Come on,’ I say, taking her hand. ‘Let’s go home.’
SEVENTEEN
BRODY
Once we’re there, I lead her up to the bedroom, all thoughts of the bookstore chased out of my head. By default, hers is the room we spend most time in, as all the football and pop stars on the walls in the other aren’t exactly romantic. She moves to the window, gazes out at the sea, a look of wonder on her face.
‘I’m looking for selkies,’ she tells me seriously. The big framed pictures on the walls of the room attract my eyes. She’s been reading a book of Scottish legends she found in the store.
‘You look like a selkie,’ I say, walking up behind her and wrapping her in my arms. ‘All sleek and mysterious.’
