‘Call me tomorrow, Laurence. Bye.’
Greg rang off and shook his head, smiling. He could’ve told Laurence about Jemma, but he knew what his friend was like. Laurence would be signing himself out of the hospital the moment he heard.
He glanced towards the Ladies’ loos, and saw Jemma deep in conversation with Charlie. A moment of panic rushed through him and then he relaxed. Charlie might be a joker but she wasn’t mean or spiteful. She wouldn’t be saying anything to Jemma that he wasn’t prepared to tell her himself. Unlike some people in this village. Well, only one person really, and that was Barbra Brimble. That woman was nothing but trouble.
He watched Jemma walk back to their table. She seemed to be reading a leaflet.
‘Charlie said you told her to give me this.’ She blushed as she sat down. ‘She said, at first, that it was about safe sex, but then she told me it wasn’t really.’ Jemma smiled sheepishly as she held the leaflet out to him, looking a little perplexed.
‘I didn’t tell her to give you anything. And I certainly wouldn’t have mentioned sex.’ He gave a quick cough as he took it from her. ‘She’s winding us up.’
It was a leaflet advertising the Indie Bookshops Event in Folkestone this coming week. He’d forgotten all the bookshops and the local council had got together to produce a batch of advertising leaflets, booklets, and even bookmarks to help promote the week-long festival.
‘You didn’t mention it.’ She looked a little hurt. As if she had discovered there was a party taking place and she hadn’t been invited.
‘I was going to. But it’s a bit of a sore point at the moment and I thought if I did, I’d start moaning and whining. Or something.But I had planned to tell you about it because, of course, I knew you’d probably be interested.’
‘Probably? Definitely. And not just because I’m a writer and bookshops mean a lot to me in my own career. Also because, as a reader, I support independent bookshops and all the wonderful things so many of them do for their readers.’
He pulled a face. ‘Yeah. Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.’
‘Why is it a sore point?’
‘What? Oh. Because of Laurence’s accident. That was who that call was from, by the way. He’s not getting out until tomorrow. Anyway. It couldn’t have happened at a worse time for me and it’s put me in a tricky situation. The week-long schedule of events in Folkestone is to celebrate independent bookshops, as this leaflet says, but what it doesn’t say is that all the bookshops taking part are personally responsible for their own events. And that means all the planning, organising, running and execution of the same. Plus all the costs. Laurence was due to give a talk and do a book signing in my bookshop, to a sell-out crowd of would-be writers, avid readers, and devotees of independent bookshops like mine. Now my event can’t go ahead on Tuesday, because although his injuries aren’t as serious as they could’ve been, it’ll take him a good few days to recover from the shock, and a lot longer for the broken leg to heal. He’s a close friend, and he wants to participate. He said again just now that he’ll be fine to do it. But he won’t. And I won’t let him. His wellbeing comes first. It’s too late for me to cancel all the food and drink I’ve ordered, but I don’t have time to find another author to take Laurence’s place. It means Bishop’s Books will be the only bookshop no longer holding an event. Not to mention that I’ll be considerably out of pocket, because I’ll have to give refunds for all the tickets. Unless I can quickly come up with something else, I’m going to have to cancel, but I don’t want all that food and drink to go to waste, so I’ll donate it to the local café herein Betancourt Bay. Or give it to the other bookshops. I did think about just having a sort of book club type discussion on Tuesday and giving ticket holders a voucher for an event at a later date, but that’s not really in the spirit of this week. Anyway, that’s my problem. But that’s why I hadn’t mentioned it. Feeling a bit sorry for myself, I suppose.’
‘Is it too late to find another author?’ Jemma had an odd expression on her face.
‘It’s this Tuesday, so yeah. Far too late. Even Saturday was too late. Believe me. I thought about it long and hard. And there’s … Oh God! Sorry. I definitely shouldn’t have gone on about it. I wasn’t hinting or anything. I truly wasn’t.’
Jemma looked him directly in the eye. ‘Well,’ she said, smiling warmly but also nervously. ‘I’m no Laurence Lake, and I hate public speaking, even now, but if you need to find a replacement author, I’m happy to step in.’
Greg vigorously shook his head. ‘No, Jemma! I honestly wasn’t asking. I was just rambling. I couldn’t ask you to do that.’
‘You didn’t ask. I offered.’
‘Yes. But only because I went on and on about it. God. What was I thinking? We’ve only just met and the first thing I do is try to get you to save one of my events. Please forget I said all that. I hope we can be friends and I haven’t blown things with you. I’m truly not the sort of guy who tries to use people for his own ends.’
‘I’m sure you’re not. I asked you about it. You didn’t tell me. I think you told me all that because we’re getting on so well, and because you knew I’d understand how important bookshops are, and how much this event means to you. Unless, what you’re trying to tell me is that I wouldn’t be a good substitute, in which case, that’s fine. But if you think I might be able to help, I’d honestly be delighted. Plus, it just so happens, I’m free on Tuesday evening.’
‘Not a good substitute? Good God, Jemma! How could you possibly think that? You’d be fantastic. But now I feel so guilty. Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?’
‘I’m sure, Greg. So is that a date? I mean, a booking? Or whatever.’
‘Absolutely, Jemma. You’ve just made my day. I’m not sure I’ll be able to find a way to thank you. But I promise you, I’ll try to think of something.’
‘You’re buying me lunch. That’s thanks enough. Although you’ll have to give me some pointers for Tuesday, and tell me what you want and how you and Laurence had planned it all out. I don’t have any promotional items with me. Or any of my books for a book signing, so we’ll have to think of a way around that.’
‘I stock all your books, so I have some. But they do fly off the shelves so I don’t have enough for a full signing. We’ll work something out. I could tell people they can order them and, if it’s okay with you, you can sign them when they arrive, and then the purchasers can come and collect them. Or is that too much of a cheek for me to ask you to do that?’
‘No. I’m here for a month so it won’t be a problem.’
‘Here’s your wine,’ said Charlie. ‘Sorry for the delay. It’s busy today.’ She placed an ice bucket containing the bottle on the table, together with the glasses. ‘Want to try it?’
‘No. It’ll be fine. It always is.’
‘You know I’ll swap it if today’s the one day it’s not,’ she said, grinning. ‘Your meals won’t be too long. Looking forward to next week?’ She nodded towards the leaflet that now lay on the table.
‘I am now,’ said Greg.
