Twelve
Mondays were often quiet days in Bishop’s Book, but it didn’t mean they weren’t busy for Greg. There was far more involved in owning an independent bookshop than merely buying books, stocking the shelves, and selling those books on to enthusiastic customers.
This Monday was the busiest it had been for a long time, because it was the start of the Indie Bookshops Event, and the rain was pelting down again, so all the events scheduled to take place outside today, were being hastily moved inside.
It was ten-thirty a.m. and Bishop’s Books had already hosted a book juggler – something Greg hadn’t known existed until today … and wasn’t entirely happy now that he did. Who in their right mind would think that books were things to be juggled? He had to admit that the juggler caught each and every book without causing any noticeable damage. But still. Book juggling? Not something he’d be adding to his list of good things to do in his bookshop. Or any bookshop. The juggler would be demonstrating his skills in all the bookshops involved today.
Later, there would be readings from various classics. These were originally planned to be held outside at a number of venues like cafés, bars, pubs, restaurants and shops in the hope of garnering additional interest, especially from those who might not have heard of the festival. The readers of these classics were also collecting for various book-related charities, so it was disappointing for everyone that they had to be moved inside.
Local businesses were usually very generous during this festival, so hopefully the charity coffers would be as full this year as they had been every year since the festival began, way back in 2014, the year Greg had bought and opened Bishop’s Books, at the age of twenty-five.
Where had those ten years gone? Sometimes it felt like he had been running this bookshop for ever. Other times it felt like only yesterday.
And thinking of yesterday, what might Jemma being doing right now? She had sent him an email early this morning, suggesting that instead of giving a talk as Laurence had planned, she could read a chapter from one of her books and play it by ear from there. There could be questions, discussions, a book signing, or just general chit-chat while ticket holders enjoyed the buffet and the beverages Greg was providing.
He had emailed back saying, ‘Not only are you beautiful, talented, and great company, you’re also a canny business woman. Not that I didn’t think for one minute that you wouldn’t be. That’s a brilliant idea. I’ve already emailed the ticket holders to apprise them of the change of author due to unforeseen circumstances, Laurence Lake having been involved in a car accident, and presently unable to attend the event. And you’ll be gratified to know that not one of them has taken up my offer of a full refund – which I felt I had to offer – or of a ticket for another of Laurence’s events to be scheduled later this year. So that means everyone who was coming to hear Laurence’s talk, is nowcoming to see and hear you. I hope that hasn’t given you cause for concern. I was going to call but I knew you’d be engrossed in your new book and I didn’t want to disturb you. Call me if you want to talk this over. Or if you just want to talk. See you soon.’
He had originally written, Yours, Greg. He changed it to, Your friend, Greg. And then to, Love, Greg. That one he had quickly deleted. It had taken him longer to decide how to sign off the email that it had to write the damn thing. See you soon, sounded friendly – but not overly so. And he didn’t need to add his name because the email showed it was from him.
Every time the phone rang after he had hit send, his heart skipped a beat.
But Jemma hadn’t called.
