As they came to a T-junction her dad carefully pulled out to turn right. ‘Your sister is a lot like your mother,’ he said. ‘That may sound harsh, but?—’
‘I saw it when Steph was younger. I hoped she’d grow out of it.’
He didn’t seem surprised that she’d realised it all along. ‘You know when your mother and I first started dating, her waywardness was what I was drawn to. I was always calm and organised; I always did the right thing.’ They’d met at Glastonbury one year and perhaps in the same way as he was drawn to her rebelliousness, she liked his assuredness and reliability.
‘Talk about opposites attract,’ said Faye.
‘I think your mum liked the fact that I was a family man.’ He smiled, perhaps remembering fondly the earlier years because they hadn’t all been bad. When she was little Faye could remember plenty of family outings with all four of them, the journey over to Australia when she was in her early teens, the discovery of beautiful beaches and hidden places in the land down under. ‘Your mum never had stability in her life until she met me. I think losing her parents when she was only six years old had a bigger effect on your mother than she ever admitted. She had nobody to show her what growing up meant and the responsibility that comes with having children. I’m not making excuses for her, but maybe that was part of what made her into the person she was and still is.’
‘Steph has you, at least, to show her the right way.’ She paused. ‘Do you think she’ll ever change?’
‘I have no idea. But I’ll love her anyway.’
‘So will I.’ It felt odd to think it, that you could love someone but not particularlylikethem.
Her dad was right; the quaint villages and roads that they passed by and through were quintessentially English and she was falling in love with the place already. It was amazing how much she’d forgotten – the odd brilliant red phone box still in situ, the corner shops with their coloured awnings, the cottage gardens, the thatched roofs on properties dating way back.
It wasn’t long before he slowed to drive down the hill into the heart of Driftwick Bay. Faye could already see what must be Lulworth Cove in the distance and she knew she was smiling. Back in Dorset, all this beauty surrounding her, she already felt at home.
‘This is the main street.’ Her dad slowed up and pulled in on the left of the hill. ‘I believe the bookshop is just in front of these few cars.’
She undid her seatbelt. ‘You coming?’
‘I’ll wait here for you, love. I was up early; I’ll rest my eyes.’
Out in the August sunshine that seemed to have already started to warm up since she got into the car at the airport, she walked down the hill past the other cars until she drew level with Driftwick Bay Books. It was just as Howard had said, charming and with a character all of its very own. He’d shown them photographs of this place and now she got to see the shop for real, with its beautiful dark wooden Georgian windows, a display of books with novelty items beyond the glass, but… hang on…
She cupped her hands around her eyes and peered in through the window. Despite it being past 9a.m. the bookshop was still closed, and Howard had told them all that he opened on the dot of 9a.m. six days a week and if he wasn’t there, his assistant would be.
But it wasn’t the fact that the shop looked abandoned inside with no light and no sign of life that had her worrying all the more, it was the sign on the door.
Permanently Closed,it said.
Her heart sank. Had the developers got their way and hounded Howard so much that he’d walked away from his beloved shop?
And if that was the case, was he so distraught that he hadn’t even been able to share it with his friends in the Midnight Book Club?
8
BONNIE
Bonnie’s retirement had brought an enormous change to their lives, enabling them to travel and then move to the coast, but unfortunately she hadn’t realised another change was on its way, one that would rock her world and make her question where she could possibly go from here.
Four weeks ago, she and Howard had been enjoying a beautiful July day together, one of many they both thought they had in their future. Happy with her painting of the elevated view of the town and the water from their back garden, she’d decided to gift it to Beverly and had taken the canvas to Dorchester to have it framed.
‘You sure you’re not keeping it?’ Howard asked her when she arrived back at the cottage with the finished picture in a beautiful graphite silver frame. He was pouring a tea and she’d declined his offer to make her one.
‘No, I really want Beverly to have it. She used to holiday here in the town as a kid; I know she’ll love it, and she was my closest colleague at work.’ She set the wrapped picture down, leaning it against the far wall of the kitchen out of the way. The picture was protected inside the brown paper and all she needed to do was address it and take it to the post office.
Howard stirred milk into his mug of tea. ‘I made you a sandwich. It’s in the fridge.’ As he returned the milk to the door of the fridge she watched him a little closer. He seemed more unsteady than usual, or perhaps she was imagining it. What she definitely hadn’t imagined, however, was how tired he’d been in the last week or so. At the end of each day he was positively worn out and she’d wondered more than once whether he’d taken on too much – owning and running a bookshop when he was already in his seventies. But if she ever raised the point, he’d insist that working again and being surrounded by books kept his grey matter top notch.
He’d admitted yesterday, however, that the developers who were originally interested in the bookshop had been stopping by regularly in an attempt to persuade him to sell to them. They really weren’t letting this go and had even upped their original offer.
‘Do you think there are hidden jewels sewn into the upholstery of those nooks?’ Howard had joked because of their persistence. They’d laughed about it but Bonnie wished they’d leave him alone and hopefully soon they would get the message that the bookshop was not for sale. It was special to the community. Plenty of residents remembered going to the bookshop as kids themselves, then taking their own children and even grandchildren there, and it was a popular hub for the local primary school who took groups there in support of literacy programs. When Howard first took on the shop, Wendy from the bakery had told them that she remembered sitting on the big rug as a child when story time came around every Saturday morning, and one of the men behind the post office counter had told Bonnie when she went in to buy stamps one day that he used to spend all his weekly pocket money at Driftwick Bay Books. The locals would be devastated if the bookshop ever disappeared and even now Howard still got thanks for coming to the rescue and saving it.
She leaned in and kissed Howard on the cheek as he picked up his mug of tea. ‘Thanks for the sandwich, love. I suppose I’d better return the favour and make the syrup sponge I promised you.’
‘I’ve told you I’m happy to give it a go.’
