She looked at poor Iris, torn between racing down to the shop with the key and thinking of the family who still needed her. Howard had once said that Iris told him the bookshop had given her a little something just for herself since she’d retired from her job as an accountancy clerk. It seemed she loved being with her family but she needed that little bit of something extra in her life.
Bonnie felt horribly guilty that every decision she made about the shop was going to have a knock-on effect on Iris. And, she knew, the town.
But she needed to close the door now, to be alone again; she didn’t want to think about the bookshop any more.
‘Open it for shorter days,’ said Bonnie.
Iris nodded decisively. ‘I’ll go and see what’s what, shall I? I’ll give you a call and let you know.’
Bonnie murmured her agreement as she closed the door.
How would Howard react if he knew she had kept a letter from the developers, that she was seriously considering selling his bookshop to them of all people?
He wouldn’t have been happy, but would he really expect her to hold on to it without him here?
The thought had her looking around the kitchen and the cottage they’d made their home. Did she even belong here in Driftwick Bay without him?
Those thoughts overwhelmed her as she took a quick shower and then got dressed. Even doing those simple things was an effort these days. She hadn’t left the house much at all in the weeks since Howard died. She’d made it to the bakery, her aim to get in and out as quickly as possible and avoid too much eye contact or sympathy. She’d gone at the busiest time on purpose to avoid Cathy trying to engage her in small talk, something she’d loved once upon a time as she and Howard tried to make the town their new home and get to know everyone. She’d driven to the supermarket furthest away from the town so she wouldn’t bump into anyone she knew when she needed to do a proper shop, and on each occasion she’d got back home and locked the door behind her with a huge sigh of relief.
She went into the back room. Her easel was still standing by one wall, the sketch of the view from the hill and the bookshop still waiting for its proper start, but something was stopping her from doing the very thing she loved. She’d tried several times over the last few weeks to lose herself in her art but it was as if she was blocked. Her mind, her brain, her hands, none of them worked the way she wanted them to.
She ran her hand across Howard’s laptop as though it connected her to him as much as when she touched his clothes, his side of the bed, his belongings that were still in their place in the bedroom. He’d loved books, his bookshop, his Midnight Book Club. The man had been book crazy. She’d told the book club that he’d passed; she’d almost missed notifying them completely until well after his cremation. When she realised she hadn’t let anyone know she’d retrieved his little black book of passwords from the secret shelf beneath the desk that most people wouldn’t realise was there, logged on and sent a short email to a woman called Faye.
Howard had gone quickly and without a fuss, in a way he would’ve approved of. It hadn’t been from a long-term illness or a disease that changed his day-to-day life. Perhaps it was a blessing, although that was hard to remember when she cried herself to sleep and when she wished she could lay a hand on his arm, see his smile, have just one more conversation. Howard’s heart had inexplicably failed, just like that, while he was sitting in the chair she was staring at now. She’d been in the kitchen turning out a syrup sponge, his favourite pudding, none the wiser of what was about to happen.
And now Howard’s ashes waited in the pewter grey urn on the bookshelf. She’d slotted the urn into the only remaining space, like a bookend, and there it would stay until she scattered them. Initially she’d told him that whoever went first would have to wait for the other, but he’d told her he didn’t want to sit on some shelf gathering dust, he wanted to be set free, and if she were to go first then he would set her free too.
She felt guilty that she still hadn’t done it. She wondered, would she ever be able to let him go?
Bonnie might not be going outside much, but she was still keeping the cottage clean and orderly. She dusted, and then she vacuumed, although she hated it when she switched the vacuum off and the cottage fell into its silence once more.
She’d just put the vacuum away in the hall cupboard when a delivery arrived. She took in a big brown parcel from the postman and she knew exactly what it was before she even opened it. It was the books she’d ordered on grief. Yes, she’d ordered books. She wasn’t a reader but the day she’d emailed Faye from the Midnight Book Club she’d sat at Howard’s desk for quite some time. And then she’d stood up. She’d gone to Howard’s bookshelves behind and walked along perusing the titles, waiting for a book to jump out at her, demand to be read. She’d even said out loud, ‘What will help me get through this, Howard?’ But she hadn’t been drawn to anything. So, she’d used her iPad to search for books on the topic and suddenly had a barrage of choices. She’d skimmed through some of the accompanying wording and plucked those that seemed the best. At least in her inexperienced eye.
She found the scissors from the kitchen drawer and soon had the cardboard package off the books. She pulled out three titles, all of which had seemed like a good idea at the time, and now seemed like the worst idea in the world.
When she’d first retired she’d loved how many hours she had in the day to get things done. Now it was as though the hours had doubled, tripled even. The days were too long when you were all on your own, and time stretched out in front of you, looming, like something to cope with rather than enjoy.
Another knock at the door made her jump. Who on earth was it this time? This was the third caller today.
Howard had never moaned about people coming to the door, in fact he’d welcomed it. He’d loved an unexpected chat with someone he knew or a stranger who’d come upon the cottage for whatever reason.
Years ago when Howard found himself an in-person book club he’d urged Bonnie to join an art group, thinking perhaps she’d like the company. She’d tried it but as predicted it hadn’t lasted. One woman sat there knitting and nattering the entire time, another two gentlemen were more concerned with what biscuits were available this week, and from what she’d seen there was very little art done.
‘I won’t go back,’ she’d told Howard after trying it for three weeks in a row. She’d leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. ‘It’s not for me.’ And when she’d explained the lack of focus of the other attendees he’d suggested they might be lonely and were looking for an outlet, anything, to get them out into the world.
Right now she understood it more than ever and yet she still couldn’t find the impetus to let anyone in, physically or metaphorically.
She opened the door to Theo, Iris’s son. In his late twenties, he was a lovely young man, always friendly and polite, handsome too, and a teacher at the local primary school.
‘Theo, what can I do for you?’ She tried to sound more like herself and at least she was dressed this time. She couldn’t ignore his dog, Midas, who was looking up at her patiently, waiting to be included in this encounter, and she reached down to pet him.
Theo handed her a bag of something that smelt good enough to eat. And it was, because when Bonnie looked inside it was filled with wholemeal rolls, a loaf and some Belgian buns as well as a little note from Cathy at the bakery. She’d tried knocking but Bonnie must’ve been in the shower.
‘Well, thank you, Theo. Someone might have stolen these had you not alerted me.’ And actually, she really quite fancied a Belgian bun now she’d seen them lurking in the bottom of the bag, with their delectably sticky white-iced tops and currants poking out and a glacé cherry on top. Her appetite seemed to be returning at long last.
‘I think Midas sniffed them out before I saw them,’ said Theo.
She felt incredibly rude not inviting the young man in. But she hadn’t invitedanyonein since Howard died. Sometimes she even ignored the door. ‘I saw your mum earlier,’ she told him.
