I mutter under my breath about the amount of time she needs recharging in the back office when she does very little in the shop. While I search the shelves for Oliver’s debut, the woman scrolls on her phone.
Behind me, I can hear the laughter of her boy and the sound of little feet thundering across the bookshop.
CRASH. Miranda’s scream follows the sound. I turn around to see that the display table has toppled over, scattering books all over the floor. To my surprise, the small boy squeals with laughter and races back to his mother, who is still engrossed in her phone and oblivious to the chaos he has caused.
‘My mother has just texted me to say she will have my son for the rest of the day,’ the woman says, holding her phone. ‘I need to get him to her house quickly before she changes her mind.’ She grabs her son’s hand and scans the mess. ‘Thanks for helping me search for the book. I’ll see if I can order it online.’
She hurries away, telling her son he will have a great day with Nanna and leaving me with a floor full of Oliver James’s new novel.
Miranda comes over, dabbing her brow with a ball of tissues. ‘I’ll be in the back room if you need me. My nerves are in tatters after that incident. Can you put the display table back together, watch the till, restack the new fiction shelves, and can you also sort out Instagram?’
With a heavy sigh, I lift the table back up and begin to pick up the books as Miranda sashays away, complaining of exhaustion.
I am busy tidying up the mess when I hear Miranda’s dulcet tones behind me. ‘Oh, this is going to make a lovely shot,’ she says, making me jolt. I thought she had gone.
I turn around to find her holding up her phone and pointing the camera at me. I’m sweaty, pissed off, and clutching piles of books in both hands. This won’t be a good shot.
‘Oliver will love to see his new flatmate posing with his new novel.’
‘I am not posing,’ I say through gritted teeth.
She gives me a wink. ‘Photo is winging its way to Oliver. I need to rest.’
‘Miranda,’ I groan. It’s too late. She flashes her phone, and I can see the photo has gone to Oliver.
Oh well, Oliver James and I can both look rough around the edges. That’s one thing we will have in common.
There is a steady flow of customers for the rest of the day. I try my best to avoid physical contact, but they seem to gravitate towards me with their bare limbs. I found myself rewarding two customers with free bookmarks who accidentally bumped into me while wearing long-sleeved shirts and kept the end of their love stories to themselves.
I don’t see Miranda until there are ten minutes left before closing.
She saunters over to stand by me at the till. ‘He’ll be at your flat for six.’
I let out a groan as tiredness washes over me. Every part of me is aching. The last thing I want to do is rush home. ‘That gives me half an hour to get home, shower, sort out my hair and tidy up.’
She pats me on the shoulder. ‘Let him see the natural you, Nelly.’
‘I don’t want him to see the natural me.’
Her eyes are shining. ‘Frank used to love the natural me. Why don’t you go early, and I’ll close? Yes, I know I am a great boss.’ She giggles, and I hurry away.
On my way up to my flat, I see Gary walking down the stairs. His black wiry hair is slicked back with gel, and he smells of Lynx aftershave. He grins at me. ‘I’m off out on a date, Penelope.’
I feel the usual prickle of irritation. ‘It’s Nelly, Gary. Not Penelope.’
He shakes his head. ‘I haven’t got time for small talk, Penelope. My date is waiting for me.’
I recall how Gary accidentally knocked my arm the day Eva and I moved in. At the time, he was living with his third wife. My vision showed his wife catching him in bed with their cleaner. A few weeks later, Gary informed Eva that he was single yet again because, in his words, his wife couldn’t handle the fact that other women couldn’t keep their hands off him.
With a happy whistle, he carries on down the stairs.
Oliver James’s face flashes up inside my mind. ‘Gary,’ I call out. He stops and looks up at me.
‘I might have a new flatmate. Will you need to do any checks or anything?’
He shrugs. ‘I trust your judgement, Penelope. Let me know their name and I will get the contract changed.’
‘It’s NELLY,’ I shout.
