Being in this section of the bookshop for too long makes me uncomfortable. After clawing at my itchy neck, I check my watch. To my relief, I see that it’s time for us to open. ‘I need to open the doors.’
She doesn’t hear me as she’s lost in her thoughts about Oliver’s book signing event.
A male customer excitedly enters, eager to grab the latest trending book from a well-known crime author, along with a stressed mother and her noisy little boy heading to the children’s section. As she walks by, she grimaces and says, ‘This is the only place that will keep him quiet for more than five minutes.’
I keep myself busy by sorting out the online book orders and try not to think about Oliver James becoming my flatmate.
‘Is the free Wi-Fi working?’ A young boy approaches the counter with his iPad. I call Miranda, who hurries into the back room to fiddle with the control box. I smile at the boy. ‘It will be working again soon.’
‘Excuse me, do you work here?’ I look up from my online order list to see the woman with the little boy, smiling at me. His little hands try to grab the boxes of pens and glittery notebooks.
‘Yes. How can I help?’
She beams and lets go of her son’s hand. He races off, shrieking with delight. ‘Do you have this author’s debut book in stock? It was published a few years ago, but I can’t find it.’ To my horror, she waves Oliver James’s latest book at me.
A groan escapes my lips, causing the woman’s smile to evaporate.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to groan at you,’ I say quickly, before my behaviour leads to a complaint. I must think on my feet since she doesn’t want to hear that I don’t seem to be able to escape this author.
‘He’s the author everyone wants to read right now. I bet you’re deluged with requests like mine.’ She has provided me with a way out.
‘Yes, that’s right.’
She gives me the details, and I check the laptop.
‘It should be in stock.’ I put on a fake smile, and we walk to the romance section, passing Miranda, who is back from fiddling with the Wi-Fi and is now busy taking photos of the display table piled high with Oliver’s latest romance. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll sort out the social media and watch the till, Nelly,’ Miranda sighs, with a dramatic hand to her brow. ‘I think I am doing too much.’
My irritation spikes. ‘Do you want to find this customer’s book? I can stay on the till and sort out Instagram.’
Miranda casts me a sugary smile. ‘Go ahead and look for the book. Once you’re finished, I might need a little nap.’
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.
