How to Find Love in a Book Shop(28)

‘I don’t understand, Mi. You’ve got this house. You’ve got our lovely boy. You’ve got rid of me. What more could you want?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘You can have him tomorrow after school. Don’t be late.’

She put another spoonful of yoghurt in her mouth and shut the door with her foot. Jackson stood on the step for a moment, unable to believe that she had the power to make him feel worse every time he saw her. It was obvious she thought little of him. Obvious she thought he was a shit dad. Well, he wasn’t a shit dad. They did always have a laugh, him and Finn. He took him fishing. Took him to the skate park and taught him tricks. Bought him decent food; not that rubbish she kept feeding him: lentils and quinoa. And Finn loved Wolfie with a passion.

What did he have to do to prove himself?

He turned and walked back along the drive to the main road, Wolfie trotting along by his side, looking up at him every now and again. Dusk was falling, and he mulled over the events of the day. And gradually, as he walked, an idea emerged. He could do Ian’s bidding and prove he was a good father. And if all went according to plan, maybe he could get himself out of this mess.





Six

‘It’s a can of worms, Em,’ Andrea told her. ‘You’d better come to my office. But don’t panic. We can sort it. That’s what I’m here for.’

Emilia felt her heart sink. She felt grateful she had Andrea. She couldn’t have asked for a better friend, even though they were so different. Andrea called her every day to see how she was. And she brought her thoughtful presents: last week she’d given her a Moroccan rose-scented candle, expensive and potent.

‘Just lie on the bed and breathe it in,’ Andrea instructed. ‘It will make you feel better at once.’

Strangely, it had. The scent was so soothing; it had wrapped itself around her and made her feel comforted.

Emilia walked from the shop to Andrea’s office in a slick modern block built from glass and reclaimed brick, and was ushered in to a room with sleek Scandinavian furniture, a Mac and a space-age coffee machine. There wasn’t a scrap of paper in sight.

Andrea swept in, with her figure-hugging navy blue dress and designer spectacles that ensured she missed nothing. Emilia immediately felt as if she should have dressed more formally. She was in jeans and Converse and her favourite old grey polo neck jumper – not very businesslike.

Then Andrea hugged her, and Emilia felt her strength. They got straight down to business, though: Andrea brooked no nonsense, took no prisoners and pulled no punches. She sat behind her desk and brought up Nightingale Books on a computer screen that was the size of a kitchen table.

‘It’s taken me quite a while to trawl through everything and make sense of it,’ she said. ‘I’m not going to pretend. It looks as if the shop’s been in financial trouble for quite a while. I’m so sorry. I know that’s not the sort of news you need at the moment, but I really felt you should be put in the picture as soon as possible. So you can decide what you want to do.’

She handed Emilia a neatly bound sheaf of papers.

‘Here are the balance sheets for the past two years. Balance not being the operative word. There’s been far more going out then coming in.’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘Unless your dad was operating in cash and we don’t know about it.’

‘Dad might have been useless with money but he was honest.’

‘I know. I was joking. But look – he hadn’t even been drawing much of a salary for himself for the past few years – he was only ever worried about paying his staff. If he’d been paying himself properly there’d be an even greater loss.’

Emilia didn’t need a huge understanding of numbers to see that none of this was good news.

‘If he hadn’t owned the building outright he’d have been in even bigger trouble. He would never have been able to afford the rent or the mortgage repayments.’

‘Why didn’t he say anything?’

Andrea sighed. ‘Maybe he wasn’t bothered. It’s not all about profit for some people. I think the book shop was a way of life for him, and as long as it was ticking over he was happy. It’s a shame, because with a bit of professional help, he could have made it much more efficient without changing the way he did things too much.’ She clicked through a few more pages of depressing numbers. ‘He made a lot of classic mistakes, and missed a lot of tricks.’

Emilia sighed. ‘You know what he was like. Dad always did things his own way.’ She looked down at the floor. ‘He was always sending me money. I didn’t realise he couldn’t afford it. I would never have taken it off him …’

She couldn’t cry in Andrea’s office. But the tears leaked out.

‘Sorry.’ She looked up and to her surprise Andrea was crying too. Well, just a bit misty-eyed.

‘Oh, I’m sorry too,’ Andrea said. ‘How unprofessional of me. But I was really fond of your dad. I used to pretend he was mine when we were kids, you know. He was just so … there. Unlike mine.’ Andrea’s father was a flaky figure who appeared once in a blue moon, usually when he had run out of money and had come to beg off her mother.

She pulled open a drawer and brought out a box of tissues. ‘These are for bankruptcy proceedings. Even grown men cry at those.’