How to Find Love in a Book Shop(54)

He looked startled. ‘God, no.’

‘Sorry. Only you wouldn’t believe how many women send their boyfriends in for it. Or how many men think they might spice things up a bit.’

‘No. It’s even more embarrassing than that.’ He scratched his head and raised his eyebrows, looking sheepish. ‘The thing is, my little boy asked me the other day what my favourite book was. It was for his homework. And I realised – I’ve never read one. I’ve never read a book.’

He looked at the floor. It was as if he was waiting for a punishment.

‘Never?’

He shook his head. ‘No. Books and me just don’t get on. The few times I’ve opened one I just glaze over.’

He made a glazed-over face and Emilia laughed. Then stopped.

‘Sorry. I’m not laughing at you.’

‘No, I know. It’s OK. Anyway, I’ve decided. I’m a really bad example to him. I want my son to get on and do really well. And I don’t want to die, never having read a book. So I want to start reading with him. So I can encourage him. But I don’t know where to start. There’re bloody millions of them. How do you start to choose?’

He looked round at all the shelves, baffled.

‘Well. I can sort you out with something, I’m sure,’ said Emilia. ‘How old is he, for a start? And what sort of thing do you think he might like?’

‘He’s five, nearly six. And I don’t really know what he’d like. Something short, preferably.’ He laughed, self-conscious. ‘And easy. I mean, I can read, obviously. I’m not that thick.’

‘Not reading doesn’t make you thick.’

‘No. But his mum’s going on at me for not getting involved with his homework.’ He looked sheepish. ‘She likes any chance to have a go. I’m not with her any more.’

‘Oh,’ said Emilia. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. It’s a good thing. Mostly.’ He ruffled his hair, looking awkward. ‘But I just want to show her I’m not as rubbish as she seems to think I am.’

‘Well, let me see what I can come up with. Give me a couple of minutes.’

Emilia walked slowly up and down the children’s bookshelves, turning over possibilities in her mind. Every now and then she would stop, pluck out a book, study it, then put it back. She wasn’t sure she had ever met anyone who had never read a book before. Which made the choice even more difficult. She was determined not to put him and his son off for life. She had to hook them in. And she didn’t want to patronise him. He might not be a reader, but he clearly had a lively mind. She mustn’t judge.

‘What’s his name? Your son?’

‘Finn.’ The bloke smiled proudly.

‘Ah,’ said Emilia. ‘That makes the task a whole lot easier.’

She picked out a book, and walked back over to her new customer, who looked at her with an eager curiosity.

She laid it on the counter in front of him.

‘This is one of my absolute favourites of all time. Finn Family Moomintroll.’

‘Yeah?’ He picked the book up and eyed it warily.

‘I think you’ll both like it. It’s a bit mad, but it’s cool.’ She paused. ‘It’s a bit quirky. It’s about this family of Moomintrolls who live in a valley, and all their crazy friends.’

‘Moomintrolls?’

‘They’re kind of big, white creatures who hibernate in the winter.’

He turned the book over to read the back, not saying anything.

‘Honestly, it’s really cute. I’ll give you your money back if you don’t like it.’

‘Really?’

‘As long as you don’t spill your tea on it.’

‘I promise.’

She slid the book into a blue paper bag with Nightingale Books emblazoned on it. He gave her a tenner and she gave him his change.

‘I’ll let you know how I get on.’ He lifted the bag with a smile. ‘Cheers.’

Emilia watched him go. She wondered if she would ever see him again. She thought she’d probably flirted with him a little bit. It was wrong, really, to flirt with customers, but she didn’t care. She’d had a tough time lately. At least this proved she was still alive. And it took away the sting of Delphine’s hostility the evening before, and her proprietorial attitude towards Marlowe – as if Emilia had been a threat. Which she absolutely wasn’t.

As the door shut behind her newest customer, she felt a tiny thrill, and hoped he’d read the book and fall in love with reading. That was the whole point about Nightingale Books. It cast a spell over its customers by introducing them to the magic. And how wonderful, for her to open up a whole new world—

She realised she was being utterly ridiculous. She was romanticising. This wasn’t some Hollywood movie where she unwittingly changed someone’s life. Get real, Emilia, she told herself. He’s had a bit of a row with his ex and he’s trying to prove himself. He probably won’t even open the bloody book. And he definitely won’t come back.



Jackson walked along the road with the book tucked under his arm. That had been easier than he thought. He was a good actor. At school, acting was about the only thing he’d been good at, but because he’d been so naughty they hadn’t let him have the lead roles in the annual play. The plum parts always went to the swots. Which was one of the reasons Jackson had hated school so much. It wasn’t fair, how it was run. You couldn’t be good at everything. And why were you punished for not being clever?