How to Find Love in a Book Shop(73)

She slid the papers back into the envelope and sealed it back up again.



Mick and Marlowe were in full swing. Mick had produced a bottle of Paddy whiskey and was topping up the audience’s cocktail glasses in an expansive ‘one for you one for me’ gesture, then calling up ballads for Marlowe to play: ‘The Irish Rover’, ‘Molly Malone’, ‘The Rising of the Moon’ … The atmosphere was bordering on riotous.

Eventually Emilia had to call a halt to the proceedings. She could sense Mick getting slightly out of hand, and she wasn’t sure about the legality of getting all her customers insensible at this hour of the day. So she gestured discreetly to Marlowe to wind things up, and despite Mick’s protests – he would have gone on all night given the chance – the shop gradually emptied, and after much effusive hugging and kissing, Mick headed off to the Peasebrook Arms. Emilia had no doubt he would waste no time making friends in the bar, but she was too exhausted to accompany him herself.

She was cross when Marlowe refused to let her pay him for playing.

‘It’s the best fun I’ve had for weeks. Playing the fiddle for Mick Gillespie? I’d have given my right arm for that. I don’t want payment.’

‘But I wouldn’t have asked you if I thought you wouldn’t let me pay.’ Emilia hated the thought of exploiting anyone’s better nature.

‘I know. Which is why it’s OK.’

‘But I won’t ask you again.’

‘You can pay me next time. But this time: gratis. It was a pleasure. And I did it for your dad.’ Marlowe smiled kindly. ‘You have his magic, you know. People want to do things for you, like they did him. You’re going to be all right.’

‘Well, thank you.’ Emilia was very grateful. Marlowe had certainly helped make the evening a memorable one. ‘People are going to be talking about it for weeks.’ She laughed. ‘I thought things were going to get out of hand. He’s a handful even at his age.’

‘He’s a legend all right,’ said Marlowe in a mock-Kerry accent, buttoning up his coat.



Bea went home after the event feeling slightly high on the buzz. Everyone had raved about her windows; she’d had her photo taken in front of them with her arm linked in Mick Gillespie’s, and she felt like her old self. She hadn’t felt like Bea since the day she’d left Hearth. Mummy Bea was a slightly alien creature she still didn’t feel comfortable with.

So she was full of it when she got back home, babbling on to Bill who had got home from work early for once in order to babysit. But he just seemed grumpy and disinterested.

‘For heaven’s sake,’ said Bill. ‘Stop wittering on about that bloody shop, will you?’

Bea’s mouth dropped open.

‘Wittering?’ she said. ‘I try very hard not to witter, thank you very much.’

‘I’m sorry. But it’s not as if you’re even being paid. And I don’t think I can listen to another word.’

‘Well, in that case, you can listen to me witter about what Maud ate for lunch. And what shape or consistency her poo is. Because that’s what most new mothers talk about. I’m not as lucky as you. I don’t have reams of people to talk to about interesting things. So I’m sorry if I seem a bit obsessed, but Nightingale Books is the most exciting thing in my life right now—’

She hadn’t realised her voice was getting higher and higher with indignation. Bill put up a hand to stop the flow.

‘I’m off to bed. It’s nearly midnight. And I have to be up at six. Sorry.’

And he walked out of the room.

Bea was astonished. She crossed her arms. She wasn’t going to let Bill get away with this behaviour. She wouldn’t tackle him now, but she was going to call Thomasina in the morning. Book them dinner at A Deux, and have it out once and for all, on neutral territory, in private. She was not going to stand here and watch her marriage go down the pan.



Mia and Jackson walked back from Nightingale Books in the lamplight.

Mia had drunk two cocktails and was quite garrulous. Jackson supposed that as she barely ate anything these days they must have gone straight to her head. She was a little unsteady on her feet, and as they reached the edge of the town he took her arm. She didn’t seem to mind. She leant on him as they walked up to the house. He thought it felt a bit like the old days, when they’d first got together and had gone out on the town with their mates.

But the minute they got inside the door of the house, Mia went quiet and cold.

‘Thanks for a lovely evening,’ she said, but it sounded automatic rather than genuine. ‘I’m off to bed. Thank you for sitting, Cilla.’

And she was gone.

Jackson was flummoxed. He looked to his mother for an explanation.

‘Ten minutes ago she was babbling about what an amazing evening she’d had. Suddenly she’s like an ice queen.’

Cilla looked knowing.

‘She’s scared.’

‘Of what? Not me, surely.’

‘She feels a fool,’ said Cilla. ‘She knows she was wrong to kick you out, but she doesn’t know what to do about it.’

‘Why can’t she just say she was wrong?’ Jackson was puzzled.

Cilla sighed. ‘You don’t understand women, do you?’