Page 47 of Whispers at The Bookshop Pretty Beach
‘You can’t run your life on herbal tea and optimism.’
‘That’s the point, though.Shecan because she’s always bailed out by her family. I mean, look at all the support she gets. Her mum and her two sisters look after those twins more than she does. I know they say it takes a village and all that, but she takes that to the ninth degree and now there’s the whole bookshop owner thing. Yeah right, because of course Boho Daisy runs a bookshop, although its days may now be numbered.’
Daisy wanted to deck Georgia. Instead, she stayed rooted to the bench.
‘Do you think she saw it coming?’
There was a pause. ‘Who knows? She fell for the whole thing, hook, line and sinker. The posh hamper, the way he looked at her at The Orangery. Fair enough in some ways. Come on, who wouldn’t want that? But when a man disappears at the first sign of real life happening, you’ve got to ask whether he was ever really in it.’
The other mum made a soft, sympathetic sound. ‘It was always going to happen, if you ask me. We called it and we were right.’
‘I think she wanted a fairytale and we all know how that ends. Sad really.’
A long pause followed and the slow churn of the ferry’s engine filled the air.
‘Do you think the bookshop will be here long-term if that company moves into the laneway? GayesBooks?’
‘Who knows? I reckon one day the bookshop will just quietly disappear, and the shop will have a lease sign on the door. We’ll all get fed the story by the Henleys that Daisy had a wonderful time, but is now on a new journey or some old rubbish like that. When in reality, it was a big fat failure. The Henley girls don’t do failure on the outside, though. It was the same with Maggie at school. She was always a high achiever from the get-go and didn’t we know about it.’
‘Oh, I can imagine. They strut around as if they own the place. I saw the three of them in the curry house the other weekend acting as if they were in charge.’
‘No change there.’
They both went quiet after that. From her hidden spot behind the lifejackets and the huge coil of rope, Daisy sat very still. Shaking her head, she felt each word settle in her chest. Georgia was brutal, that was for sure and had no idea what was going on, but did she have a point? Here she was with a flask of tea, listening to two women dissecting her life one bench over. Sighing, she took a sip and watched the coastline come into view on the other side, where pastel coloured beach huts stood in a neat row, and a little jetty caught the light just right.
Part of Daisy was fuming, part upset, part in freefall. She could have stood up, marched around the life jackets and said something and reminded them both that she wasn’t a storythey were allowed to gossip about on the ferry. However, she remained precisely where she was and told herself they weren’t worth her words, headspace or energy. She also knew that saying something and causing a scene would go around Pretty Beach in seconds and she definitely didn’t want that. She wasn’t going to give the likes of Georgia and her cronies the satisfaction.
Instead, she sat until the ferry bumped against the wooden posts of the wharf and watched as a rope was thrown and the engine shifted into idle. Waiting until the mums clattered back up the stairs, still talking, she gathered her bag and quickly walked up to get off.
Mulling it over as she walked off the ferry, tapping her card on the payment pad, Daisy sighed and tutted. In actual fact, she didn’t know what would happen next with Miles and didn’t have a clue how it would all unfold with the bookshop. What shedidknow was that she was not a fool and for sure she wasnotplaying house. Her bills which she paid herself told her that. Let them think what they wanted. In her heart, she knew she’d grafted and hustled to get where she was and actually, she was very proud about that.
30
The first flyers had appeared in shop windows like bright blue and yellow declarations of war. Daisy spotted one in the bakery window as she walked past after dropping the twins at school, then another in the chemist, and a third taped to the noticeboard outside the post office. By lunchtime, they were everywhere she looked, cheerful and defiant against the autumn drizzle.
SAVE PRETTY BEACH INDEPENDENTS
The headlines were detailed in bold letters, with a photograph of the high street that Chloe had taken on one of Pretty Beach’s perfect summer mornings when the bunting fluttered and the hanging baskets overflowed with colour. Below that, in smaller text:
Say NO to corporate chains.
Support local businesses.
Keep Pretty Beach special.
The Facebook group that Xian had created was growing by the hour. Every time Daisy checked her phone, there were new members, new comments, and new posts from people sharing their memories of shopping in Pretty Beach's independent stores. One of Daisy’s regulars had written a long post about how Daisy always remembered exactly which authors she liked and ordered books in especially. Someone else had shared a photograph of their children reading in the bookshop's corner, curled up in the wingback chairs with picture books.
The responses, posts and rallying came flooding in with heart emojis and agreement. People tagged their friends and shared stories about why Pretty Beach's independent shops mattered to them. Daisy scrolled through it all with a mixture of gratitude and growing anxiety. The support and fighting spirit were amazing, but she couldn't shake the feeling that GayesBooks had more resources and determination that community spirit couldn't match.
By Friday afternoon, she’d needed air and perspective, so when Susannah had suggested Daisy walk up to the lighthouse, while she made the girls tea, she’d grabbed her jacket gratefully. The wind was sharp as she climbed the coastal path, salt spray misting her face and seagulls wheeling overhead. As she walked and breathed, Pretty Beach was spread out below her, looking postcard-perfect in the afternoon light. She couldn’t quite believe that something was going to threaten its lovely existence.
After a message came in from Miles, he called her. ‘Hey.’
‘Hi.’
‘Where are you? It sounds windy.’
‘Walking up to the lighthouse to clear the cobwebs. Hang on, I’ll FaceTime you.’
