Page 8 of Whispers at The Bookshop Pretty Beach
Tucking in, the kitchen glowed softly, the tealights flickered in their little jars and lanterns, and the sound of Pretty Beach quietening outside settled around them. Daisy felt her shoulders drop as she ate. It had been a busy day; the chaos of the school run, the bakery admin, cleaning and sorting the shop, the forever list of things that needed doing, but all of it had faded with that lovely, comfy feeling of an evening not doing anything much. No performing or trying too hard. Just eating dinner with someone she, gulp, was in love with. Yikes.
Daisy gestured around. ‘There’s something about a battered old kitchen, though. The good thing is that no one expects it to be perfect. No one minds if the tea towels don’t match or if the mugs have chips. There’s no pressure. It just is what it is; I kind of like that.’
Miles nodded. ‘Exactly. I hate all that showing off house interiors crap. It’s not trying to impress anyone.’
Daisy hooted. ‘Bit like me, then.’
‘Nope, you got that bit wrong.’ Miles shook his head. ‘You’re very impressive. You just don’t realise it. I’ve told you that already and that’s why you had me at the ice cream throwing event.’
Daisy rolled her eyes. ‘You’re very charming tonight.’
‘Thai curry brings out my best side.’
Daisy laughed at the little fortune cookies that had come with the Thai. ‘Oh, this is the first time I have seen these!’ She read from the piece of paper that had come out of hers. ‘You are tired. Rest.’
Miles frowned. ‘That’s a strange one.’
Daisy binned the wrapper. ‘Strange but also very accurate in my case.’
Miles got up and started to clear away the dishes. ‘You go and sit down. I’ll do the rest and pack up the leftovers. I’ll make a cup of tea and bring it in. Even a biscuit is telling you that you need to take some time off; I think we both need to take heed.’
Daisy hesitated for a second, but then nodded and wandered into the bookshop. The light was gorgeous, the fairy lights still on, the snug corner with its armchair and stack of books waiting for her like a lovely little hug. She pulled the blind down so that no one could really see in, but she could still see out, plopped down into the chair and tucked her feet beneath her. From the kitchen, she could hear Miles rinsing something under the tap, the sound of the cutlery drawer, the scrape of the stool as he pushed it in. All so normal and lovely and sort of unfamiliar, too, to have someone doing something for her. Sorely overdue and very much appreciated.
She turned her head and looked through the doorway, glimpsing Miles a few times moving around as if he belonged there. Like they’d been doing the same routine for years, instead of the fact that, in reality, it wasn't that long at all. As Daisylistened to the sound of Miles putting the tea into the pot, she rested her head back and closed her eyes for a minute. Something nice had happened in her life. There hadn’t been a big announcement or anything fancy, far from it. Everything felt right, though.
Sometimes it was all about a takeaway in a tired kitchen, someone else offering to do the washing up, and a list of hooks to buy for your mugs. Really, all of that felt just right. It had been a long time coming in her life. Hopefully, with a bit of luck, things were only going to get better. Little did she know.
5
Acouple of weeks later, Daisy was the proud owner of a very manic Saturday and didn't her feet know about it. The fallout from the social media video doing the rounds was that Daisy was busy; she wasn’t complaining, but she was feeling it. It was late afternoon and the light was a soft, grey sort of luminescence that only Pretty Beach managed to pull off without looking down and out miserable. The last shreds of sunshine had disappeared somewhere behind the rooftops about half an hour before and the bookshop was glowing in its own little way; all lamps, fairy lights, and flickers from tealights Daisy had stolen from the kitchen and set out on the side tables.
The shop was still officially open for just over another half-hour, but Daisy had half-pulled the blind at the front just low enough to signal that it was very nearly time for everyone to go home. She hoped to high heaven that the last few customers would get the message because without wanting to be a misery she’d had enough of smiling and small talk. She’d brought in the blackboard with now smudged chalk from that morning’s recommendation from the pavement and leaned it inside the front door. Moving about the shop quietly, stacking a few books back into the snug shelf near the fiction table she tried to ignoreher aching feet as she restocked the herbal teas at the back by the window. Daisy, to be frank, was cream crackered, couldn’t wait to get rid of everyone, go and collect the twins and have a nice evening with them doing sweet nothing at all.
The big wingback chairs were currently occupied by John and June, a couple in their sixties who lived somewhere in the lane behind the duck pond and since the shop had opened had come in every Saturday afternoon. John always had a green tea, and June a milky Earl Grey. They sat in silence from knowing each other for years, each bought one book every week and then went on their merry way. Today was no different and the pair of them sat close but not touching, each holding a book, with the occasional nod between them when something on the page caught the other’s eye. Daisy liked having them there as much as they obviously liked visiting. Their presence was already a routine and it felt as if they belonged just as much as she did.
Clearing up the counter, the whole place had an end-of-day, ready-to-close-up-shop feeling; a few books were out of place, the entrance table needed a tidy, the air smelled of afternoon tea and the hum of a jazz playlist on a speaker just behind one of the library ladders played somewhere in the background. The front bell gave a soft jingle as another customer entered. Daisy turned from the counter, her hand still resting on the spine of a paperback she’d been about to shelve. A well-dressed woman stepped inside, shutting the door firmly behind her.
Daisy right away assumed it would be another of the people who had heard about the shop because of the video. The woman was dressed in a way that made people do a quick scan of their own outfit. Fairly tall, neat, and perfectly put together, the woman screamed that she didn't live in Pretty Beach. Dressed in a tailored cream jacket over bright white wide-leg jeans that had not a speck of fluff on them, the woman looked like a laundry powder advert. Daisy took her in as quick as a flash, thinkingthat she didn’t really have bookshop vibes, whatever they were. Tan leather loafers, blond hair in a chin-length, perfectly straightened, choppy bob, the sort that didn’t move but clearly cost a fortune. A large tan tote bag slung casually over one arm, looked like something one of Daisy’s sisters carried, or perhaps modelled on a character in a film where someone important got out of a taxi in Mayfair. Whatever, the outfit was a long way from Pretty Beach or, at least, the Pretty Beach Daisy inhabited.
The woman paused just inside the door and gave the shop a long, deliberate look. Not smiley-curious in the way most visitors were, but as if she was analysing everything. She had a highly critical, stern sort of stroppy look on her perfectly unlined face. Right away, Daisy was not getting good vibes.
‘Hello.’ Daisy kept her tone friendly.
‘Are you still open? The blind made me think otherwise?’
Daisy couldn’t quite decipher the accent. English, yes, and British, but there was an edge to it. A faint curl of New York, maybe or somewhere like that. Not that Daisy knew New York from LA, but anyway. ‘We’re just closing up actually…’
The woman moved further into the shop, her eyes scanning the shelves. ‘What a lovely little space.’
‘Thank you. As I said, we’re just winding down for the day, but you’re welcome to have a quick look around.’
The woman nodded once and turned towards the middle table. She picked up a hardback, turned it over, read the blurb, and did the same with another. Then she moved on to the snug section, her heels softening as she stepped onto the old rug near the armchairs. She didn’t say anything for a minute or two, just browsed. But there was something about her aura that didn’t sit right with Daisy. She was looking at the books, but not reading the titles; her eyes moved across the shelves in quick sweeps, her fingers barely touching anything. Daisy had only owned the bookshop for a while, but she’d been in other bookshops, aroundbooks and libraries long enough to know that the woman was not a book lover as far as she could tell. Not that she knew what a book lover officially looked like, it was just something about the way the woman moved and vibed. As if she really didn’t fit in the world she’d walked into in the slightest.
Daisy busied herself behind the counter, pretending to stack a few bookmarks into their little jar while keeping half an eye on the woman, wondering if she was going to steal things. She’d heard through her online research into all things retail that thieves in shops did not look as you thought they might.
The woman turned again and moved back towards the main fiction table. ‘Is it just you who runs the shop?’
Daisy wasn’t sure whether or not to lie. It was the first time she’d been asked the question. ‘Yes, umm, I mean no. Well, I’ve got help from time to time, my family’s nearby. But day to day, it’s me.’
