Page 47 of An Enchanted Moment on Ever After Street
‘Can I help you with anything, ladies?’ Cleo gets all protective and goes to stand at the edge of the aisle they’re in, and her stern look leaves them with no doubt about how unimpressed we are with their antics, and they put the books they were pulling out back on the shelves and mutter something about us being no fun.
‘You gonna invite us to one of your date nights, then? We could show men a thing or two between the pages!’ They’re still giggling as they flail out the door.
‘Honestly, if it wasn’t 9a.m., I’d think they’d just fallen out of a pub.’ Cleo leans on the counter from the other side with a huff.
‘Is that what we can expect from now on?’ I let out a long sigh. ‘Mockery, jibes, and people thinking they’re going to be set up with some kind of Christian Grey-style sadist if they list their favourite book asFifty Shades?’
‘Just ignore them, Mar.’ She taps one of the pay-it-forward tags that I haven’t had a chance to put up yet. ‘At least some people have taken it in the spirit it was meant. You’ve already got extra tags on the board and had an online order.’
‘I don’tdoonline orders.’
‘Maybe it’s a sign that you should start. People all across the country are keen to support independent bookshops. It might bring in extra sales for very little extra effort?’
I let out another sigh, feeling so overwhelmed by it all that I want to cry. Just when things seemed to be going in the right direction, when the garden is looking so much better than it was, when we’ve had a success of friendship dates and interest in more, and when there’s a book festival to put on… When it feels like things will be okay after all, something like this article comes along to strike it down.
‘I thought the shop was in trouble…’ Cleo says gently.
‘It is. And it’ll be in even more trouble if my landlord reads this. And someone’s already made a complaint about me. What if that person makes another one? What if someoneelsecomplains too? This might be the final ammunition they need to throw me out.’
The phone rings again and I answer it with all the enthusiasm of a cup of cold tea. This time the person on the other end wants two tickets to the book festival, and I half-expect them to ask if the dress code is latex and if they should bring a whip and some fishnet stockings.
While I’m taking their details, another customer comes in to browse, thankfully alone and thankfully of the non-giggling variety, and Cleo hangs around, waiting by the counter to see if there’s anything she can do.
‘So do you have any idea who’s done this?’ she asks when I hang up. ‘Who could the “anonymous source” be?’
‘No idea. Maybe someone trying to get me in trouble.’
‘Any clue who could’ve taken the pictures?’
I study them again. There’s nothi— ‘Ahh, look, those are Darcy’s tags on the pay-it-forward board. I’d know that handwriting anywhere. So that at least dates it to being takenafterhe put those tags up two weeks ago. There were loads of people in here the other night – it could have been anyone. Maybe that’s not the counter in the background of that photo of the form. Maybe it was just one of the people who attended thefriendship night who took a photo of their form before they filled it in…’ I trail off because I don’t believe my own words. That’s the woodgrain of the counter. I look at it every day. ‘And anyone could’ve taken a picture of the pay-it-forward board that night. Almost everyone had their phones out at some point. Maybe someone didn’t enjoy themselves as much as they said. Maybe someone misinterpreted it and was disgruntled when theydidn’tget set up on adate-date.’
I know I’m going to torture myself for a long time to come in trying to figure out who the ‘anonymous source’ is and probably get no closer to the truth, so maybe it’s a good thing when the rest of the morning is unexpectedly busy, but not in a bad way. The phone keeps ringing with stock enquiries, book festival ticket requests, and people asking if the friendship matching thing could go country-wide, and quite a debate has sparked on one of my Facebook booklover groups about whether youcanfind new friends via a love of books or whether this is all a big con to get more money in the till.
And then a wonderful thing happens that reminds me why I do this in the first place. Cleo has refused to leave me by myself to fend off endless calls and the odd jibe from customers, and it’s about lunchtime when a little girl comes in, who can only be about six years old.
Cleo is much better with children than I am. ‘Are you on your own, sweetheart?’
‘My granny’s outside.’ She points out the window to where there’s an elderly lady sitting on one of the benches by the flower beds.
‘Does she know you’ve come in here?’
‘She told me to. She needed a rest. She’sooooold.’
I laugh, but I know the feeling. I think I’ve aged sixty years after the unexpectedness of this morning.
‘It’s Mummy’s birthday tomorrow and Granny and me have made her a cake. We came out to buy a present but Granny says everything is too expensive. She saw this and said you could help.’ She’s clutching a copy of the magazine in her fist, and I realise she means the pay-it-forward board.
‘Does Mummy like to read?’
‘Mummy loves to read! She reads to me every night and then I make her stay until I fall asleep and she reads her own book so she doesn’t get bored.’
I go over and take one of Darcy’s tags off the board and hand it to her. ‘This entitles you to choose any book you’d like in the shop. Do you know what kind of books she likes?’
‘Kissy laugh-y books! Sometimes she laughs too loudly and wakes me up.’
‘Romantic comedies?’ Cleo and I raise an eyebrow at each other, and I can’t help giggling at her description. The innocence of childhood.
‘The ones with pretty covers!’ She hands me her scrunched-up copy ofThe Wye Wordand takes the book tag, and skips off towards the romance section, and Cleo rushes after her to keep an eye.
