Chapter 6
Briony stood in the lovely bookshop, holding an old copy of a classic novel by H. Rider Haggard. It wasn’t what she had intended to read, but the lovely old gentleman called Henry, who owned the bookshop, had suggested it.
‘It’s about as close to an exotic location as I’m going to get,’ Briony said to herself, thinking of the adventure story set abroad within the books’ pages.
She turned from the counter and thought of the window display she’d paused to look at before stepping into the shop. She’d thought she was walking into a modern bookshop. There were lots of brand-new releases nicely laid out in the window display – a selection of romances, thrillers, good old-fashioned whodunnits, and modern, cosy mysteries by well-known authors. There were also hard-boiled detective novels, police procedurals, and some literary fiction by up-and-coming authors. Any one of the new releases looked interesting, and worth buying. Briony wondered how she had ended up buying a dog-eared copy of an old book.
The window display belied the shop’s true nature – it not only sold modern fiction but was stuffed to the rafters with a huge selection of second-hand books. It also had another a twist. There were little bistro tables and chairs outside, along with potted plants and hanging baskets. It would be easy to mistake it for a little café if you didn’t look in the shop window or see the name of the shop.
Briony loved that she could help herself to a tea or coffee – much like in Joss’s office across the yard – and sit with a cuppa and a biscuit. She thought of Reggie; although there wasn’t a café in Cobblers Yard, there appeared to be no shortage of refreshments when you ventured into the shops.
Briony hadn’t been long buying her book, so she decided to help herself to a cup of coffee and take a seat on the sofa. An older lady was already sitting there with a cup of tea, reading the morning newspapers. She didn’t look as though she’d bought a book and appeared not at all bothered by the fact that she was sitting on the comfy sofa, sipping a free cuppa, and helping herself to the free newspapers without making a purchase.
A young woman appeared from behind a bookcase. ‘Mabel – are you still here?’
Briony heard the rustle of a newspaper. She looked over at the older lady called Mabel. She’d lowered her newspaper. ‘Shush! Marj thinks I’m out running errands. That’s what I told her, Thea.’
‘She’s not going to hear you from over there in the charity shop.’
Mabel replied, ‘Walls have ears.’
Briony glanced at her in amusement.
‘Well, these walls are mighty thick,’ said Thea. ‘Why don’t you just tell Marj that you like popping into the bookshop every day for your morning coffee and a chit-chat with us?’
Briony looked at the young woman called Thea, who was holding an armful of books.
‘If I tell Marj where I am every morning, do you know what’s going to happen?’
Briony saw Thea smile. ‘No, Mabel, I have no idea.’
‘Marjorie will want to come too. Then we’ll have to close the charity shop all morning. You know how I like to savour my morning coffee from my coffee machine.’
‘Yes, I do, Mabel, and we do so appreciate you giving us your coffee machine. Have you thought that it might be fair to take it in turns, so Marjorie could come one day, and you the next?’
‘Or Marjorie could come in the afternoon,’ said Briony, speaking her mind. She immediately wondered if they would be affronted by a stranger butting into the conversation.
Thea smiled. ‘Now there’s an idea, Mabel.’
‘I like things just the way they are, thank you very much,’ said Mabel indignantly.
‘Ah, you mean you sitting here, and Marjorie doing all the work.’
Mabel returned to reading her newspaper as though she hadn’t heard Thea’s last comment.
Briony caught Thea smiling and shaking her head before turning her attention to her new customer. ‘Hello. I haven’t seen you in the bookshop before.’
‘It’s my first visit. I’m new to the area.’ Briony saw the elderly lady lower her paper again, deep-set eyes staring in her direction. Oh dear, thought Briony, suddenly remembering what Reggie had said the very first time she’d visited the music shop, about The Gossip Girls, who worked in the charity shop. Mabel must be one half of that duo.
‘Welcome to our little piece of heaven, Cobblers Yard,’ said Thea. ‘Most of our customers live in the area. We hardly have any passing trade. Cobblers Yard is so easy to miss. I’m Thea.’ She held out her hand.
‘I’m Briony.’
‘It’s lovely to meet you, Briony. I see you’ve found a book already.’
Briony looked at her purchase. The man at the counter had packed it carefully into a paper bag emblazoned with the words – The Bookshop of Memories. Briony showed her the book. ‘It’s not exactly what I came in here for, but the old guy—’
‘That’s my dad, Herny.’
Briony was surprised. She guessed the young woman standing in front of her was in her early thirties. Henry could have been her grandfather. That was probably an exaggeration, but she guessed he was around her grandmother’s age, in his early seventies. She realised that having young parents herself probably altered her perspective. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean to call him old.’
Mabel laughed out loud. ‘Oh, my dear. I don’t think there is anything to apologise for. We’re old, there’s no getting away from it.’
Briony caught the young woman smiling too. ‘My dad was middle-aged when he had me and my sister.’
Briony stared at her, realising that perhaps it wasn’t a bad idea being a young parent. It might not be great right now, with all the plans she’d had, but when her child was grown up, she’d only be in her forties. Not ancient, like Thea’s dad. Briony winced, wishing she’d stop thinking unkind thoughts. He wasn’t ancient.
‘What were you saying … about the book?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Briony in relief, glad she’d changed the subject. ‘I hadn’t thought of purchasing an old-fashioned adventure story. Exotic location, some romance too – your dad recommended it. He’s quite knowledgeable about the author. Has he been running the bookshop for long?’
‘Yes, he has.’
‘Apart from a little – well, a long – break,’ said Mabel under her breath.
Briony heard the comment and wondered what she meant.
Thea must have heard her too, as she felt the need to explain. ‘Oh, yes. My dad went away for a while, but … now he’s back.’
Briony recalled Reggie mentioning that the bookshop had been closed for years. It was when they’d first met. She’d told him her grandmother was missing. He’d said, Blimey – not again! She’d wondered who he’d meant by that comment, although she’d noticed him glancing towards the bookshop across the yard. He hadn’t elaborated. All he’d said was, Someday I’ll tell you an incredible story about the bookshop across the yard, which was closed for decades.
Briony hoped Thea might tell her that story, but was not surprised she didn’t. Briony could understand. She didn’t want to talk about her personal life with strangers either, even though Thea seemed very nice.
‘How did you find the bookshop?’
‘Emily brought me here to visit Reggie. I’m working part-time there now.’
‘Ah, you’re into music?’
Briony eyed the old lady. ‘I play, yes. He tunes my grandmother’s piano. We got into a conversation about the guy who used to work in the music shop years ago.’
Briony didn’t know whether Mr Cribbins had been the previous owner or whether, like Reggie, he’d rented the place. The fact was, she had no idea who owned the music shop now, but she wasn’t interested in that. What interested her was someone called Frank who, decades earlier, had written some love letters to her grandmother that Briony had found, unopened, in an old bureau in the outbuilding on her grandmother’s property, with the return address as the music shop right there in Cobblers Yard. He must have lived in the flat above the shop at some point. But did the town gossip, Mabel, or her sister, know anything about him?
Mabel eyed her. ‘And what is your interest in Mr Cribbins?’
So Mabel did know him – or at least of him. Briony suppressed a smile and shrugged nonchalantly instead. But she saw the look on Mabel’s face when she did that, and realised Mabel was no fool.
Briony decided to be straight with her. ‘I’m not interested in Mr Cribbins, but Frank Cribbins – his son, perhaps?’
Mabel eyed her a long moment before she said, ‘Hmm … Frank. I haven’t heard that name in a long, long time.’
‘So, you knew Frank?’ Of course she did, thought Briony. She imagined Mabel and her sister had lived in Aldeburgh all their lives.
‘Yes, he was Mr Cribbins’ son. Mr Cribbins owned the music shop for years, and then I’m not sure who bought it when Mr Cribbins died. It obviously changed hands, but remained as a music shop because Reggie took over the lease. I believe Reggie thought there were more profitable businesses that could have moved into the premises, so he was surprised he was given the option. Perhaps it was pure nostalgia on the owner’s part because the shop had always been a music shop, as far as he was aware.’
Mabel was just about to say something when the door to the bookshop opened and someone thundered in, slamming the door behind them, making everyone sitting in the alcove, out of sight of the door, jump. Briony thought it sounded like a customer who wasn’t very happy.
‘There you are!’
Briony looked up to see a plump older woman who, apart from her weight, did resemble her slim sister. She stood there, hands on hips, her face like thunder.
‘Ah, Marjorie. I was just having a quick cuppa before I returned after doing the errands.’
‘Were you, now?’ Marjorie said sarcastically.
Thea said, ‘I’m, er … going to help Dad.’
Briony caught her glancing Marjorie’s way and wondered if she had sensed trouble brewing and decided to make a swift exit before the two sisters had a spat.
Briony glanced at Mabel, who didn’t seem at all bothered that she’d been found out.
Mabel said, ‘I struck up a conversation with Briony here. She’s new in town. I couldn’t exactly get up and walk out, could I? That would be rude.’
The way Marjorie eyed her sister suggested she wasn’t sure she believed her.
‘We were just talking about Mr Cribbins – weren’t we, dear?’
Briony wished she’d made a quick exit too. ‘Um, yeah.’
‘Were you, now?’ Marjorie folded her arms across her ample chest, eyeing Briony, making her feel rather uncomfortable under her stern gaze.
‘Yes Marj. Do you remember him?’ asked Mabel.
Marjorie turned to look at her sister. ‘Mr Cribbins? I haven’t heard that name in years.’
‘Me neither,’ agreed Mabel. ‘Do you recall Frank – his son?’
‘Frank Cribbins?’ Marjorie pointed at her sister. ‘The little boy who used to stand in the middle of Cobblers Yard under that lamppost and sing. Do you remember, Mabel?’
Mabel chuckled. ‘Oh, my goodness! I remember now. He knew our bedroom was upstairs in the eaves. He used to serenade us, even though we were young women and he was a little boy of five or six.’
‘Bless his little heart,’ said Marjorie. ‘But didn’t he have the most wonderful voice?’
‘Oh, yes – voice of an angel.’
Briony stared at the sisters. ‘Did you used to live in Cobblers Yard?’
The sisters exchanged a glance. ‘We grew up right here.’
‘In Cobblers Yard?’
‘In this bookshop,’ said Mabel. ‘My father used to own this shop.’
Briony stared at her. It was little wonder she loved to spend time there, in her former childhood home. Briony looked about her at the cramped but cosy bookshop, and thought she’d probably like to spend every opportunity she could there too; the sofa was comfy, the coffee from Mabel’s donated coffee machine was delicious, and the tall bookshelves were crammed with books. It reminded her of the library at Oxford University. The bookshop was obviously tiny in comparison, but Briony thought that its size just added to its old-fashioned charm. She imagined the place hadn’t changed much since the sisters’ father had owned the place.
She felt she could spend hours lost amongst the bookshelves, perusing the books. Perhaps it was just as well that Henry had suggested a book, otherwise she was pretty sure she would go on to miss her appointment with Joss.
‘Didn’t he suddenly up and leave, and join the Royal Navy?’ commented Mabel. ‘Quite a shock for his father, as I remember. Wasn’t he sweet on a local girl?’
‘A local girl?’ Marjorie sat down on the sofa next to Briony. ‘I don’t remember.’
Briony’s head darted from one sister to the other as they sat either side of her.
Marjorie continued, ‘We’d both left home by then, got married, hadn’t we? But I’d heard he had his heart broken by some lass. Perhaps that’s why he never returned to Cobblers Yard.’
‘That’s right. Then we heard from Father, when he stopped to talk to Mr Cribbins, that the poor man was broken-hearted when his son didn’t return. I think he wanted Frank to take over his music shop.’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ agreed Mabel. ‘But we always thought he was destined for … well, for bigger things, didn’t we, Marj? Not that there’s anything wrong with running a shop,’ added Mabel. ‘Nothing wrong with that at all.’
‘You’re talking about his singing voice, aren’t you?’ Briony said. ‘When you talked of him being destined for bigger things?’
‘Yes. I thought he could have grown up to be an opera singer.’
‘Or maybe sing in a boy band,’ said Marjorie. ‘Not that there was that sort of thing around in those days.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Mabel scoffed. ‘Boy bands started in the sixties! There were The Beatles and The Monkees, The Jackson 5, The Osmonds, and—’
‘All right, Mabel, I see your point.’ Marjorie rolled her eyes.
Mabel said, ‘It’s a shame there weren’t things like The X Factor and Britain’s Got Talent though. Oh, he would have surely been a hit on one of those if they had been around in his day.’
‘He might still have that wonderful singing voice. He could go on one of those shows. We watch those shows avidly, don’t we, Mabel? Can’t say I’ve seen a familiar face, though.’
‘How old do you think he’d be now?’ Briony asked.
The sisters looked at her thoughtfully. Mabel replied, ‘Oh, in his early seventies, wouldn’t you say, Marj?’
Her sister nodded. ‘Yes, that would be about right. We were in our teens, around fifteen or sixteen years old, when he was born.’
‘Remember, Marjorie, when we thought that if he left the Navy, we might recognise him on television or in a West End Show, with a singing voice like that? We thought that perhaps he’d become rich and famous. He might have changed his name, though. I mean you wouldn’t want to keep the name Cribbins, would you?’
‘I do remember, Marj. Yes we anticipated if he was on the stage or screen he’d change his name. I mean, Cribbins doesn’t sound very much like a singer.’
‘No, not like Sinatra.’
‘And did he?’ Briony asked, ‘become famous?’
‘Frank Cribbins?’ Mabel and Marjorie said in unison. They both shook their heads. ‘Not as far as we are aware,’ said Marjorie. ‘Such a waste of a beautiful voice.’
Mabel looked at her sister. ‘Yes, and nobody in Cobblers Yard ever heard from him again once he left home.’
Briony hoped nothing had happened to him when he was in the Navy.
‘We heard from his father that Frank was in the Falklands War in the eighties.’
‘The Falklands War?’
‘Oh, you’re far too young to know about that, I expect.’
Briony had, in fact, learned a little about it in a history lesson when she was in school. ‘It was when Britain was at war with Argentina.’
Mabel breathed a sigh. ‘But he never came back.’
Briony looked at their solemn faces. ‘You mean, he was …’ she swallowed, ‘a casualty of the war?’
‘Quite possibly. Perhaps he died in the war. I remember there were casualties on both sides. Mr Cribbins never spoke of his son after that.’
Briony’s heart sank. And there she was, thinking she could find him and reunite her grandmother with her lost love.
‘All we know,’ continued Marjorie, ‘is that Mr Cribbins told us his son never returned from the war. Perhaps Frank decided there was nothing to come back for.’
Mabel looked at her sister thoughtfully. ‘Do you know the name of the girl he was sweet on?’
They were both shaking their heads, when Briony said, ‘Blythe. Her name was Blythe.’
Mabel and Marjorie looked surprised. Briony expected it made a change for someone new in town to know something they didn’t.