Chapter Thirty-Two
KIT
Istared at my laptop and didn’t allow myself to cry. I’d thought checking my emails for any last minute orders before closing Island Books for the day was a good idea. I couldn’t have known what waited in my inbox.
We regret to inform you that Island Books hasn’t been shortlisted for the Indie Bookshop Award this year.
Compulsively, I read the rest of the email on repeat, like the words might magically change if I pawed over them enough.
But no. They remained the same. I was commended for my community spirit.
The creativity of our window displays was specifically praised.
I was lauded for my commitment to reading diversity and championing authors from a range of backgrounds.
None of it was enough. A small paragraph at the bottom of the email secured the bulk of my attention.
Although there was a great deal to commend Island Books, we didn’t feel there was anything particularly special to set it apart from the other brilliant long listees.
We are sure that you will be nominated in the coming years, and we would encourage you to make sure to flaunt what makes your bookshop different from the rest. In particular, use the video to accentuate what makes your bookshop unique.
They’d gone around the houses to say it, but Island Books’s failure to place on the award’s shortlist was because of me.
I’d been so fixated on how much I’d hated being on camera and how cringy it was to read from a script that I’d not properly thought about how to make sure my bookshop shone.
The place I loved more than anywhere else on Earth, and I’d let it down because I thought my voice sounded weird when I listened back to it.
I clicked away from the email, to a spreadsheet of the bookshop’s costs and profits. There had been a steady increase in custom this month. That had to be because of the longlisting.
I couldn’t depend on that anymore. My dream of a more comfortable profit margin was gone.
‘Kit?’
I slammed the laptop shut. I wasn’t sure what my face was doing as I looked over the counter at Hamish, but his didn’t change from its usual frown. His hands were shoved into his jacket pockets.
‘It’s closing time, right? You can go. Sorry. I was checking on the orders. Nothing you need to know about. Nothing important.’
I babbled myself into silence. Hamish glowered at me.
I didn’t know if his expression could grow any more belligerent, but it would certainly try if I told him what I’d actually been doing.
I wouldn’t be able to hide our non-shortlisted status from him forever, but I could for a little while.
At least until it stopped feeling like the award committee had punched me in the gut.
I was, once again, fixated on the wrong thing. If I’d thought past my misery over the rejection email, I would have been vaguely prepared for what came next.
Hamish never said goodbye at the end of the work day.
‘I’m leaving,’ he grunted.
I placed a hand on top of my laptop, like that would supress the bad vibes leaking out of it.
‘Yup. That’s fine. Good work today,’ I blathered, ninety per cent of my mind rehashing the email and only ten per cent aware of the conversation I was currently a part of.
‘No,’ Hamish growled, like he was the werewolf and I was the clueless human. ‘I’m leaving the island tomorrow.’
‘Oh.’ He’d gone on holidays before, trips to mainland Scotland with his dad that he told me exactly nothing about other than the books he’d read while away, but he’d usually given more notice than this.
I would have been annoyed if there wasn’t something I was keen to keep from him for as long as possible. ‘That’s okay. Have a nice holiday.’
‘It’s not a holiday,’ Hamish said flatly, like I was being purposefully obtuse. ‘I’m leaving the island to go to university.’
My full attention snapped to him, the guts that had been pummelled by the awards committee shrivelling. ‘What?’
Hamish kicked at the wooden floor, like abusing the shop made this conversation more bearable. ‘I’m leaving tomorrow to go to university in Edinburgh to study literature.’
‘Oh.’ Dismay and questions cluttered my mind, but I managed to shove them out of the way. I forced my face into something like a smile. ‘Congratulations, Hamish. I’m so pleased for you.’
He gave me a withering look, like he could see all the thoughts in my head and knew only a tiny amount showed any pleasure in his going off and studying so far away.
‘I’ll be coming home to visit Dad a lot and I’ll change the display then.
I can work here in the holidays too. I’ll be around when the shop is busiest.’
I leant against the counter. I hadn’t thought of the window display, but it would have been a chore to maintain the high standard Hamish had set.
More than his surly presence in the shop and barely passable attempts at tidying most of the shelves, his window displays would have been missed most, by both the customers and my profit spreadsheet.
That wasn’t true. Hamish might be the living embodiment of a storm cloud, but he had marched into this shop as soon as he was legally old enough to work and had loved it – in his own special way – through all the years he’d been here.
‘Thank you.’ I didn’t round the counter to attempt any form of friendly farewell. He would hate that. ‘I’ll miss you. And I’ll be glad to have you back during your holidays.’
Hamish kicked at the wooden floor again. A pitiful part of me wondered if he’d leave a scuff mark. That was all I’d have to remember him by.
He turned and marched for the door. I refused to cry until he was out of sight. I clenched my tear ducts and gritted my teeth as he yanked open the door.
He paused on the doormat, his boots compressing the cheerful pattern of bristly books. The sea hissed and gulls cried out overhead. If I were human, I wouldn’t have heard him mutter, ‘I guess I’ll miss you too.’
I let out a shuddering breath when the door shut behind him, then squared my shoulders.
‘You have things to do,’ I said. ‘Then you can fall apart.’
Mechanically, I slotted the days takings into the safe under the till. My jaw aching with how hard I pressed my teeth together, I walked across the shop and flicked the sign to closed. I slid the lock across, then turned off the lights.
‘Get upstairs,’ I commanded, my chest tight. ‘Then you can cry.’
I made it halfway. I stumbled, and crashed down into the hard wooden slats. My hands and knees throbbed with pain, and the dam broke. Huge sobs wracked through me. I pulled my scarf up to cover my face and cried into the soft blue fabric.
I might not have been so wrecked if the award rejection and Hamish’s departure had slammed into me separately, but together they formed a perfect one-two knockout.
I tried desperately to ignore the needy part of me that craved external validation.
I’d left a law degree I’d been incredibly good at to open a bookshop on a tiny island that most people hadn’t heard of.
I’d followed a dream, and that’s what was important.
I didn’t need anyone to tell me I’d done the right thing.
The Indie Bookshop Award had offered what the needy part wanted, though.
I hadn’t applied for it, so I’d convinced myself that any validation it brought would be freely given.
I hadn’t realised that even without striving to be nominated, from the moment I’d been notified of my bookshop’s place on the longlist, I’d been dreaming of winning.
The bulk of me knew I’d done the right thing in coming here, but the rest wanted someone else to look at what I’d done and pronounce that it was good. Award worthy. A valid reason to leave the prospect of a stable and well-paid career and move to an unknown Scottish island.
And I hadn’t advertised for a member of staff. Before Hamish walked through the bookshop door and stated his terms, I’d not sought out a colleague. I’d thought I was fine alone, that the shop was small and eccentric enough that one man running it on his own added to its vaguely chaotic charm.
I couldn’t have known how much I’d come to love having Hamish as an employee.
He was surly and barely paid any attention to my instructions, but he loved books and he loved the shop.
He’d simply been there. Regularly, I’d had another person in the shop working towards making it the best it could be.
It wasn’t even a consolation that no longer regularly paying his wages would mean that the gap between my profits and costs would grow a little.
From now on, I’d be alone. I didn’t realise how bolstering it was to have someone else dedicating their time to the shop until it was torn away.
I’d have no one to help me make my apparently mediocre shop any better.
I jumped at several sharp stabs on my ankle. Lowering my scarf from my face, I blinked tears from my eyes.
Kat stood on the step below where I’d fallen. Her fur was fluffed as she glared at me.
I’d heard about other pets who cared when their owners were in emotional distress. Mine just wanted me to get the hell out of her way so that she could get upstairs, then feed her as soon as possible.
‘Sorry.’ I sniffed, then eased my legs to one side of the stairs. Kat ran past, making sure to flick her tail into my tear stained face.
Any bruises that had formed when I fell had healed by the time I stood. It wasn’t lingering pain that made my movements clumsy as I climbed the final few steps; it was sadness.
I had a brief reprieve from crying while I filled up Kat’s food and water bowls, acting quickly so as to not add being attacked by the animal I pretended loved me to the list of today’s woes. My eyes filled with tears once again after I washed my hands and pulled my phone from my pocket.
The screen was blank. No missed calls.
It was well past the time Lucas would normally have called. I slumped against the kitchen counter and my chest juddered in time with my heaving breaths.
I’d been rejected by the award committee, abandoned by my only employee, and now Lucas had joined in.
I knew that one day he would ditch me, would find someone he actually wanted to kiss and create a happily ever after with, but I thought I had more time.
I thought, for just a little while longer, that he would choose me.
I should have known better than to bank on having anything more from him than what I’d already been given.
I lost everyone I wanted to be close to. And I lost my mother. I lost my humanity, and the scar that proved it.
I lost everything. Everyone.
If I’d thought about it properly, I would have realised that I’d already lost Lucas.
I lost him as soon as I asked to kiss him and he recoiled in horror.
He’d left the cottage and thrown himself into a life or death situation because he wanted to get away from me so badly.
I’d pushed for too much. I always wanted too much.
Lucas had finally realised my desperate need for more wasn’t going to calm or go away. He was doing what was necessary and distancing himself.
Half blinded by tears, I stumbled over to the second staircase to our bedrooms. Lucas wouldn’t want to live with me, not now he was a werewolf.
He wouldn’t be able to stand the stink of want.
I hated being zapped by the desire of strangers a few times a day.
It would be horrible to be swamped by unwanted attraction in your own home.
I pushed open his bedroom door. I’d left his space untouched for the most part, desperately hoping every day would be the one when he’d come home. Weeks ago, I’d packed up a bag of his clothes. I’d sniffed his pillow once before I closed the door.
The award rejection and Hamish’s departure had given me a rude awakening that was long overdue; Lucas wouldn’t be coming back. No one ever chose me long term. I’d been lucky to have what he’d been able to give.
Since Lucas wouldn’t be living here anymore, it didn’t matter if I buried myself in blankets heavy with his scent.
I kicked off my boots and curled up in the middle of his bed, my tears soaking into a pillow that smelt of his earthy shampoo.
I pulled his covers around and on top of myself, creating a cocoon.
I would get over this. Today had been a bad one, but soon I’d pull myself together and move on.
I’d make Island Books the best it could be and ignore worries that I’d made a terrible mistake coming to the island.
I’d adjust to being a lone worker again and appreciate Hamish’s visits.
I’d get used to only sharing my home with a vaguely murderous cat.
I wasn’t ready to accept all of this yet.
‘I don’t want to be alone.’ I cried into Lucas’s pillow, gripping his blankets in my fists. ‘I wish I wasn’t always alone.’
No one laid a hand on my shoulder or offered a comforting word. It was just me, by myself.