Chapter 10
In my haste to call Lily, I drop my phone twice before managing to keep hold of it long enough to dial. Breathlessly, I explain the situation.
‘Doxxed?’ Lily screeches down the line.
Lily exhales a long breath. ‘It’s always the incels. Do you feel safe though, Harper? Do you want me to come home?’
‘No, I’m fine. It’s just disturbing. And now you’re caught up in this because of me—’
‘I’m not caught up in it, Harper. They don’t know who I am. They know who you are and what you look like from photos on your Bookstagram though and that worries me.’
It’s strange to think I’ve never once worried about sharing personal photos online, until now.
I’ve made it easy for these creeps to track me down with all the clues on my page.
There’s a veritable treasure trove of information of all the places I tag in my posts – from my local Costa to the park I spend lazy days on a blanket with a book.
The cheap and cheerful café where Lily and I enjoy boozy Sunday brunches.
Even the front of our apartment building where I take book pics because they look so aesthetically pleasing up against the historic architecture.
‘I’m sure it’s more of an intimidation thing.
’ I hurry to reassure Lily. ‘And anyway, no one can get upstairs without the door code and our apartment is like Fort Knox.’ Lily takes safety seriously so we have not one, but three deadbolts, which I once thought was overkill and the product of her reading too many thrillers but am now grateful for.
‘Be careful if you go out.’
Just as I’m about to reply our door buzzer goes.
‘Oh God,’ Lily says. ‘Don’t answer it.’
‘I’d rather know who it is.’
‘OK, answer it while I’m on the phone so I can get help if you need it.’
I press the buzzer. ‘Yes?’
There’s no response but the buzzer goes again and again.
‘Someone is out there, trying to scare me. And spoiler alert. It’s working.’ It’s not a ring camera, just an old-school buzz and chat doorbell that services all the apartments. Ours has a cute cat sticker with our names on it.
‘Turn the volume down so you don’t hear it and definitely don’t engage. It could be kids playing Ding, Dong, Ditch. We’ve had that before…’ Her tone suggests she knows it’s not kids playing silly games but her way of trying to ease my anxiety.
‘Yeah. Can you pull the sticker off with our names when you come home? I don’t want to walk down there.’
‘Sure. Call the police if you see anyone hovering out the front, Harper. I mean it. I’ve got two client meetings and then I’m coming home. Or maybe I should cancel—’
‘No, don’t cancel.’
Lily only ends the call after I promise to keep checking in with her every hour. This online escalation makes it obvious that it’s best for everyone if I get out of London for a while. The last thing I want to do is put Lily’s safety at risk. Or my own.
Back at my laptop, I try to find the ad for the Barefoot Bookseller job with renewed determination. Nothing. I can’t remember Lucy’s Instagram handle and can’t find any hashtags they might have used. Defeated, I turn to a job-seeker website and gasp as the first ad pops up.
Barefoot bookseller wanted for bookshop on a tropical island. Comes with room and board and small stipend. Must love reading.
It fits the brief and then some, an island paradise with hopefully non-existent Wi-Fi.
I could cool my heels there until the hubbub dies down.
What are the chances this dream job is still available?
No doubt there are thousands of other bookworm candidates vying for the position (who haven’t been cancelled, fired, dumped and doxxed).
Still, I fill in the application as I go.
The questions are a little quirky: Who would win in a battle of wits, Hemingway or Atwood?
Is that a trick question – I type. ‘Atwood.’ There is one last instruction at the end of the questionnaire.
Interviewer Gus is ready whenever you are. Please email the application and then call the number listed below.
Gus! The juddering camera operator from the reel!
I click the listing bio details. Just where is this tropical paradise?
Knowing my luck, it’s the same uninhabited island the schoolboys got lost in Lord of the Flies and I’ll be marooned with some weirdo and be forced to beat him over the head with a conch to get away.
Note to self: do a crash course in Brazilian jujitsu.
The Barefoot Bookshop is located within the grounds of the Last Chance Resort on the island Esperé in Seychelles.
SEYCHELLES!
I click into the gallery of photos. Pristine white sandy beaches.
A close up of a couple frolicking in a sparkling turquoise pool.
Sun loungers galore. Palm trees. Tropical paradise indeed.
I go through the album but don’t see any photos of the bookshop itself.
Perhaps it’s a new inclusion? I check the time difference between London and the Seychelles.
We’re three hours behind so that makes it just after three in the afternoon there.
Before I can overthink it, I email the application as requested and call the number.
‘Good afternoon, the Barefoot Bookshop, this is Gus.’ There’s a jovial grandfatherly tone to the voice that eases my sudden fluttering of nerves.
‘Uh, hi. I’m Harper from London, calling about the bookseller job.’
‘Harper, as in Harper Lee?’
I smile. ‘Yes, inspired by. My dad loved the novel To Kill a Mockingbird.’ Dad was the person responsible for introducing me to books at a young age.
Together we worked our way through the classics despite Mum’s protests that they were too advanced for me.
They weren’t really, and I later came to the realisation that was a bit of reverse psychology on her part, which worked like a charm.
I desperately wanted to read the books that were allegedly too grown up for me.
‘Well, that’s really something. Did you email your application, Harper?’
‘I did.’
A terse voice interrupts. It sounds like a younger guy who is rather authoritative. I struggle to make out what’s being said but the tone feels off, abrupt. Something about an urgent meeting and no excuses. The phone crackles and I hear Gus confirm he’ll meet up with the person later.
‘My apologies for that intrusion, Harper. Now give me a minute here while I pull up your application. Our Wi-Fi is a little patchy, which is a nice way of saying it only works when it wants to.’
‘Perfect.’ It slips out. Patchy Wi-Fi is exactly what I’m looking for. A forced digital detox.
‘Not a fan of technology, eh?’
‘Not at the minute, no.’
‘OK, I sense there’s a story there, but for now, let me take a squiz at this. So Harper, for the question, if you were stuck on a desert island with only one book what would it be, you chose Vikram Seth’s A Suitable Boy. An interesting choice. Can you explain why?’
I haven’t had a job interview quite like this before. Gus is just the tonic for a lost bookworm. ‘Two reasons. I love books set in India and if I’m going to be stuck reading the same book for the foreseeable, it’s got to be a long one.’
He laughs. ‘If memory serves, that tome is a touch over fourteen hundred pages.’
‘Yes, something like that. It’s on my shelf but it’s one of those I’ve never got around to.’
‘Books have a way of getting our attention when the time is right.’
I nod, even though he can’t see me. ‘That’s always how it happens. That strange wizardry inside each book.’
‘And Atwood, eh? Why not Hemingway?’
‘I love Hemingway’s writing and by all reports he was a charismatic person, but could any man face up to Atwood and win, especially in a battle of wits? I think not.’
His chortle echoes down the phoneline. ‘That’s the only correct answer. Now let me give you a run down about the island bookshop, and what to expect.’
Gus goes on to explain the resort amenities, location and the island itself. The bookshop apparently gets busy as the resort fills up over the summer, and an extra pair of hands is needed in the hopes that if customers are given one-on-one attention it will translate to more sales.
‘Sales have sadly been on the decline. Holidaymakers come over with a suitcase jammed with books and their kindles preloaded so there’s a lot of browsing done at the bookshop and not much else.
The thing is, the bookshop also services the wider island community, so if we’re forced to close the doors, they’ll lose out too. ’
My bookseller brain goes haywire with ideas that would encourage guests to commit to a purchase. It’s all about making it fun. Exclusive. They’re on holiday, they’ve got time to attend events, in-store activities.
‘Right, I’m sure I can help there. I’ve had a lot of experience as a bookseller and’ – dare I say?
– ‘in the online book community.’ I teeter on the edge of telling the truth and potentially losing out on this job, or keeping quiet.
But honesty wins. I tell Gus all about my disastrous live stream and the consequences of my actions.
‘To be blatantly honest, this job sort of feels like a last-ditch resort, a last chance to stop messing up my life once and for all.’ God, have I just blown it?
Why do I blurt every thought that pops into my mind like that?
‘Sounds like you’re in a bit of a jam, Harper.
Don’t you worry, I understand about making mistakes.
Everyone at the resort knows a thing or two about last chances as well.
And as the Persian fable says, this too shall pass.
Hold on to that.’ His gravelly wise voice gives me hope, as if Gus has walked a similar path and come out on the other side.
‘Maybe what you need is a dose of island life, to help put things into perspective. I should warn you, this place is like a petri dish,’ he says with a sarcastic lilt.
‘The resort is its own little world. Guests come and go, but staff and expats stay. What the Barefoot Bookshop needs is some young blood with big ideas to help breathe life back into it. What do you think, Harper? Would you like to give it a go?’
‘You’re offering me the job? Just like that?’ I can’t keep the surprise from my voice. There must be a catch. Maybe this is one of the Lord of the Flies situations and I’m walking into a nightmare. But Gus… well, he seems like a laid-back bookish type.
‘Why yes! You’re the first candidate to choose Atwood and you’re named after Harper Lee.
It’s a no-brainer.’ He lets out a booming laugh.
‘With your social media nous and bookselling experience, we could really get the Barefoot Bookshop where it needs to be. You’ll get your own suite at the resort, meals are included, and you’ll be paid a small wage too.
’ He rattles off a figure. It’s not huge, but if you consider the savings I’ll make not paying for rent, bills and groceries, it’s more than fair and should allow me to save and get back on an even keel.
My mind is spinning at the speed of this whole thing, but why not say yes? This is a lifeline and what better place to regroup than a gorgeous resort in the Seychelles? ‘I’d love to accept, Gus. When would you like me to start?’
‘Next week too soon? We can get the Gainful Occupation Permit, also known as the GOP visa, fast-tracked because around here, it’s not what you know, it’s who you know, as you’ll come to learn. But don’t tell anyone, it’s highly illegal.’ I’m met with a boisterous laugh.
‘Next week can’t come quick enough.’ We get down to the nitty gritty and I make a list of what I need to do including medical checks I need for the GOP and other visa-related documents I’ll have to hunt out pronto.
Gus emails me a straightforward employment contract to sign.
Afterwards I call Lily and explain the way my life has just taken the strangest and most exciting turn.