Chapter 22
After breakfast, I’m back in the bookshop ready to explore. Behind the counter, I find some A-frame signs and put them outside, saying bonzour again to Turt, who has fallen into a sun-drenched snooze, the lucky thing.
I’ve played with cats in a canal bookshop in Venice.
I rented a dog to cuddle in a hilltop bookshop in Santorini.
But I’ve never come across a bookshop tortoise before.
My mind goes to social media, and posts I can do for the bookshop about this gorgeous creature and conservation programmes on surrounding islands, which then reminds me that I don’t have Bookstagram any more.
It’s a brief sharp pain but I push it from my mind.
I highly doubt that the Barefoot Bookshop has any social media accounts because of Gus’s well-known stance on the matter, but I decide to check anyway, just in case another staff member has set them up.
I fire up the ancient computer on the counter and log on to the internet. Gus was right, the internet only works when it wants to. After an age, I’m finally in. I search for social media accounts but only find ones connected to the resort itself.
I take a pad and make a note of it to email Xavier later.
Turt could be a real drawcard for social media and for guests at the resort.
I don’t want to exploit the tortoise or put him in any position where people are disturbing his slumber, but I could post photos like Meet Turt Vonnegut!
and share information about tortoise conservation and ethical tours to visit the Aldabra giant tortoises around the archipelago of islands.
Does the Barefoot Bookshop have a range of books about tortoises, and other Seychellois native animals?
I check on the computer, relieved to find that the stock is inputted and easy to find.
A display table would work, including local guides and interesting memoirs, or travel books about the Seychelles would surely appeal to guests at the resort.
Kids love learning about sea creatures too, so I make a note to check what stock we have of children’s books about the Aldabra giant tortoise and other animals found in the Seychelles.
An ocean-themed decorated display would look great in the lobby of the hotel and get attention as guests mill around as they wait to check in. I jot down ideas.
A bell jangles. I look up to find the expat with the white shock of hair. Brian? ‘Mr Hotel California, good morning.’
‘Bonzour, Harper. How are you enjoying island life so far?’ This early and pre-happy-hour Brian isn’t quite so animated, but still wears a wide grin. His accent is decidedly British, and I get to wondering how he ended up living an expat life here.
‘Island life is pretty bloody good. But tell me, how long does it take to acclimatise to the humidity?’ Even with the breeze coming in the open bookshop doors, it’s hot. Melt-my-make-up-off sort of hot.
He laughs. ‘Won’t be long. The trick is keeping cool with a cocktail, but I guess that’s frowned upon for staff, eh?’
‘More’s the pity,’ I joke.
‘The bookshop has a cracking air conditioner though, that’s why Turt comes in when he’s baked himself to near leather.’
‘I couldn’t find the remote and I didn’t want to bother Mariola with every little thing.’
He points to a door leading to the office.
‘It’s in Gus’s desk tidy.’ I duck around the wall he motions to and find the remote.
I hit the button and soon icy-cold air seeps out.
‘Thank you, Brian. That will make working here that much more enjoyable.’ He waves it off.
‘Can I help you find a book? Not that I’m familiar with the bookshop yet, but I will be soon enough. ’
‘You’ll get the hang of it. Gus kept things organised, so you shouldn’t have any trouble. I’m here to pick up a book he ordered in for me which should have arrived with the latest delivery.’
‘Right. The latest delivery.’ Where on earth would that be in this cavernous place? I check under the counter to see if there are any pigeonholes for customer orders and strike gold. There are a bunch of novels with invoices attached. I find one bearing Brian’s name.
‘Easy Money by Ben McKenzie?’
‘That’s the one. Gus promised me he’d wrap it, but he must’ve forgotten.’ He goes to snatch it from my hands, and my first reaction is to pull it away. Being nosy by nature, I need to know why he doesn’t want me to see what it’s about.
‘Why do you need it wrapped? Is it a gift for someone?’ I think not by the way he’s acting shifty about it like he’s embarrassed. But why? I take a quick peek. It’s a book about cryptocurrency. Casino capitalism. And fraud. ‘Just a light read then?’
‘You mention the word crypto on this island and people go nuts about it, convinced it’s all a scam or something.
’ A blush creeps up his cheeks. ‘I’m of the opinion that it always pays to be informed.
As you can imagine, life on the island doesn’t exactly keep up with what’s happening beyond these shores, so I keep my reading preferences private, that’s all. ’
‘Riiight.’
I laugh as I take a quick look at the other orders awaiting pick up.
I’ll spend this morning calling them to let them know they’ve arrived.
When I order a book in, I don’t just pick up that order, I peruse and buy a few more as it’s only polite when visiting a bookshop to adopt a few more for the collection so I hope guests here might do the same.
As I stand, I catch sight of a notebook bearing my name. For Harper. The penmanship is like chicken scratch as if it’s come from a shaky hand. I put it on the counter for later.
I find a box of small brown paper bags and slip Brian’s book into that so he can keep his cryptocurrency predilections to himself and hand it over to him. ‘You’ve already paid, according to the invoice.’
He nods. ‘Gus was a stickler for that, so he didn’t get left with a heap of unpaid orders.
I’m going to miss the old man, truth be told.
It’s not the same around here without him.
You’ll soon see, the expats use the bookshop as another place to hang out, catch up and gossip under the pretence of buying books.
Mostly, we loved having philosophical conversations with Gus.
Man sure could spark some healthy debate. ’
‘I can imagine.’ My mind slips back to the quirky interview questions. ‘If you were stuck on a desert island with one book, what would it be?’
‘Ah – you’ve been subjected to Gus-isms too!’
I smile fondly at the memory of the upbeat phone interview.
‘Briefly. I’d been expecting him here when I arrived.
He didn’t mention he was retiring, not once.
’ I study Brian’s expression for clues. Being an expat, there’s a chance he’s not going to close ranks and zip his lips, like the staff feel obliged to.
‘Retiring? Is that what they say?’ There’s a weighted pause which I don’t fill. ‘Look, Gus is a good guy. Loved this bookshop like it was his own. Yeah, he might’ve made a mistake or two, but haven’t we all?’
‘A mistake or two?’ What kind of mistake forces an elderly man into retirement, if that’s what Brian is alluding to?
Brian drums his fingers on the counter as if contemplating sharing it with me. ‘It’s not my place, sorry, Harper. It’s Gus’s story to tell. I’m really hoping he’ll be back at some point if only to see Turt, who hasn’t been his sunny, happy-go-lucky self since his pal left.’
‘But…’ How to wangle information out of these tight-lipped expats!
Brian gazes wistfully outside as if lost in thought before he turns back to me.
‘Which of us here hasn’t made a mistake?
You’ll find that’s the case with so many of us expats and some staff too.
Mrs Bastille is a forgiving sort. That’s kind of what makes this place special.
We’ve become a family, and Gus is part of that.
Always will be. You see, the Last Chance Resort is just that – a place for those who have made a mess of things, in one way or another, and by some miracle managed to find our way to these tranquil shores.
Some mistakes are more serious than others, of course; take me for example.
I was once the type of guy who couldn’t resist the lure of a quick buck, but I was young and foolish. ’
I’m curious about the expats and their stories. Most of them are British and found a place to call home so far away from old Blighty.
‘What did you do?’
He grins. ‘Stupid things. But, where I’m from, we all did that sort of thing back then.
Times were different, you know? Not a lot of jobs going, not a lot of money around.
And when I got myself in a spot of bother, I escaped here, having holidayed in these parts before and felt it was as good a place as any to hide out.
I’ve learned my lesson not to mess with the wrong people.
I might island hop for a new vista every now and then, but I’ll never leave the Last Chance Resort.
I’m part of this place now.’ He makes it sound like some gangland mess he got caught up in, and maybe it is.
What else would make a man decide to up sticks and hide on a tropical island for the rest of his natural-born life?
‘What about your family? Your friends back home?’
‘Long gone, the lot of them. I’ve got all the family I need right here.’
So Brian is hiding out here too, like me. Maybe if I share my story, the expats will eventually trust me with the entirety of theirs. ‘I’m here because of a huge mistake I made too.’
His eyebrows knit. ‘Oh, yeah? What happened?’
The whole saga spills out in one long jumble.
‘And so, here I am. Missing my old life, my best friend Lily, my book collection. Not to mention my Bookstagram page, which feels like I’ve actually lost an appendage.
I spend half my time worrying I’m going to wake up one day to a huge lawsuit where I’m ordered to pay an astronomical amount for my so-called crimes. ’