Chapter 41
Nerves flutter as I take the microphone.
Mariola gives me a supportive smile. It’s the first author event for the resort and while I’d hoped for a good turnout, I hadn’t quite expected this.
The bookshop is full of islanders, expats and guests.
Now, I’m battling a severe case of stage fright as all eyes are trained on me.
I clear my throat. ‘Welcome to the Barefoot Bookshop, everyone.’ I kick myself and try again, this time using a Seychellois Creole greeting.
‘I’m thrilled to host the first author event with special guest and island local Khalil Joubert, who is here to talk about his novel Where the Waves Keep Time. ’
The crowd clap and cheer and the expats’ eyes shine with pride. ‘If Khalil will join me, we’re going to discuss the themes in the book – without spoilers – and give you a taste of what to expect when you pick up a copy.’
Khalil joins me on stage, which is really just an elevated seating area that is perfect for events like this.
Xavier was right about his book, it’s about the quiet endurance of the Seychellois women, who live in a matriarchal society and how history often overlooks these strong women and how colonisation tried to steal their voices, their strength.
When I read it, I was blown away by his prose.
It’s such an ode to the island and its history and features a sweeping love story that survived against all odds.
Where the Waves Keep Time is loosely based on the story of his great-grandparents.
I’m over the moon that we were able to host Khalil at our first ever author talk.
I see too why Gus had the book on the top of the curated list he left for me.
From the size of the turnout tonight we should make a decent amount of sales, but more importantly attendees will leave with a book that is truly memorable, one of those that stay with them for a lifetime and perhaps will remind them of their holiday and these turquoise waters that keep time and the memories of those who came before.
Khalil answers so articulately that after a few questions I manage to relax into the conversation and begin to enjoy it, as if I’m truly just chatting away to a bookish pal, and I manage to forget the audience is even there.
It strikes me that stories like these, with such historical significance, that are so culturally important, need to be shared far and wide, not just because it’s the right thing to do but because these stories matter and add another rich and lustrous layer to literature with voices that have largely been unheard.
How can a man like Khalil not have worldwide recognition for a novel as special as this?
Knowing him like I do, recognition doesn’t matter to him; what matters is he wrote the story that was in his heart and kept his family history alive, the words now an everlasting legacy to people who are no longer here – if novels like this don’t get further than this archipelago, then it’s readers who miss out.
Without readers shouting from the rooftops, Khalil’s beautiful prose won’t make it other shores and for the sake of the hauntingly evocative history of his family and the challenges they faced, I hope that his name is on their lips when they return home from holidays, with tales of the resort and the life-affirming book they read that made them pause, contemplate life anew.
That’s the magic of books. The way they shape you as person, change your view on the world. Make you a more empathetic human.
When we get to the end of the questions, I dare a glance at the crowd and see only rapt faces. It’s really quite the tale and I can’t wait for them to plunge into the pages as Khalil paints them a picture of the Seychelles in another time, another life.
‘Thank you so much, Khalil, for your time with us this evening. We’re so lucky to have a peek behind the scenes of how the novel came to be.
’ I turn back to the crowd. ‘Khalil has kindly offered to do a signing. While you’re waiting, please help yourself to drinks.
We have all sorts including Kalu, which is palm wine made from the sap of coconut trees and has quite the punch.
We also have a range of Creole canapés to tempt you. ’
I escort Khalil to the signing table and get him set up. It’s sweet to see the expats are waiting patiently by the counter, first in line to purchase a copy even though they’ve read the book already. I ring up their sales but they hang back to let guests go first at the signing table.
Mariola steps in to help me as the queue doesn’t seem to shrink. ‘This is incredible,’ she says. ‘I’ve never seen the bookshop so busy.’
‘It’s great to see.’ I serve another customer who buys Khalil’s book and one about the Aldabra giant tortoises.
When we finally catch up on the queue, Mariola and I exchange a grin. ‘Now if we could just do that every night I’d be secure in the knowledge the bookshop is safe,’ I say. ‘How many other incredible authors have you got hiding on the island?’
She laughs. ‘There’s quite a few on neighbouring islands.’
‘I need names! I’m keen to read them all. It would be great to highlight all this home-grown talent.’
‘Gus wrote a novel too, you know.’
‘No!’
‘Yes. Bet you’ll never guess what kind.’
‘Something political, gritty, topical?’
‘A kid’s picture book about a guy and his tortoise sidekick. He got it printed himself.’
‘Why does everyone constantly surprise me around here?’
‘The magic of last chances.’
Coming here did feel like my last chance.
I even said as much to Gus on the phone interview.
I wanted a place to hide, but really to heal.
And like the others who came before me, I feel a pull of belonging.
Like I was always meant to find my way here.
That all the mistakes, the wrong paths I walked down, led me here, the place maybe I was always destined to find when the time was right.
But what am I saying? That I’d happily give up my London life for island life, permanently?
What if it’s all taken away, the magic of this place, with Xavier’s redevelopment plans?
If he can fire Gus, he can fire me, but I don’t mind speaking my mind.
Not when so much is at stake. Where is Gus?
Why hasn’t he come back to visit Turt? What really happened between him and Xavier?
My heart hurts for them all, including Turt, knowing there’s a rift that wrenched them apart, like a rip tide.
Gus gave me a chance when no one else would.
I owe this newfound happiness to him and wish I could help him in some way.
‘Speaking of tortoise sidekicks, have you seen Michel tonight?’ I ask and explain I’m concerned about Turt.
‘Poor Turt. I hope it’s nothing serious. Gus has been by his side for close on fifty years. Imagine if something happens to him while he’s away?’
‘Urgh, it hurts to think about.’ And I cannot let that happen.
‘To answer your question, Michel’s making a dent in the complimentary wine.’ Mariola smiles at an approaching guest. ‘He keeps sneaking looks at me, as if checking I’m not going to tell him off because there’s a no drinking alcohol around guests’ policy.’
That doesn’t surprise me. And it’s probably for the best when you’ve got cheeky types like Michel, and worse, Joji, who has already had a dalliance with a bride-to-be, although Michel is clearly ignoring the rule, so…
Mariola waves a finger when Michel sends a longing glance her way, as if telling him not to drink wine.
She really doesn’t know how he feels? I’ve been meaning to bring it up with her.
‘I don’t think that’s why he’s sneaking looks at you, Mariola. ’
‘What?’ She searches my face and after a beat it dawns on her. ‘Are you saying…?’
‘Wi. Is the feeling mutual?’
Her dimples deepen and it’s impossible not to notice the joy that shines in her eyes as she does the old look-under-her-lashes thing at him.
Romance gestures 101; it never goes out of style.
‘Maybe…?’ She lets out a girlish giggle, as if admitting such a thing is a relief.
‘We’ve known each other our whole lives and I’ve always had a crush on him.
Who doesn’t like a man who can fly a helicopter?
’ Ah, me, that’s who. Too scary but I keep that to myself.
‘Ah, yeah, thrilling. Imagine date night?’
She tuts. ‘It can’t happen.’
‘Why? You don’t have to marry the man, just see where it takes you.’ I hide a smile at how much like Lily I sound.
‘Workplace relationships are banned so it’s best not to entertain the idea. If I lost my job, my family would suffer.’
I groan. ‘Rules are made to be broken.’
‘Not when you’re me, they’re not.’
And I get it. Mariola’s touched on her family situation before and shared that she supports the family on her wage, like many of the locals here do, where work is hard to find unless it’s at the resort.
‘Bloody rules. Can you watch the counter for a moment? I’m going to chat with Michel about Turt while I’ve got the chance. Don’t worry, I won’t say a word about your crush.’
She laughs. ‘Sure.’
I make my way to Michel, who is making light work of the canapés.
‘Hey, Michel. I’m worried about Turt. Did the conservation team confirm they’d come and take a look at him after the check you did on the old guy?’
He nods and says between mouthfuls, ‘Yes, they’ll be here in a few days. Why are you worried, has something else happened?’
‘When I came to set up for the event, he made a wheezing sound, like he’s in pain. When I approached him he retreated into his shell so I gave him some space, and when I checked again he was gone. It’s not like him to leave the front of the bookshop. I’m really concerned.’
Michel’s face falls. ‘I’ll call them now and see if they can come sooner.’
‘OK, good, but what if it’s not medical help he needs?’
‘Didn’t you just say he was wheezing? Retreating into his shell? Those are both signs of stress or poor health.’
‘What if he’s trying to tell us he’s missing Gus and enough is enough? It’s happened before, Michel, when they tried to move him to the atoll. I’ve heard all the stories now, and I can’t help but feel that this is his way of communicating with me. He needs his sidekick back.’
Michel bites down on his lip, as if considering it. ‘I don’t know if it’s a good idea telling Gus right now.’
‘Why?’ Frustration leaches from my voice. ‘If everything I’ve been told about Gus and Turt is true, then surely Gus would want to know.’
Michel’s expression twists. ‘He’s – he’s just got enough going on and I’d hate to add to it, especially because it’s Turt. It’ll tear at his heartstrings.’
I shake my head, confused. ‘What’s he got on that’s so important? Don’t you think he’s got a right to know that the tortoise he loves so much needs him? Or is it more that he doesn’t want to face Xavier?’
Michel heaves a sigh. ‘It’s Gus’s wife. She’s not well.’
‘OK, and they both live on Mahé now?’
‘Yes.’
‘And he can’t leave his wife, not even for a few days or…?’ It’s like getting blood from a stone.
‘She’s in a clinical trial for cancer treatment, so no one has wanted to disturb them, you know? We’re not sure what’s going on and after the way he left, the argument with Xavier…’
‘What argument?’
He shakes his head sadly. ‘A terrible argument between the two. Gus did the wrong thing. That’s all I can say. But Gus is a good guy. Xavier could have handled it better.’
As usual I get precisely nowhere, having to sift through so much wordage and piece together all that’s left unsaid.
Gus admitted in the letter that he did the wrong thing, but what?
How bad can it be that no one will even hint at what it is?
Unless it’s because everyone is respectful of what his wife is going through?
In the end, I don’t get far but Michel promises me he’ll get the conservation team here as fast as possible to check over Turt.
Somehow, I don’t think they’ll have the cure for what ails our giant tortoise friend, but at least it’s something.
* * *
After a busy afternoon in the bookshop, I’m righting fallen books and dusting the shelves, mentally calculating how many I’ve sold.
Each day the numbers rise but not high enough for my liking.
Still, progress is good; I just need to keep trying other avenues to increase sales.
I’m standing before the romance section, considering making a display of books set on tropical islands, when there’s a thundering of footsteps and Brian pops up next to me out of breath.
‘Darry, I mean, Barry loved the book. He wants more. Lots more. He made notes in the margins.’
‘He did?’
Brian nods. ‘Quick, give me some more before Doris gets here for her midday snooze and will jump to the wrong conclusion if she sees me buying romance novels. Hurry! She’s zigzagging alone the path now after too many breakfast mimosas with Mrs Bastille.’
‘They have mimosas for breakfast? Half their luck.’
The urgency in Brian’s tone increases. ‘Can you focus?’
‘Right, right.’ I snap into gear. This could potentially be a gold mine in sales over the course of the next little while, but better yet, I’ll personally be curating Brian’s education in the romance genre, and hopefully helping him on his quest for love…
I tap a finger to my chin while I peruse the shelves. ‘Tropes, we need various tropes so Darry understands what’s going on here.’
‘Yes, yes!’
‘Second-chance romance. Late-in-life love. Been there all along.’ I pile a bunch of books in Brian’s eager outstretched arms. ‘Now let me give you a quick rundown on what tropes are. So, for “been there all along”…’