Chapter 8
THE PRESENT
‘Do you have a book about the dissolution of the monasteries, please?’ The voice spoke over the counter above her and Jenna straightened up from hunting for a new till roll and saw that she had a customer.
They had come into the bookshop so quietly that she hadn’t noticed, but then she had had the kettle on as well which had probably drowned out any noise.
The newcomer was a small woman, a year or two older than Jenna, with a scarlet beret perched on her curly, dark hair. She had merry grey eyes and a hopeful expression. Under her arm she carried an assortment of children’s books about elephants, dolphins and Greek myths.
‘Start them young, I always say,’ the woman said, seeing Jenna’s smile as she put the pile on the counter. ‘The book on the Dissolution is for me,’ she added hastily. ‘I wouldn’t expect Humphrey to get on to that for a few years.’
‘I don’t think we have anything in stock about the Dissolution,’ Jenna said, checking the computer, ‘but I can certainly order a book for you. This one is very good.’ She turned her screen around so that the customer could see the cream and white hardback.
‘There’s a lot of it, but it’s very readable. ’
The woman nodded. ‘I’m looking for human stories,’ she said. ‘The impact that the Dissolution had on people’s lives, both inside and outside the religious communities. It’s for a project I’m involved with at Winterhill.’
‘Ah,’ Jenna said. She felt her stomach lurch. ‘The priory excavations?’
‘You’ve heard about it?’ The woman’s face lit up.
‘I’m so glad. We want the local community to be invested in it.
’ She looked around. ‘In fact, would you be prepared to display one of our posters in the shop window? The Wantage Museum is supporting the dig and it would be great if you could spread the word as well.’
‘I’d be happy to.’ Jenna realised she sounded a little wooden.
She was starting to feel haunted. Suddenly, news of the Winterhill dig was everywhere.
She’d seen it on the front page of the local paper that morning and had spotted a poster about a talk on it at the library.
It had brought back the thoughts that she had so effectively pushed away for the last few days during her birthday trip up to London.
That had felt blessedly normal, with a group of them taking in an exhibition at the V Molly had stolen various items during part of her teenage years and Jenna, hoping it was just youthful rebellion, had covered up for her on several occasions.
She’d thought that was all in the past, but now she realised she might have been over-optimistic.
The woman in the beret was rummaging in her bag and came out with a dog-eared A3 poster of Winterhill Priory, which she looked at and ruefully put away again. ‘I’ll email a fresh one across to you,’ she said. ‘I think that one has baby yoghurt on it.’
‘Right.’ Jenna’s lips twitched despite herself. She couldn’t help warming to her. ‘Would you like to order the book on the dissolution of the monasteries as well?’
‘Oh, yes please!’ The woman beamed at her. ‘I haven’t ordered from you before, but my grandparents recommended you. They say you’re as quick as a certain online retailer, and more fun to deal with.’
‘That’s nice.’ Jenna smiled genuinely now. ‘We appreciate the support as we’re an independent. Can I take your name, please?’
‘Rachel Sheldon,’ the woman said. She rattled off her mobile number when Jenna asked for contact details. ‘I wonder – is there a book about the history of Winterhill itself? A local history-type book, I mean?’
‘I’m not sure that there is one,’ Jenna said.
‘We get quite a few people wanting books about the history of local towns but there isn’t much in print.
Your best bet would probably be the museum or library, or an antiquarian bookseller.
There’s a great second-hand section in the Hungerford Bookshop – they may be able to source something for you. ’
Rachel’s face had dropped on hearing there wasn’t anything in print but now she brightened again. ‘Oh, great, thanks for the tip!’
‘You may be able to find some information online as well,’ Jenna added, cursing herself for being such a helpful person by nature.
‘The Victoria County Histories are all digitised and there are other reputable sources in library collections. One of the universities runs a monastic database relating to houses that were around at the time of the Dissolution—’
She stopped as the door opened and Owen Power stepped into the shop. He looked windswept in a padded jacket, jeans and boots. His gaze alighted on her and he smiled, the same spark of recognition in his eyes that Jenna had seen at Winterhill. Her heart did a wayward little leap.
‘Hi, Jenna,’ he said. ‘It’s good to see you again.’
‘Oh, you two already know each other!’ Rachel swung round with evident delight. She turned back to Jenna. ‘Owen, you never mentioned it.’
Owen raised his brows. ‘I don’t tell you everything, Rach.’
Jenna was grappling with the implication that Owen and Rachel seemed to be a couple and not only that, but they evidently had a small child, judging by the pile of books on the counter.
The little leap of excitement turned to a thud of disappointment, or something deeper.
She reminded herself that she’d already made a resolution to keep away from Owen. This simply made it easier.
Some more children burst into the shop, pushing round Owen in their excitement to get through the door, whilst their parents apologised. He was charming about it, going over to the shelves with them, chatting easily to the elder boy who was looking at activity books about diggers and fire engines.
‘Hey, Rach,’ he said, ‘do you think Humphrey would like something like this to balance out all that stuff about archaeology you raise him on?’ He smiled again at Jenna. ‘I’m a bit clueless about what stage he’s at, to be honest.’
Jenna didn’t bother smiling back. She thought he should know the basics about his son.
‘You’ll get extra favourite uncle points if you get him that,’ Rachel said cheerfully, and Jenna looked up sharply to see Owen was watching her, and worse, he had read her thought processes as clearly as though she had spoken aloud.
‘I hope so,’ he said smoothly. He straightened up. ‘Are you in a hurry, Rach? Only I’d like to browse.’
Jenna wondered how she could possibly have forgotten that he had referred to his sister as Rachel when they’d been chatting at Winterhill.
Now she was reminded of the relationship, she could see the physical resemblance between them in their thick, dark hair and expressive grey eyes.
She felt herself turning hot with embarrassment, looked away and fiddled with the replacement till roll whilst Owen sauntered over to the music section.
‘I’ll see you across the road in the café,’ Rachel suggested. ‘I’m gasping for a coffee.’
Jenna rung up her purchases and slid them into a brown paper carrier with ‘Books are my Bag’ printed in orange on the side of it. ‘I’ll text you when your order comes in,’ she promised, handing it over the counter. ‘It should only be a few days.’
‘Thanks, that’s great.’ Rachel beamed at her. ‘I’m not sure when I’ll be back in Wantage, but I’ll pick it up as soon as I can. I’m keen to get cracking with my research so I can contribute to some of the interpretation material for the dig.’
‘I’ll collect the book for you, if you like.’ Owen stuck his head around the end of the bookcase. He had a very expensive hardback about Bob Dylan in his hands. ‘I’m renting a place just down the road for a few months, so I can easily pop in.’
Jenna froze, staring at him, then hastily looked back at the computer screen.
It was no business of hers where Owen was living – or why.
From their conversation she had assumed he lived in London and later, when she had been driving home from Winterhill, she had thought – with mixed feelings of regret and relief – that she was unlikely to see him again. Now she was rapidly rethinking.
‘You kept that quiet!’ Rachel looked delighted. ‘Is it the house along the Ridgeway you were interested in?’
‘That’s the one,’ Owen said. ‘I’ll tell you all about it over lunch.’
‘Thanks, Jenna.’ Rachel gave her a smile as she went out. ‘It was great to meet you, and you have a lovely shop. I’ll be in again soon!’
A couple of customers came in; the family with the small children chose three books and went out, chattering about Thomas the Tank Engine, and an elderly gentleman browsed the card racks.
Jenna was acutely aware of Owen as he moved from non-fiction into fiction new releases, adding to a growing pile of books he had left on the counter.
‘You have the best cards in the whole town,’ a lady gushed as she came over with a handful.
‘Thank you,’ Jenna said. ‘We do try to get different and original ones.’
Someone rang up to order a copy of the latest political diary.
The vicar dropped off a poster for the noticeboard.
The delivery van arrived with four boxes of new stock from the wholesaler.
The rate that Owen was piling books up, Jenna thought she’d need to order half a dozen more.
Eventually he checked his watch and came over to pay.
‘I guess I’d better leave it at that for now,’ he said regretfully, ‘or Rachel will be texting to see where I am.’