Chapter 4 #2
I pay the man, then clamber carefully out of the cab.
My body thanks me for being upright, and I stretch myself out until the kinks pop loose.
The driver gets the bags from the trunk, and I stand and look around as he drives off with a toot of his horn.
The first thing that hits me is the sound, or the lack of it – no traffic, no sirens, not even any people.
Just the calming rhythm of the waves rolling into the bay.
The harbour is to one side of us, the beach to the other, and infinity in front of us.
The sunlight is bouncing off the sea, shades of green and blue that seem to change with every swell.
The water looks so clear I want to jump right in.
I sigh, letting go of some of the strains of the day, some of my nagging worries.
I let them go, and they float away, carried off on the breeze into the endless ocean.
For that one moment, I feel perfectly at peace, at ease with my own body, my own mind, my own world.
Like a gull on a wind current, soaring above all my problems.
I tear my eyes away from the sea, and am surprised to find the woman from the train still standing nearby.
I’d expected her to be on her way now, off to wherever her final destination might be.
She’s staring out at the bay with the same sense of reverence I was feeling, and part of me doesn’t want to disturb her.
She looks up at me, and I’m horrified to see tears on her cheeks. What the hell am I supposed to do now? Comfort her? Call the paramedics?
‘I’m okay,’ she says, laughing and swiping at her eyes. ‘This is happy crying, don’t worry!’
‘Right. You sure? It’s pretty hard to tell from looking.’
‘Sorry! I promise you, I’m fine. Thanks for sharing your cab. I don’t think, with hindsight, that I’d have been able to walk all the way here. So… um, goodbye, I suppose?’
She grips the handle of her case, the one with the broken wheel. It’d take me five minutes to fix the damn thing, but even I know that wouldn’t be appropriate. She gives me the nuclear explosion that is her smile, and manfully, I stay on both feet. ‘Yeah. No problem. Be seeing you.’
We both turn away from the sea view – and walk in exactly the same direction. In fact we almost collide in our haste to leave each other. Our cases clang together, crashing like bumper cars, and we both have identical confused looks on our faces.
‘Where are you going?’ she asks, frowning.
‘The Edge of the World Bookshop,’ I reply patiently. ‘It’s right behind you.’
She frowns some more, and then laughs. I have no idea what she’s finding so funny, and killer smile or not, I’m tired and sore and I would really like to not be in this situation any more. This is crazy, and I haven’t even seen a goddamn puffin.
‘That book you were reading on the train,’ she says, once she’s stopped giggling. ‘The one about hiking?’
I nod, feeling weirded out that she was reading it upside down. No clue why, because I certainly noticed the one she had about the stone circles.
‘Did you by any chance find a card inside it? One that invited you here?’
All I can do is blink, and try to get a grip of the thoughts that are spreading through my mind like a wildfire. Is it possible that she’s here for exactly the same reason as me? Did she also find a card? Is she, like I am, wondering what the hell she’s gotten herself into?
‘Yeah, I did,’ I manage to reply. ‘It was… well, it somehow convinced me to get a train to this place. Against every ounce of judgement I possess. I’m normally a lot more… sensible.’
She runs her eyes over me, and replies: ‘Hmmmm. I can see that. You look sensible, and capable, and not at all insane – not like me. I’m a complete mess!’
She says this with absolutely zero embarrassment, as though she is simply resigned to seeing herself like that. As though being a complete mess is part of her identity, like being a cop is part of mine. I wonder who did a number on her, made her think that. None of my business, I remind myself.
We disentangle our cases, and turn to finally look at the place that sucked us both in – the Edge of the World bookstore.
It’s a three-level building, and the brickwork is painted white and lilac.
That was Shannon’s favourite colour as a kid, and I painted her whole bedroom that exact shade back in the day.
So far, so good – the bookstore fits right in with the bunting, as she called it.
There’s a wooden sign in the shape of a book dangling over the door, hand painted, swaying in the wind.
It looks a little loose, and I step to one side just in case.
Hanging baskets of flowers not quite in bloom are suspended from metal brackets either side of the door, but they look a little sorry for themselves.
She raises her eyebrows, and walks closer. ‘Well, we’ve come this far, my American friend – we might as well go in!’ I can tell she’s nervous, but also excited. I feel a little of both myself.
I look on as she pushes at the door, which doesn’t budge an inch. Huh. Maybe it needs a little power behind it. I approach, and try myself. I turn the handle, I push, and I pull – but the door is firmly locked, or possibly stuck.
‘Do you think it’s because it’s so late?’ she asks, crestfallen. I glance at my watch.
‘It’s only four p.m. The internet told me it was open until five.’
She sighs, and folds her arms across her chest. ‘Do you think it’s possible that the internet lied to you? Or, even worse, that we’re a pair of total idiots, standing here in the rain wondering why our fantasy trip isn’t going as planned?’
‘It’s not raining.’
Right on cue, the skies open, and she gives me a ‘told you so’ look. I push the door again, even harder, but get nothing but a fresh burst of pain for my efforts. I cup my hands against the sunlight, and peer through the windows.
It’s pretty dim inside, and the glass is smeared and a little grimy, so I can’t see much.
I catch a glimpse of somebody moving around though, and knock firmly on the pane.
The figure pauses, then walks towards us.
I hear the sound of locks turning, and eventually, after a little pushing and shoving, the big wooden door is pulled open.
Three stone steps lead up to the door, and an older woman stands at the top of them. She has masses of wild curls, mainly grey but with hints of the auburn it probably once was. Her face is lined, and her eyes are red. It looks to me like she’s been crying. Another one. Damn, I’m surrounded.
‘Are you okay?’ my train companion says straight away, spotting the signs of distress. ‘Can we help?’
The former redhead swipes at her eyes, and forces a sad smile. Her curls wobble as she shakes her head. ‘I doubt it, hen, but thanks for asking. I’m sorry, but the bookshop is closed.’
‘Oh. I see. I thought it was open until five?’
‘It’s… it’s not open at all now, darling. I’m just here to… och, to say goodbye, I suppose.’
I have no clue what’s going on here, but I’m exhausted, I’m confused, and I’m not in the greatest of moods.
‘We were invited,’ I say firmly, wondering if there’s any point in getting the card out to show her. It’s not like this is a masked ball at an embassy.
‘Oh. Who by?’ she asks, looking intrigued. I glance over at the woman I travelled with, and our eyes meet. She shrugs a little, and I nod. Yeah. We really did both come all the way here without having a clue who invited us.
‘Well, we don’t exactly know,’ she says. ‘But we assume by whoever owns the shop? Is that you? No, it can’t be, or you’d know what we were talking about…’
The rain steps up its game, and I can’t help noticing the little rivulets of water that are gathering in the delicate hollow at the base of her throat.
She shivers a little, and I drag my eyes away.
It’s rude to stare, especially when you’re a man staring at an attractive woman you’ve only just met.
‘I don’t own it, no,’ the lady on the step says, ‘my best friend does. Look, I have no idea what’s going on, but why don’t you come in for a spell? Get out of that rain, take a look around at least?’
She seems harmless enough, but I’m still assessing the potential risks when my dark-haired friend walks right in. Okay then. We’re doing this.
‘I’m Ginny,’ the woman tells us as she closes the door behind us. ‘I run the village store. This place belongs to Moira McLeod, has done for decades. It’s… it’s not at its best, I’m afraid. Fair breaks my heart to see it like this. It used to be so different…’
I gaze around, taking in the empty fireplace, the sheets over the furniture.
The air is musty, damp, the telltale signs of neglect and entirely possibly a leak.
The bookshelves are dark wood, crammed full, but coated in a thick layer of dust. While Ginny chats, I follow my nose to one of the corners, see the bubbled water damage that confirms my suspicions.
The rug beneath my feet is squelching, and the rain that made it inside has wrecked one whole shelf full of books.
This place isn’t cosy. It isn’t a refuge.
It’s broken and sad, and I fight back a sharp stab of disappointment.
What did I expect? Some Hollywood version of reality – a roaring log fire, friendly locals, a bottle of Scotch?
Did I really think I’d turn up here, and magically find a place I could ‘sleep soundly, live fully, and learn to love the world again’, like that stupid card promised?
I should have known better. I’ve been a cop for too many years, seen too much of the unfairness of life, to believe such horseshit.