Chapter 8
8
NOW
Bookseller wanted. Apply within.
I can’t stop dithering outside the bookshop. Is it nerves? Maybe. I send up a silent prayer to the book gods that Valérie will hire me on the spot as I push open the heavy door to find the bookshop is busier today. She’s serving customers at the bar. While I wait, I scour the bookshelves, righting fallen tomes and accidentally putting them in height order.
Henri is in his usual chair at the back, so I quickly avert my gaze but not before I catch the determined set of his jaw. The man always looks at odds with the world. It doesn’t matter to me anyway. The only men in my life from here on out are my book boyfriends. And even those I’m going to keep a beady eye on in case they step out of line.
‘Bonjour, Coco.’ Valérie regally swishes over. Today she’s wearing an oversized navy pinstriped suit with gold buttons, giving a nautical vibe. She’s quite the fashionista and I suddenly feel drab in comparison. ‘You’re here about the job, I take it?’
How does she know these things? Confusion must flash across my face because she laughs and says, ‘You were staring at the “Bookseller Wanted” sign outside for a good fifteen minutes, as if you couldn’t quite make up your mind.’
‘Right. I was busy taking a trip down memory lane.’ The reminder of where I’ve come from only fuels the fact that I need this job.
‘Memory lane can be a blessing and a curse, and by the look on your face, it’s the latter.’
‘ Oui , it’s definitely the latter. Has the bookseller position been filled yet?’
Valérie motions for me to follow her to the quieter end of the bar away from a small tour group delighting over their potions and passages. I prop myself up on a stool and take great pains to not look in Henri’s direction. The more I try not to, the harder it gets, probably because I can feel his laser-like eyes on me. No doubt the guy is itching for another round, but I am above all that pettiness and if I want this job, I’ll have to play nice with him.
Valérie plonks a martini glass filled with a vibrant chartreuse concoction on the bar in front of me.
‘Oh, merci , but it’s a little early for a cocktail. I’ve got?—’
‘ Ma chérie , it’s a green goddess mock tail to perk you up. Normally I’d make your potion again, but something tells me you need an energy boost, and that will provide it. Get some colour in your cheeks. You’re wearing a frown so big it threatens to swallow you up.’
I relax into a smile, hoping it eases my pinched expression, or next, I’ll be adding premature ageing to the list of things to worry about. Eloise has already highlighted the fact I don’t take care of my skin properly, and by that she means spending a fortune on serums and retinols and all sorts recommended on TikTok.
‘Is it the lack of work that’s bothering you?’
Do I play down my desperate need for a job or go for honesty? I sense Valérie will see through any half-truths. And so what if I’m desperate? I’m sure most of us have been in a similar bind before. ‘ Oui , I need a job as a matter of urgency. Things haven’t quite gone according to plan lately and, well, my daughter and I, we’re starting over.’
Valérie gives me a solemn nod. ‘Drink up, ma chérie , and I’ll tell you about your new job.’
‘My new— But aren’t you going to interview me? Don’t you want to know about my experience? What I might be able to offer you? What my best traits are? My worst?’
Valérie wrinkles her nose. ‘How utterly boring. Words are just words, in some cases. You’re not exactly applying for a role in the French Secret Service, Coco. You’ll be required to make drinks, assemble our bookish charcuterie boards. Potions and passages are my domain, but perhaps that can come later. Sell books. Stack books. And run the book club because all the members do is argue and I’ve had it up to my eyeballs. They need a moderator who can guide them, be en garde , so to speak . Can you handle a bunch of unruly readers, Coco?’ She waggles a brow in a way that suggests these readers are not your average bibliophiles.
I consider it. How boisterous can they be? I’ve found that, bookworms are usually accepting, sensitive types because reading expands their minds and deepens their empathy.
‘I’ve had experience handling writers, so I’m sure I can handle a book club, no matter how boisterous they might be.’ I sense Valérie is exaggerating. Book club discussions might become a little intense if they disagree over a book every now and then, but that’s to be expected. Reading is subjective and no two people read a book the same way or take the same message from it. I’m sure I can steer them right. Keep things in order. Or is that the desperation speaking?
‘Writers have nothing on these particular bookworms, but if you’re up for the challenge, I’d love to have you, Coco. Staff come and go here in quick succession; it’s to be expected. The days are hectic. Cleaning and restocking in the lulls becomes tedious. For transparency, I’ve had all manner of employees assure me they’re here for the long haul and they don’t last the week.’
Nothing can get in the way of saving for our own place. ‘I appreciate the fair warning, but I’m sure I can handle it.’
‘Then we have a deal.’
I swear I light up from the inside, and I’m not prone to such impractical concepts.
We chat about salary and work hours and the fact that there are very few rules when it comes to putting stock away. ‘Books go wherever feels right,’ Valérie says.
I suffer an involuntary eye twitch. ‘I understand. The system is: there is no system.’ In a way, that is a system. Can I live with it? That’s the question. It’s not my place to make a semblance of order when Valérie has intentionally made the bookshop disorderly; it’s part of the appeal. Unless you like order in a disorderly world, like me.
‘There’s no computer system to input inventory in either, because I don’t have enough years left on this earth for such mind-numbing jobs, so I just price them up when they arrive and voilà .’
‘Enough years left? You’re not exactly doddery, Valérie.’ I guess she’s around sixty years old but it’s hard to tell because she’s always well made up and immaculately groomed and has the energy of much younger person.
‘This place keeps me young, but I feel doddery on the inside , so I’d rather spend my remaining decades avoiding inputting tiny little numbers onto a tiny little screen.’
‘Makes sense,’ I lie as part of me dies inside. How does she keep track of inventory, profit and loss? The answer is, clearly she doesn’t. This will be an experiment – to see how I cope with someone who is the very opposite of me in terms of organisation.
I am concerned how I’ll be able to recommend books if I can’t look them up on a computer and find them easily on the shelves. Especially since there’s such an eclectic mix of old and new, that will be a challenge, but also fun to explore each nook and cranny and discover what books we do have. I’m a master at creating mental maps, and if needed I can use a spreadsheet to keep track.
‘When can you start?’ We agree on four days per week as Valérie already has casual staff for the weekends and the bookshop is closed on Mondays.
‘Is tomorrow too soon?’
‘ Non , tomorrow is perfect.’
‘ Merci , Valérie. I really appreciate this. I won’t let you down.’
She waves me away as if no thanks are needed. ‘You’re on the path you’re meant to be. It was always going to happen.’ I’m coming to learn that Valérie often throws out sentences like positive affirmations. I’m not sure if it’s because she’s in the business of mending broken hearts thus is always trying to boost a mood, or if that’s just a quirk of hers.
I say my au revoirs and go to leave, catching Henri surveying me with a look that implies he heard most of our conversation and is mulling it over. Who cares if he overhead that I’m a struggling solo mother who is starting over? OK, I care. I’m the type who prefers to keep my private life just that – private. It can’t be helped, and not even Henri eavesdropping is going to dampen my mood. I did it! I am now gainfully employed!
Later that afternoon, with a spring in my step, I make the trek to Eloise’s school. I’m excited to share the good news and show her the library as promised too. Perhaps we can take my parents to La Coupole for dinner. It’s my dad’s favourite brasserie especially when there’s a special occasion to celebrate. It’s a stunning landmark of the belle époque era with its art deco décor and gorgeous domed ceiling. It’s rumoured to be British chef Rick Stein’s preferred place to dine in Paris. Not that my dad cares about any of that, but he will like being spoiled with all the fresh seafood on offer, and it will go a small way in showing my gratitude to them for all they continue to do for us.