Chapter 19
19
I haven’t even uttered my welcome spiel and already book club has dissolved into pandemonium. American Agnes is standing with a hand held up a mere whisper away from Ziggy’s face after an argument about the most desirable length of a book. Lucy is trying to placate Agnes and keep Ziggy quiet, both of which are failing. Isidore is surveying her nails. I take a moment to inspect her hands and find that, as Valérie mentioned, they are indeed rather tiny and perfect for her specialised work. A drop-in named Allegra introduces herself as a speed reader. I hold my breath at the admission, knowing the group are strangely divided about such a thing, but it doesn’t matter; no one is listening to the poor woman. ‘I wish I could read fast,’ I say. ‘My Tbr pile is out of control.’
She gives me a grateful smile. ‘It just takes some practice, that’s all.’ The noise ramps up with no hope of abating.
I move to the front of the group. ‘Can I have quiet, please.’
Valérie is busy at the bar, but a flash of worry crosses her face. As a moderator, I’m failing already. Do they think I’m too mousy, a pushover? Well, while I might be circumspect, that doesn’t mean I don’t have it in me to take control.
‘Quiet, please!’
Isidore yawns.
Agnes removes her hand from Ziggy’s personal space and says in a shrill tone, ‘You are misinformed just like always! The best novels are always over one hundred thousand words and that’s all there is to it. I will not be drawn further.’
‘Wait,’ Lucy says. ‘At our last meeting you were imploring us to read Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness so we’d be “educated” about the damage of Western colonialism and exploitation…’
‘You actually listened?’ Agnes rebuts. ‘That’s a first!’
Lucy rolls her eyes. ‘Yes, I do listen, even though you’re mostly condescending. My point is that book was only just over forty thousand words, and now you’re saying the complete opposite, that only a novel over 100k is worthy.’
Agnes sighs. ‘If you listened with both ears, Lucy, you would understand I’m talking about modern day books, the trashy type that you and Ziggy are so fond of. Those ridiculous romances where the plot is practically spelled out on the very cover itself for the reader, like the tropes “one bed” or “forced proximity”. Can’t we, as an intelligent species, read the blurb to make an informed choice? There’s no mystery, is there? We already know it’s going to end in a happy ever after. We’re going backwards here, or can’t anyone see that?’
Silence falls but the atmosphere is taut, electric. Almost blistering. If I don’t step in there will be mutiny! ‘ Bonsoir, bonsoir! ’ I say, clipboard pressed against my chest. ‘Welcome to book club!’
‘What have I missed?’ a woman wearing double denim asks, throwing herself on Henri’s chair. Where is Henri?
‘Nothing, nothing at all!’ I say brightly, maybe too brightly because she narrows her eyes and waits me out. ‘I’m Coco, welcome to book club.’ I’m hoping to keep this modicum of control while I can. ‘You are?’
‘Nikolina.’ She gives me a little wave and pulls a cushion onto her lap.
‘Nikolina is our resident dog-earer, so whatever you do, don’t lend her your books. She also reads paperbacks in the bath !’ Agnes says.
Before it can descend in madness again, I say, ‘Welcome, welcome. Now that I’ve got your, ahem, attention, just a bit of housekeeping. I’m your new moderator, Coco, former editor by trade, now enjoying my role as bookseller.’
‘Former editor! From where?’ Lucy asks. ‘London?’
‘Oh, well, yes, London.’ I go for a girlish giggle but fail miserably. I’ve never been a girly girl who can giggle and hair flick; something to work on, I guess. ‘Never mind all that! HA!’ Oh God, kill me. My nerves are ratcheting up as they stare at me, so many eyeballs, so many different intensities. Focus . ‘Drinks are on the table to your left, or you’re welcome to visit Valérie behind the bar if you want wine or cocktails. Help yourself to the platters. I’ve been told you last read And There Went the Stranger , and I read it too so I’d be informed for this evening’s chat. Shall we begin?’
‘Let’s begin.’ Lucy gives me an encouraging thumbs-up.
‘We should never have trusted Agnes with a book club pick,’ Ziggy says. ‘I’m sure the author just pulled out a dictionary and yanked out as many ten-letter words as he could and put them all together.’
Agnes gasps, ‘That’s sacrilege!’
I’m a little gobsmacked the group let Agnes choose the book, since they’re so clearly at odds with her. Maybe they take it in turns? I kick myself for not checking with Valérie how they handle it, as I envisage carnage, trying to get them to agree on the next book club pick.
‘I quite liked the book,’ I say. ‘The gentle, rhythmic prose was almost at odds with the laborious aspects of farm life and her daily toil. Her loneliness felt so real, the way she described the inky night, the stars her friends. When the stranger visits, I put myself in her place; what would I have done? Trusted him, or not?’ I know full well I’d have locked every door and window and been cradling a baseball bat, demanding he get off my property, but I’m keen to hear their opinions.
Agnes sends me a warm smile. ‘ I would have shot him point blank, but that’s just me. I grew up on a farm in Iowa, but our protagonist, well, she is lonely …’
Isidore speaks up. ‘The protagonist was na?ve and vulnerable so I felt myself holding my breath, hoping she wouldn’t be so trusting, but also wanting him to be trustworthy. It was a tense read. I loved it.’
‘It creeped me right out,’ Lucy says. ‘Who lets a stranger in like that? Especially a big hulking presence like his. No, I hated it. It felt unnecessarily evil.’
‘ Evil? Did you read the ending?’ Agnes asks.
Lucy shakes her head. ‘No, I found it disturbing. Give me a sweet romcom over this any day.’
‘And you, Ziggy?’ I ask. ‘Did you enjoy the book despite its use of formal vocabulary? Do you think the protagonist made the right choice?’
‘Honestly, it was indescribably boring. Sure, I liked the idea of her having to decide – is he good or bad and is her loneliness worth the risk – but the pacing was so slow. We had an entire chapter of her opening the front door. Then a chapter on her closing the door. It could have been better edited. ’
‘You don’t think that pacing device upped the tension?’ I ask.
‘ Non , it felt like the author dragged every scene out. I hated it. Next!’
We go around the circle as a few more members come in late, and soon they’re all talking over the top of each other again and arguing about their differing views on the novel. Agnes takes offence, as if she personally penned the novel, and raises her voice to be heard.
Henri approaches just as the conversation is reaching a fever pitch, voices crescendo-ing so that even patrons at the bar stop to stare.
I stand again and clap to get their attention. ‘Stop. Please!’ My blood pressure spikes. ‘STOP!’
Henri moves close to say something to me, but it’s lost in the cacophony. He scoots closer and whispers in my ear, his proximity sends a thrill down the length of me. When he places a finger to my chin to direct my gaze, my knees almost give out from under me. It’s probably because I’m overstimulated by the intensity of book club. ‘Would you like some help to save you the headache you’re bound to have later?’
I appreciate he hasn’t come in all guns blazing and taken over. He’s actually asked me this time if I need saving, and the truth of the matter is, I bloody well do.
I mimic his movements, cupping his face and getting up close and personal even though it goes against my principles about personal space. He won’t be able to hear me unless I’m practically on top of him. ‘Yes please, for all that is holy, get them to be quiet.’
We’re pressed up close and it sends a current through me. However, this is not the time to get woozy over a man, especially a man I don’t know well enough. Is this some self-sabotage thing on my behalf? There are a lot of reasons I can’t jump the gun, numero uno being I work here and if it all amounted to a fling, then that would make it awkward. And anyway, what am I even saying – it’s book club and I’ve lost control of them again.
It feels all very Lord of the Flies , so there’s nothing to do except lift my wine glass and take a few gulps.
Henri brackets his hands around his mouth and yells, ‘Order! ORDER!’ What is this, a court of law? I smother a grin.
They hush instantly and I find myself flummoxed. Yes, I wanted them to speak with their inside voices, but why did they listen to Henri and not me? Admittedly, he’s a fine specimen of the opposite sex, but that is rather sexist of them, if so. Or is it because I’m new and they’re testing me? The jury is still out.
Henri flashes me a triumphant smile. I should be happy. I try to be happy. He turns back to the group. ‘I could hear you arguing from a block away! It’s Coco’s first book club and you’re not being very hospitable.’
Ziggy hangs her head, as if ashamed. What kind of control does he have over them? This is – this is worrying . A man wanders in and all their verve, their moxie, dies. That can’t be right! Are they scared of him?
‘It’s fine,’ I say, taking charge once more. ‘They’re animated . As long as we can discuss books in a respectful way from now on. Thanks for your assistance but I’ve got this.’
A man cannot and will not hold the puppet strings of a mostly female group. Not on my watch.
‘Anyway, it’s time for the next book club selection! I’m not sure how you go about it so I’ve taken the liberty of picking a book I think you’ll all enjoy…’ I name the title and all hell breaks loose.
‘We’ve read that!’
‘You didn’t read it. ’
‘I was going to.’
‘I’m not buying a book by an author with a problematic past like she has.’
‘Sounds magnifique !’
‘Why not?’
‘ Non, non, non, non . Let us make our own suggestions. It’s the diplomatic way.’
Patience taut, I say, ‘OK, fine! Write down your choices and we’ll pick at random.’
I hurry to the bar and ask for a repository of any description. ‘What for?’ Valérie asks, unable to hide her grin. ‘You’re doing great!’ As if!
She’s probably worried if she hands over a ceramic bowl, I’ll whack someone over the head with it. And I just might if they start yelling again.
‘For their book club suggestions.’
‘OK.’ She bustles about, hunting for a receptacle. Perhaps this interminable evening might be grating on me and I’m not my most patient self at present. Eventually, she hands me a small book tote. ‘Use this.’
Back at the group, they’re acting shady, keeping their suggestions close to the chest, or folded and in the palms of their hands. What an odd group! Why all the secrecy?
I go from each one and they post their suggestion in the tote bag, while I think of another book I can suggest since they clearly didn’t like the first one I had in mind. I quickly scrawl another suggestion on a piece of paper and pop it in the tote with theirs.
I’m about to ask who wants to choose but common sense prevails and I save another argument. ‘Ready?’ I ask and hold the bag high as I use my other arm to root around and pick a piece of paper and unwrap it.
‘Ooh,’ I say when I see the title. It’s my pick after all! My second suggestion, at any rate. I’m thrilled by this as not only do I want to read it, but Valérie has so many copies that it will help move them if they all purchase one. I’m also planning to do ‘staff book reviews’ that I can print and place near displays to help with visibility. ‘The book of the month is Un Baiser D’adieu by Larivière.’ A Kiss Goodbye. The poetry book I recommended to the Australian guy hoping to woo the French girl at the café.
Nikolina lets out a whoop. ‘I’ve been looking forward to this one even though it’s not my usual style…’
Ziggy claps. ‘Everyone on TikTok is raving about this book. Everyone .’ I almost fall over that we have a couple of enthusiasts. Could they finally be settling into the group with me at the helm?
‘ Wonderful, Ziggy,’ Agnes says, her voice laced with sarcasm. ‘You’ve just managed to turn my enthusiasm into exasperation. TikTok recommends it, therefore it must be a dud.’
Before it kicks off again, I cut in. ‘Let’s not allow that sort of judgement into the group. It doesn’t matter where we heard about the book, whether it’s from TikTok or a literary eMagazine. Can we agree there’s no need to denigrate what platforms or media book club members use?’
I’m not sure if it’s because it’s getting late or the wine consumption, but the group have mellowed and make agreeable sounds.
‘It’s a great choice and there are plenty of copies available for those who’d like to buy one and help support the bookshop. I’m keen to read it myself having heard it’s got a Rupi Kaur vibe with a French twist to it.’
‘I’ve heard a lot about this one!’ Lucy says. ‘Don’t shoot me but I’ve also seen it splashed across TikTok. You have to admit it’s pretty cool that the younger generation champion books on the platform and make bestsellers out of a broad range of authors, and genres. It’s not all hockey romance, Agnes.’
Agnes purses her lips. ‘Thank God for small mercies.’
Isidore lifts her tiny hand. ‘It’s not just the younger generation championing books online either. Bibliophiles from all ages and walks of life do the same. I think we can agree that reading brings us all together, and it’s about sharing the joy of a book that touched you.’
‘Very true,’ I say.
Agnes pushes her specs up the bridge of her nose. ‘I’m sure being as literary minded as I am, I’ll enjoy it. Poetry is for intellectuals, after all.’
Mon Dieu! ‘And on that note, I’d like to thank you all for coming. Come and see me at the counter if you’d like to purchase a copy of A Kiss Goodbye , otherwise I’ll see you all in a month!’
Lucy pulls back as if confused. ‘A month for book club, yes, but we also meet informally in two weeks to read together.’
‘Oh?’ I say. ‘How does that go?’ For obvious reasons, I can’t imagine the book club members reading together quietly.
‘Really well,’ Lucy says at the same time Ziggy blurts. ‘As well as you’d expect.’
‘Right, fabulous. OK, see you in two weeks.’
While everyone gathers their things and the evening wraps up, I go and find a stack of the poetry books and take them to the counter. Henri wanders over, a twinkle in his eye as if he’s amused. It’s nice to see he’s lost that morose look he has during the day, as if his work, or lack thereof, gets him down.
‘I am ready to sleep for a week,’ I say.
‘I bet. Did you have fun though?’
‘There were moments. It’s like being in control of a classroom full of kindergarten kids, all fighting to speak the loudest. Do you want to buy a copy?’ I wave the slim volume.
‘ Oui. We have a lot of big personalities in the group. They’re a boisterous bunch but their hearts are in the right place. You’ll see, they can be the most stalwart friends in times of need. You’ll get used to it.’
Now that is interesting. Has the group bonded over their shared heartbreak? Or have they just been supportive of Henri? Women are like that – protective.
I yawn, completely depleted. ‘You have a lot of faith in me.’
He gives my upper arm a squeeze. ‘Just learn to harness your savage side.’
I laugh as Henri taps his card to pay for the book. ‘I like the sound of that.’
Valérie returns from the office with the empty bar till tray in her hand. ‘Oh, ma chérie , you handled book club remarkably well.’
Another yawn gets the better of me. Is there a carbon monoxide leak I should be worrying about? How can I be so exhausted? ‘You’re lying so I don’t quit, aren’t you?’
‘ Oui! But something tells me you’re not a quitter, Coco.’
She’s right. I’m going to enjoy musing over how best to take control of the group. I’ve met a lot of dominant personalities in my life but not all in one space at the same time. I’ll do some research and find a solution on how best to make the book club meetings harmonious. There must be a nonfiction tome about such a thing. ‘ Non , I won’t quit, but I probably will ask for raise.’
Soon, the others are lined up behind Henri to purchase the book. Lucy gives me a hug before she leaves and Valérie gives them all a peck on the cheek. After they leave, they huddle outside the bookshop as if not wanting the night to end. They’re laughing and joking, and Ziggy has an arm around Agnes’s shoulder. Huh? It doesn’t make sense. Maybe they enjoy bickering over books? It’s a mystery for another day.
‘Why don’t you head off, Coco?’ Valérie says. ‘I’ll clean up.’
‘ Non , I?—’
‘Go.’ She stares me down and I know I won’t win this argument.
I gather up my things. ‘Don’t forget to take a copy of Un Baiser D’adieu for yourself, Coco. If you don’t read it, you’ll never hear the end of it from them.’
‘ Merci .’
‘I’ll drive you home,’ Henri says.
I’m too tired to argue. ‘ Merci .’ Henri leads me out of the cute-as-a-button cobblestone laneway and onto the street where we find a beat-up little Peugeot. The body of the small vehicle is covered in dents, which I find slightly alarming. ‘How long have you been driving?’ I ask.
‘Why?’ he says with a questioning smile.
Is it rude to be so obvious about my doubt in his driving capabilities? It’s just, I do have a daughter I’d like to get home to in one piece. ‘Your car has more dimples than a golf ball.’
‘Parking in Paris is a blood sport.’