Chapter Fourteen
Since the swimming incident, Flora made sure she kept out of Brodie’s way.
She wasn’t trying to deliberately avoid him, well not really, but she needed some space to focus on what she was here to do.
And that was to help her gran and also apply for jobs.
She knew he was there; she’d caught glimpses of him in the garden from the upstairs study when looking out to admire .
. . the view. Fortunately, he’d been engrossed in his own routine of digging, hacking back weeds and cutting the grass.
He only stopped for breaks to take a drink from his water bottle or when Iris went out and insisted he have a coffee and biscuit or whatever treat she had bought in from the bakery.
Flora had managed to sort and box many of the books standing in piles in the study.
Her grandpa had always loved books and over the years had hoarded his collection in this room.
They lined every shelf of the bookcase and formed stacks on the floor and on the desk.
There were paperbacks, some worn from reading with cracked spines and yellowing paper, hardbacks and small dictionaries in every language.
Frank had always been trying his best to learn new languages.
He had started with French then Spanish and just before he died had been attempting Portuguese.
As she stood in the doorway of the study, she looked at the progress she had made.
She understood why Iris was too overwhelmed to know where to start.
‘Just be ruthless,’ she insisted. ‘I would say most of them can go unless you’re not sure.
In which case just make another pile and I can have a look.
’ The Wee Bookshop in the village had a second-hand section tucked away at the back and Flora had said they could be taken there.
The room even smelled of her grandpa. It was a reassuring scent of old paper and woodsmoke from the stove which he lit in the winter.
His expression was always one of delight when she knocked at the door and asked if she could come in.
He would usher her in, offering her some hard-boiled sweets from the old tin on his desk which was still there although now full of paperclips.
Then he would go to the bookshelf, moving his fingers slowly across the spines of the books until he found the perfect story to share.
It had been lovely to reminisce and remember those special times, and she was holding on to some of her favourites as mementoes of those treasured memories: Anne of Green Gables, Charlotte’s Web and The Wind in the Willows.
She had such fond memories of curling up in the seat in the corner, feeling cosy and safe as he read to her while she listened, gazing at the orange flickering flame.
On particularly cold days, Iris would bring them up mugs of hot chocolate covered with skooshy cream and dusted with cinnamon.
‘Gosh, you have been busy,’ said Iris, interrupting her thoughts. ‘I’ve brought you a coffee. I thought you deserved a break. You have hardly stopped.’
‘Aw, thanks Gran. You’re a mind reader. I was in need of my caffeine fix. I was just thinking of the days when you would bring me and Grandpa one of your special hot chocolates.’
‘You remember that?’ She smiled wistfully. ‘Your grandpa loved it when you were here and you could share stories together. He would love the bookshop in the high street. He did always say that it was something every village should have.’
Flora nodded, surprised to feel a tear catch at the corner of her eye. It was strange how memories could catch up with you at random times. She blinked and wiped it away, hoping that her gran didn’t notice.
‘You and Brodie are working so hard.’ Gran handed her the mug and a plate piled with buttered slices of tea loaf. ‘I’m not going to recognise this place, inside or out, by the time you two have worked your magic.’ She reached over and gave Flora a warm hug with an extra squeeze.
Flora hugged her back, inhaling the scent of her precious gran: Elnett hairspray and the fresh, citrus perfume she wore.
‘Oh, by the way, I found this old tin. It was hidden behind a pile of books on one of the shelves.’ Flora reached for the metal caddy sitting on the desk and handed it to her gran.
‘Oh.’ Iris looked at in surprise. ‘I haven’t seen that old thing for years .
. . I’ll have a proper look later. I’ll pop it here for now.
’ She placed it on the bookcase before stepping back and gently touching Flora’s cheek.
‘Right, precious girl, I’m just popping out to drop something off to Catriona. ’
Catriona and Iris did a lot of village fundraising and voluntary work together and were known as the dream team.
‘Okay, Gran. I’ll just take some of these boxes down to the car to clear some space.’
‘Shall I give you a hand?’ Iris started bending down to pick one up.
‘No,’ gasped Flora. ‘Don’t you dare, Gran. I’ll manage. I don’t want you putting your back out.’
Iris paused, and grinned. ‘I could go and get Brodie to help. He’s a big strong lad. And very easy on the eye.’
‘G-r-a-n,’ she said. ‘Behave. You can’t say stuff like that about your employees. Not these days.’
‘Tsk, that’s a lot of tosh,’ she teased with loud cackle. ‘Men have been objectifying women for years. It’s time for us women to turn the tables.’
Flora suppressed a laugh, though was highly amused by her gran being her usual candid self.
Usually, if there was a good-looking guy in the vicinity, she would let Flora know and give her a knowing wink.
Flora couldn’t help but laugh. Her gran could be very naughty when she wanted to be.
‘I’ll manage fine, thanks. I don’t need a man to do the heavy lifting.
’ Flora knew how to change a tyre, fix the fuse box and change the light in the oven when required.
She had always been fiercely independent.
‘If you say so. But remember, don’t be too proud. It’s okay to accept all offers of help when they’re made . . . and,’ she continued drily, ‘surely you must admit that he’s an improvement on that last chap you were seeing?’
It was hard to disagree. Flora’s last boyfriend had been a disaster. The best way to describe him was a man-child.
‘Men are the very last thing on my mind right now.’ Flora’s voice was firm and she took another sip of coffee. Her phone pinged with a notification.
‘If you say so,’ joked Iris. ‘But there’s nothing wrong with window shopping while you’re here and having a wee lookie. I’ll see you in a while, crocodile.’
‘Bye, Gran.’ Flora picked up her phone and saw that she had a few new emails. Her heart started to race when she saw one was about a job she had applied for at a university in Dundee. She quickly opened it up, certain that it would be an offer of an interview.
Dear Flora,
Thank you for taking the time to apply for the role of Lecturer in Fashion and Textiles.
We really appreciate the time and effort you put into this application. We were fortunate to receive a great level of interest for the role and after reviewing your application thoroughly, we felt that other applicants were better suited for the job.
At this time, we will unfortunately not be progressing you through to the next stage of the selection process. Due to the high level of interest for this role we are unfortunately unable to offer feedback on your application.
We hope that you remain interested in working for us at some point in the future and hope to receive another application from you soon.
We wish you every luck with your job search.
Kind regards,
She felt the drop of disappointment in her stomach and tried to tell herself it was only one rejection and that it didn’t matter.
But the words felt like a punch to her gut.
Despondent, she switched her phone off. Then she drained the rest of her coffee, picked up a box and took it downstairs wondering if she should rethink her career entirely.
Maybe she could offer her services as a professional declutterer or box packer.
Folk always needed removal services, didn’t they?
At least she could quietly get on with the task at hand and wouldn’t have to talk to anyone.
She could keep things, chuck them out or donate them to charity.
Then tape the boxes up and the job would be done.
Perhaps being her own boss was something to consider?
She told herself to stop being dramatic.
It was her first rejection and there were several other applications outstanding. She had to think positively.