Chapter 2 #2
A family of ducks swam casually past, having a final outing before they retreated to their nests in the undergrowth.
The sound of Oxford’s ever-present traffic was more of a distant hum, fading into the background against the sweet trilling of the birds and the occasional splashes from the fish swimming to pick insects from the surface of the canal.
It seemed extraordinary to believe that somewhere so serene could exist in a city inhabited by over a hundred and fifty thousand people.
A fellow dog walker hove into view, and we exchanged pleasantries as our canine companions carried out their sniff approvals of each other.
In this corner of the city, strangers were happy to acknowledge each other, relaxed by the canal’s presence into the assumption of friendliness more commonly seen in villages or small towns.
She told me about some moorhen chicks that she’d seen playing near one of the old tumbledown boatsheds that the Oxford Boating Association was trying to sell, and I made a mental note to wander there without Hilda at some point.
Hilda was always incredibly gentle around other animals, but we were both conscious that her size could be off-putting for those meeting her for the first time.
I casually name-dropped the Oxford Bookship a few times, in the hope of recruiting another customer, then after a final nod (me) and wag of the tail (Hilda), we continued on our way.
‘Fancy seeing the bright lights of the big city?’ I asked Hilda, wanting to prolong our walk. I interpreted the twitch of her ears as assent, although the movement could equally have been provoked by the cackle of a mallard as it took off from the surface of the canal.
We climbed over the footbridge and dived among the terraced houses which lined the streets of Jericho.
Although the Victorian buildings were fairly uniform in architecture, they all asserted their own personalities, with a selection of brightly coloured front doors, rainbow rendering and chaotically verdant pots lined up on doorsteps.
A couple of students whizzed past on their bikes, laughing loudly about a friend who’d fallen asleep in the middle of a lecture.
Perhaps I should invest in textbooks to attract more of the academic market?
I quickly dismissed the idea. I’d never be able to compete against the discounts which the land-based chains in the city could offer.
Besides, I didn’t have the capital to outlay on yet more products.
I needed to find a way of increasing custom for the stock I already had.
Hilda and I turned another corner. Now businesses started to appear – independent coffee shops with their own roasteries, a pizza place where the chefs were skilfully throwing the dough at a central cooking station surrounded by their customers, and a pub from which the sounds of a microphone being tested echoed out through the welcoming open door.
‘Check, check, one-two, one-two. Can anyone hear me?’
The gathering crowd responded with a chorus of good-natured heckling to the would-be compère.
I paused, curious as to what had drawn such a large group of people on what was after all a pretty average Tuesday night at the end of May.
Normally when Hilda and I walked past at this time on a weekday evening, it was deathly quiet in there.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Boaters’ Ale House.
We’re delighted you’ve all joined us for our quiz night.
It’s great to see so many new faces, as well as welcoming back our lovely regulars.
This week the theme for the quiz is everything Oxford, and then at the end of the evening, we’ll be voting for next week’s theme.
Remember, if you buy a meal with us tonight, you get your quiz entry refunded. ’
A couple of people cheered at this announcement.
The presence of the enthusiastic crowd had got me wondering.
It was only a kernel of an idea, but it was something.
If a sleepy pub could create a hubbub by holding a Tuesday evening quiz, perhaps I could create a similar buzz by hosting some kind of event night at the Oxford Bookship.
People could buy a ticket and then get the cost of it reimbursed if they bought a certain amount of books, which they’d probably do for the sake of a free ticket.
After all, hadn’t I fallen into the trap of topping up an online shopping basket for dog supplies just the other day in order to qualify for the free delivery service?
But what kind of event could I hold that would make it stand out from all the other bookish events happening in the city?
I needed a brainstorming session, and I knew exactly the person to have it with.
I’d just have to be careful not to let slip the reason I was having to branch out from bookselling into hosting.
‘Come on, Hilda, let’s go and find Nana Rose.’
She picked up her pace immediately, delighted at the prospect of visiting her second-favourite person in the whole world.
At least, I told myself it was that way round, although given that Nana Rose kept a stock of luxury treats for her great-grand-dog-ter, as she called Hilda, it could very well be that our positions in the love rankings were reversed.
Nana Rose was in her usual place, snuggled up on a window seat in the communal living room of her care home, munching on her favourite chocolate caramels and no doubt teasing the care assistants about their taste in TV viewing.
I paused outside for a few moments, taking the opportunity to observe her unawares, trying to reassure myself that she was doing alright on land.
I often worried that her life force depended on the canal, and that her increased weakness was because she no longer resided on its waters.
I frowned as I spotted her wincing in pain as she moved position on the seat.
She’d deny it if I said anything to her, but I wondered if I should have a quiet word with one of the staff members.
I knew she’d be far too stubborn to listen if I suggested she should ask the doctor to review her medication for the debilitating arthritis which riddled her bones, but maybe she would pay more attention if someone outside the family spoke to her about it.
An urgent rapping on the window interrupted my thoughts. I waved back at Nana Rose, who was now beckoning me in with a huge smile on her face. Nothing escaped her notice for long.
‘Let’s go, Hilda,’ I said, holding her lead more tightly now to keep me grounded.
However friendly and welcoming the staff were, and however homely they’d made the place, it still felt like an institution, a world apart from life on the canal, and even though it was less than a mile away, I still wasn’t used to seeing Nana Rose in such a different environment.
But it had been Nana Rose’s choice to move here, I reminded myself.
And she had made new friends, enjoyed a packed routine of teaching craft classes to her fellow residents, and no longer had to worry about having to feed the log burner on cold days, or get up in the middle of the night to check the mooring ropes were still secure when the weather was bad.
Her former neighbours on the canal were regular visitors and a couple of them were even members of staff at the home, plus I did my best to keep her appraised of most things that were happening on the water.
I checked in at the front desk, then walked into the super-heated lounge where Nana Rose was already on her feet and opening her arms.
‘Molly, my darling girl,’ she said, the joy in her musical voice making me wish I’d not left my visit to so late in the evening. ‘And you’ve brought your emotional support dog too,’ she added with a wink. ‘What a delight to see you both.’
Technically only residents’ pets were allowed at the Jericho Grange Care Home, but the staff were such big fans of Nana Rose that they turned a blind eye. Besides, Hilda with her knack for gentle empathy was a popular guest for even the most dog-phobic of residents.
I leaned down and kissed Nana Rose’s soft cheek, the floral waft of her Chanel Chance perfume setting off an instant wave of nostalgic memories.
‘How are you doing, oh Nana mine?’ I asked, gently clasping her tiny hand, trying not to wince at her painfully swollen knuckles.
‘All the better for seeing you, my darling.’ She held me at arm’s length and looked me up and down, nodding with approval.
I was pleased I was wearing one of the colourful patchwork skirts she’d made for me several years ago out of clothing which had been heading to the landfill.
I’d always admired her ability to see the potential in overlooked things, even when it was very well hidden.
That trait had seen her backing me on more than one occasion when everyone else, including myself, had despaired.
I would never forget how Nana Rose had stood up for me when I’d devastated my parents by flunking my A-Levels.
‘Molly has talents that exams are too blunt an instrument to detect,’ she’d said.
I’d struggled to believe her at the time, and a decade later, I feared I was going to prove her wrong all over again.
‘You’re looking very well,’ said Nana Rose, blissfully ignorant of my internal torment. ‘And what a pretty little star you have in. Somebody with exquisite taste must have bought you that delightful nose stud.’
‘The best person I know,’ I said.