Chapter 3
Chapter Three
The next day, I sat down at my laptop to start phase one of the plan Nana Rose had helped me come up with: send emails to every living author I could think of, inviting them to do a talk or even just a signing at the Oxford Bookship.
I’d always intended to host author events but had been putting it off, afraid I wouldn’t be able to replicate the lively literary salons I’d daydreamed about for so long.
However, the time for allowing fear to hold me back was long past. Then I trawled through the online list of bookshops I admired elsewhere in the country to see what drew the crowds to their establishments.
It was a dispiriting experience seeing shiny picture after shiny picture of bustling businesses and happy proprietors, and although I tried to remind myself that everyone presented the best versions of themselves on the internet, I couldn’t help feeling like I must be the problem to be struggling in this way when everyone else appeared to be thriving.
When a visitor stepped on board and started browsing the romance section, I welcomed the excuse to shut my laptop and bury my sense of inadequacy for a few minutes at least.
‘That was quite the sigh of relief,’ said the person I was hoping to convert into being an actual customer.
‘I’ve spent far too long staring at a screen today,’ I responded with a smile.
She pulled a face. ‘Tell me about it. Real life sucks. You think you know where you stand and then… Give me a book any day. Or even better a book in the hands of one of those guys,’ she added nodding her head towards the chiselled heroes who stared out from the covers.
‘Now that would be the dream,’ I said. ‘At least there are plenty of fictional versions of decent guys to choose from in here.’
‘You can say that again.’ She glanced around the cabin, as if not quite believing what she saw in front of her. ‘I’ve run past this boat a few times, but this is my first official trip on board. I had no idea you had such an amazing selection.’
‘The Oxford Bookship is surprisingly Tardis-like. It’s always great to meet new visitors. And if there’s something in particular you’re after, I can easily order it in. I’d only need a small deposit,’ I added hastily.
‘Perfect.’
She carried on browsing, but I soon started to think that she was looking in the wrong place.
Maybe it was the short exchange we’d had, or maybe it was something I sensed from her slightly edgy body language, but I suspected she needed to read about someone like her, frustrated, maybe even trapped, by her circumstances but finding hope in an unexpected place.
The book that would resonate with her couldn’t be found on that shelf.
I fought an internal battle about whether to say something, but in the end, I couldn’t resist.
‘Sorry to interrupt – I’m Molly by the way – can I make a recommendation…?’
‘Natalia,’ she handily filled in. ‘And yes, that would be great, thanks.’
‘Lovely to meet you, Natalia. There’s a book I reckon you’ll enjoy. If you’re looking for a hot hero with depth, how do you feel about this one?’
I ran my finger along the bookshelf to the right of where she was standing and then pulled out a hardback with beautiful gold foil detailing.
‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover,’ Natalia read the title out loud. ‘Didn’t it get banned or something?’
‘There was an obscenity trial against the publisher. A sure-fire way to make a book super popular if you ask me. It’s pretty spicy, although there’s a lot more going on than just that – a woman taking control of her own destiny, female sensuality, class divides, all kinds of good stuff.’
She quickly scanned the blurb. ‘Sounds right up my street.’ She snorted. ‘Sorry, a completely unintended innuendo there.’
I laughed. ‘I’m sure the characters would have approved of it.’
As her gaze moved to the price, her face fell. ‘Ah, that’s a little more than I was planning to spend, I’m afraid.’
She still held on to the book, confirming my sense that this story would speak to her.
If I was a better salesperson, I would have pushed harder for her to buy that particular volume, knowing her desire for the novel had put her on the cusp of ignoring practical considerations.
But as usual my conscience wouldn’t allow me to, which was undoubtedly one of the reasons the shop was in the financial position it was.
‘You’re in luck. I know for a fact there’s a copy in the second-hand section. Let me dig it out for you.’ I hurried over and found it on the shelf. ‘Here you are.’
‘Two pound fifty? What a bargain. Thanks.’ She fished the exact amount of change out of her purse. ‘I can’t wait to read it. And if you could hook me up with my perfect guy as easily as you’ve matched me with my next read, that would be great.’
She left the narrowboat looking considerably brighter than she had when she’d stepped on board.
Meanwhile her parting statement had made me fizz with excitement.
She might only have been joking, but her light-hearted comment was the spark of inspiration I needed for an event which was actually achievable.
I liked to think of myself as a book matchmaker after all.
Why not see if my skills would transfer to actual matchmaking?
After my break-up I’d sworn off the heartless world of online dating, and my friends who still bothered with it spent half their time complaining about their nightmare app experiences.
We couldn’t be the only people feeling that way.
Perhaps it was time to bring back IRL dating, and what better place for a meet-cute than the Oxford Bookship, which oozed romance from every porthole?
I could hold a real-life Blind Date with a Book event, uniting people with their perfect book and hopefully their perfect date too.
If matchmaking was good enough for Emma Woodhouse, it was good enough for me, although perhaps I’d better not think too hard about the trouble Jane Austen’s heroine managed to get herself into with her schemes.
I picked up my notebook and set to work on my new money-making plan.