Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Half an hour into the event, and I told myself that things could be going much worse.
Okay so the card machine was playing up, but on the plus side that was because it was getting more action than it had in weeks.
I’d also been somewhat optimistic about what I reckoned would be a comfortable capacity.
The Oxford Bookship was sitting rather lower in the water than usual, but the punters didn’t seem to mind having to squeeze past each other to get to the bookshelves.
Next time maybe it would be better to increase the price and sell slightly fewer tickets.
If there was going to be a next time, that was.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ I apologised as I pushed my way through the crowd to take another stack of books through to my private quarters where I’d set up a station for people to leave their purchases so they didn’t have to carry them for the rest of the evening.
I’d figured it would encourage them to spend more, and so far, it seemed to be working.
‘This is so fun. The place is buzzing,’ I overheard one woman saying, making me feel a corresponding thrill of pride.
‘Buzzing? Completely chaotic and full of hoi polloi more like,’ replied a masculine voice with a deeply judgemental tone. ‘I don’t know who’s in charge, but they must have their head in the clouds. This shambolic set-up couldn’t be further from my idea of fun.’
My good mood instantly crashed. I tried to see who it was that had made such a damning assessment of all my hard work, but the voice could have come from any one of the half a dozen men milling around in the cabin.
I told myself not to take the comments to heart, but they matched my own fears about the event and my organisation of it so exactly that I couldn’t help but feel like this person had seen through my pretence and recognised me for the disaster I really was.
Feeling crushed, I retreated to the galley, shutting the door behind me so I could have a few minutes to gather myself.
‘One man expressing an opinion does not make it true,’ I recited in my head, but his words echoed those I’d heard over the years about me, first from teachers, then employers and exes.
How could I doubt the accuracy in them? I’d put so much effort into making this evening a success, but it still wasn’t good enough.
That man had been rude enough to make his complaints out loud, but what if he was articulating what everyone else was thinking?
‘Knock knock,’ said Flick, sticking her head around the door. ‘Why are you hiding in here and missing out on all the fun?’
I pasted a smile on my face. ‘I’m doing nothing of the sort. I was checking to see how much lemonade I’ve got left. I’m worried they’re disappointed I can’t offer them alcohol.’
‘You worry too much. They don’t care a jot about it because they’re all high on lur-ve,’ said Flick, waggling her eyebrows at me.
‘Speaking of which, have you met your match yet?’ I asked, keeping my voice casual.
She waved her still-wrapped book. ‘I’ve been using my journalistic skills to interrogate a few potentials, but no luck so far.’
I smothered a smile. ‘Maybe it was the interrogation side of things that they felt uncomfortable with,’ I teased.
‘If they can’t cope with me when I’m barely in second gear conversationally, they’ll never cope if I try fifth gear on them,’ she pointed out.
‘You are delightfully fearsome. Although I’m beginning to feel sorry for the guy I’ve sent your way.’
‘Ha, I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist getting involved,’ said Flick, leaping on my admission with delight. ‘Suddenly the whole evening is looking considerably more exciting. Are you going to give me any clues? Go on, point me in the right direction.’
I folded my arms and gave her a stern look. ‘Where would the fun be in that?’
‘Spoilsport. I’d better get back to the hunt. Do you need a hand carrying the refreshments out?’ she asked as an afterthought.
‘I’m fine. Go on, off you go,’ I said. ‘Enjoy.’ She bounded enthusiastically back into the bookshop cabin in a manner uncannily like Hilda just before she’s about to get her dinner.
I picked up the fresh jug of lemonade and went out via the rear deck to reach the towpath, telling myself that it was the quickest way of doing it, and that the presence of Mr Judgemental, as I’d termed him, hadn’t influenced my choice not to go back through the bookshop one little bit.
However, I didn’t even get as far as the table in the towpath garden before people were swooping on me to get their glasses refilled.
‘Are you having a good time?’ I asked nervously.
Everyone replied in the affirmative and they sounded genuine, so why wasn’t I feeling happier about it?
I had an irrational sense in the pit of my stomach that something was fundamentally wrong, that I’d messed up and it was only a matter of time until everyone here saw what the judgy guy had already recognised.
At least, I hoped it was irrational. But as I set the now nearly empty jug down, I realised that my intuition had been speaking the truth to me.
Because sitting there on the table in the towpath garden was a brown paper parcel, still waiting to be collected.
I pulled my phone out and scanned the list of ticket holders, counting them off in my head, and cursed myself.
I was a first-class idiot. Classic disorganised Molly.
Why hadn’t I realised there was an uneven number of guests signed up?
That meant somebody was going to end up without a match.
And that somebody was bound to be pretty disappointed at best, potentially very angry at worst. Mr Judgemental’s disdain might look tame in comparison.
If word got out – and this was an event which had sold out thanks to word of mouth on the socials – then nobody would want to come to a future Blind Date with a Book night.
It could even taint the Oxford Bookship’s reputation as a shop.
What if my business ended up getting blacklisted?
With difficulty I forced my mind back to the practical and away from the negative panic spiral.
It was too late to ring round my single friends and find a last-minute addition to the party.
There was only one realistic solution to the problem.
I would have to get involved myself. Without allowing myself too much time to think about it, I picked up the final book and quickly read the label.
‘It is a truth universally acknowledged that first impressions shouldn’t necessarily be trusted.’
I felt my anxiety settle a little. The fact that my favourite book had ended up in my hands had to be a good omen.
I was pleased with the clue and the way I’d subtly incorporated Pride and Prejudice’s original title into it.
The question was, had the other person who’d got this book worked it out yet and how pleased would they be when they eventually opened the parcel to see this stunning edition with its marbled blue sprayed edges and elegantly embossed cover?
Hopefully their joy at their new book acquisition would compensate for the fact that I was most definitely not in the market for a blind date.
Maybe I should have offered them a free ticket for the next event instead?
But I was getting ahead of myself. I looked around at the chattering group.
Quite a few were still to unwrap their books.
I was going to have to mingle in order to track down my book’s match.
I found myself gravitating towards Liam, even though unfortunately I knew our books weren’t matches.
If I hadn’t been too busy trying to save my business to think about dating for real maybe I would have arranged things differently.
But he was good company and this way I could steer him towards his actual match whose reaction I was keen to see.
‘So you are playing the game,’ he said, looking flatteringly pleased that I was approaching him with a book parcel under my arm.
‘I’m a late addition.’
‘And are you the Cathy to my Heathcliff? I’d like to point out that I’m much more even-tempered than my fictional counterpart and add that I hope our romance doesn’t follow exactly the same lines theirs does.’
‘Hmm, maybe I should have considered the storylines more when I was picking the books for the event,’ I said. I showed him the label on my book, and he pulled a disappointed face.
‘Shame. But that works. I can see you as an Eliza Bennet.’
I could feel my cheeks warming at his generous compliment. I was wondering how to respond when Flick joined us.
‘Hello. You’re far too cheerful-looking to be the hero from my book, but something tells me that you might just be my man anyway.’ She gave me the ghost of a wink. ‘If I’m Emily Bronte, that must make you…?’
‘Ellis Bell,’ Liam replied. ‘Or plain old Liam if you’d like to know the real me.
’ He beamed at my best friend who practically melted in response, as I knew she would.
He gently took the parcel from her outstretched hands and examined the label, before passing his across so she could check for herself. ‘We’re a match,’ he said.
‘I’m Felicity,’ my friend stammered, caught up in the moment. ‘But everyone who counts calls me Flick, which I hope you will.’
‘I’d be honoured to,’ said Liam.
‘I’ll leave you two to it,’ I said, preparing to bow out gracefully as Flick mouthed, ‘I owe you big time,’ in my direction.
‘Actually, before you head off, our Bookish Fairy Godmother, could I ask another huge favour?’ said Liam. ‘Would you mind filming us doing the big reveal? That is, if you’re okay with that, Flick? I promised Molly I’d get some content from the evening for my YouTube channel.’
‘Sure, why not?’ said Flick, which confirmed that she must be really taken with him because she normally hated having her picture taken.