Chapter 6 #2
I put the kettle on and started scrolling idly on my phone while I waited for the water to boil.
To my delight there were several DMs waiting for me from people who’d attended last night and loved it, and others who’d heard about it from friends and wanted to know when the next one was being held.
I quickly set up another booking page on my website, then tapped out replies, throwing in a couple of romance book recommendations to the would-be daters to tide them over until the event.
The final DM was from Liam with a link to his draft video.
As promised! Let me know if u r happy and I’ll post it asap! Thanks for a fab night!! xx
I watched it through a couple of times, trying not to cringe at my awkward piece to camera.
But the Bookship looked beautiful, and Flick was there, all cute blushes, acting most unlike the hardened journalist she liked to project.
If I were a potential customer, I’d take one look at the video and make a beeline for the shop.
But then again, I was a biased book lover.
I tapped out a reply to Liam.
I LOVE it, thanks so much! I’m v happy for you to post. And you’re welcome to come to the next BDWAB night, although you might not need to…?! x
I poured myself a cup of tea and went into the bookshop cabin to open up.
After pottering around for a bit, tidying up the stock and filling the gaps in the shelves left by last night’s extravaganza, I decided to take up Hilda’s usual position on the well deck so I could spot any potential customers walking down the towpath towards us.
A gentle breeze was rustling the leaves of the trees which lined the canal and sending the clouds scudding overhead.
I took a deep breath and savoured my surroundings.
The air was fresh, the delicate scent of wildflowers mixing with the clean aroma of the freshly mowed grass by the towpath.
A pair of elegant swans swam past the boat, their heads turned to each other as if they were deep in conversation.
Their body language was mirrored by Bill and Rozina who were marching past on their way into town, although they did briefly break off from their discussion to wave a cheery good morning to me.
‘Those clouds look a bit ominous, what do you think?’ said Rozina. ‘By the way, I’m sending my pal in your direction. She’s just had a bad break-up and I thought your dating night might be the perfect tonic.’
‘That’s sweet of you, but are you sure she’s ready?’ I asked, remembering the aching pain which had wiped me out in the immediate aftermath of my own last break-up. Eighteen months on, I had finally left it behind, despite Flick’s annoying cod psychological analysis suggesting the contrary.
‘They do say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else,’ Rozina said with a wicked grin.
‘Rozina Murphy-Clark, you shameless hussy,’ said her husband with a laugh.
‘I didn’t hear you complaining when we got together,’ she responded, nudging him playfully in the ribs.
‘Too much information, guys. I had you down as a proper Captain Wentworth and Anne duo, please don’t destroy my romantic illusions,’ I teased them.
‘I’ll reserve a ticket for your friend, but in the meantime, give me a sec.
’ I dived down into the cabin and pulled a book off the shelves.
‘Give her this. It might help in the short term,’ I said on my return.
I leaned across to the shore to pass the book over.
Bill took one look at the cover and snorted. ‘Should I be worried?’
‘How to Kill Men and Get Away with It,’ read Rozina out loud. ‘Sounds brilliant. I think I need to read that too. How much do we owe you?’
‘Don’t worry about that for now. Let her read the blurb and see if she fancies it, and if she doesn’t’—I knew that wouldn’t be the case—‘just bring it back. I know where you live after all.’
‘Out of interest, have you read this book?’ asked Bill, pretending to look concerned.
‘Definitely. Most informative it was too,’ I said. ‘And spit-your-tea-out hilarious.’
‘Concerning. Thanks, Molly. We’ll let you know what she thinks. Remind me to keep on your good side from now on,’ said Bill.
‘Nana Rose has read it too,’ I said. ‘But don’t worry, I reckon you’re safe for now. It’s only scumbags who are targeted by the main character.’
Bill pretended to mop his brow in relief.
I settled down on deck with a book as they continued on their way, but it seemed the reading gods had other ideas for me this morning.
I wouldn’t go so far as to say I had a steady stream of customers to the shop, but there were certainly more visitors than the average day, and I was more than happy to put aside my own novel to recommend one to punters.
I would never tire of the thrill I got from introducing people to authors I was confident they’d love.
I knew I was more hands on than the booksellers in the land-based chains, but that was the joy of running an independent bookshop.
And today only two visitors took my advice and then stood in front of me ordering the book online ‘because it’s cheaper’. Definitely better going than usual.
The rain started coming down at about eleven o’clock, which coincided with a hopefully temporary lull in customers.
‘Hilda, in you come, I’m not having you getting soaked out there,’ I called, whistling between my teeth to attract her attention from the interesting clump of grass which she was nose deep in at the other side of the towpath.
She reluctantly dragged herself away from whatever fascinating aromas had been absorbing her and jumped onto the boat as delicately as it was possible for a fifty-kilogram dog to do.
The boat rocked. Hilda padded after me into the cabin and settled at my feet as I started wrapping some more books to add to my Blind Date with a Book display.
A few minutes later I reached for the sticky tape and frowned.
Why was the boat still rocking? The effect of Hilda’s jump should have long worn off.
Living on a boat you get used to the gentle motion of floating, and the little noises which the vessel makes in different weathers, like the soft creak of the mooring ropes on a windy day, or the soothing percussion of rain landing on the cabin roof.
But this motion was different from normal, choppier certainly, unsettlingly unusual.
I started to suspect it was the churn caused by a boat travelling along the canal at a speed much higher than it should be.
Sure enough, above the sound of the rain the choking noise of a badly maintained engine being gunned started to grow louder.
‘Stay here, Hilda,’ I said, my serious voice on so she knew that it was important. She huffed pointedly, then reluctantly curled up in her bed, burying her nose between her paws.
I hurried onto deck just in time to see another narrowboat heading down the canal steering a trajectory which I knew would bring it perilously close to mine.
‘You’re going too fast,’ I shouted, as the wash from the other boat hit the bank. The Oxford Bookship pitched abruptly as another wave slapped against the hull. I thought I heard Hilda howl from indoors.
‘It’s alright Hilda,’ I called, although it very much wasn’t.
I tried again. ‘Turn the tiller to starboard, and ease off the throttle,’ I yelled at the distant hooded figure who I could barely see hunched up in the cockpit. Unfortunately, the helmsman either couldn’t hear me or didn’t want to pay attention to my directions.
‘Slow down, and steer in the opposite direction.’ I quickly translated my instructions into hopefully more civilian-friendly terminology.
The person on board was covered from head to toe in waterproofs which looked like they’d come straight off a stand at a superyacht show, and clearly had no idea what they were doing.
It should be illegal for people like that to be allowed out on the water.
Some of my words must have finally filtered through to them because the other vessel began to change direction.
But it was too little too late. With a terrible screech of metal on metal, the speeding narrowboat collided with the midships of the Oxford Bookship and scraped its way along the side.
The force of the impact knocked my beautiful shop sign, the one which I’d spent hours designing and painting by hand, off the roof and into the muddy depths of the canal.
‘You bloody idiot,’ I muttered under my breath, which was incredibly restrained of me.
In truth I wanted to shriek every swear word in the dictionary at the fool.
But I didn’t have time to assess the damage and mourn my loss, because the sound of the other boat’s engine had changed, warning me that worse was about to come.
‘No, whatever you do, do not put that boat into reverse,’ I yelled. ‘You’ll completely lose the steering. Not that you have any steering ability in the first place.’
The stern of the other boat was now tracking backwards on an erratic trajectory which I suspected would bring it crashing once again into the side of the Oxford Bookship.
Without allowing myself to think about it, I clambered on the roof of my boat, ran along until I was level with the stern of the other boat and jumped the gap between the two.
I dropped neatly into the cockpit in a smooth move which would have made James Bond envious.
At least, after the event, that’s how I told myself it looked.
I suspected in reality it was somewhat less impressive.
I certainly made enough of a thump landing on the deck, the momentum from the jump making me collide with the solid form of the helmsman who automatically put his arms out to stop me felling him.
‘Who? What’s happening?’ asked the bewildered figure in the waterproofs, keeping hold of me in his confusion.
My heart sank as I instantly recognised the voice. The uptight prick from the Blind Date with a Book night, aka Jack Siddall, my new neighbour, confirming all my worst fears about what kind of a neighbour he was going to be.