Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
‘Was that the Lydia I saw steaming at great pace towards the Thames?’ asked Jack as he arrived back at the boats a while later, towing a heavily laden trolley behind him.
I noticed that along with the wine bottles and supplies for his bar, he had a bag of Hilda’s favourite dog biscuits stowed in there as well as a box with Becki’s Bakery branding on it which I suspected might contain a treat or two for us humans to share.
He was a very thoughtful man. I only wished I’d noticed it sooner.
‘Liam decided it was time to start making better choices,’ I said. ‘Take a look.’
Jack watched the video in silence. As the confrontation came to an end, he put his arms around my waist and pulled me closer.
‘I’m sorry. I feel responsible for what he did. If I hadn’t intervened when my dad wanted to fire him, Liam might have learnt his lesson then and not ended up causing so much trouble for you.’
I squeezed him back. ‘There were a lot of ifs and mights in that statement. There’s only one person responsible for Liam’s poor choices, and that’s Liam himself.
You wanted him to have a second chance because you’re a good person.
I’m beginning to think it’s best not to dwell too much on the might-have-beens.
After all, there’s a might-have-been scenario where we never met, and that would have been somewhat disappointing. ’
I deliberately understated it, trying to play things cool, although I have no doubt that my face gave away how I really felt.
Jack laughed and took a step back, assessing me with an expression which made my skin tingle in glorious anticipation. ‘Only somewhat? I think I need to work on persuading you to upgrade your vocabulary there.’
‘I might be open to persuasion,’ I said with a grin. ‘Why don’t you have a go now?’ I took his hand and led him onto the Oxford Bookship, while Hilda generously stood guard over the trolley in the towpath garden.
* * *
Jack’s powers of persuasion proved to be most effective.
It was still early days, of course, but everything was brighter when he was around.
The rest of July passed in a whirlwind, our days filled with books and dog walks and ice creams in the sun, and the nights with drinks under the stars and laughter and whispered conversations entwined together in the dark before the canal gently rocked us to sleep.
Life would have been pretty much storybook perfect if it hadn’t been for the uncertainty about the mooring fees which was still looming on the horizon.
Despite enjoying my best few weeks of trading yet, helped in no small part by the Words and Wine nights Jack and I had started running jointly, I was still a thousand pounds short of the four and a half grand I needed to pay my mooring fees.
‘Relax, we’ll find a way,’ said Jack, massaging my shoulders as I hunched up over my laptop going through my end-of-month accounts for July.
I couldn’t believe it was already August. It would pass in a flash I knew, and then what?
I needed to start facing the very realistic possibility that I wouldn’t make my target.
‘I’ll find a way,’ I said.
‘Yes, I know you will,’ he corrected hastily.
Our first and only disagreement since we’d got together had been caused by Jack’s suggestion that he lend me the money to pay the mooring fees.
It had been a generous offer, one which I knew he’d made with the best intentions, but the Oxford Bookship was my responsibility; additionally, I didn’t want anything money-related to taint my burgeoning relationship with him.
The only thing that I would allow Jack to pay for was the repainting of the Oxford Bookship, as he was the one who’d damaged it in the first place.
I’d booked the repair work in for September, figuring I might as well fit it in during the brief lull between the end of the school holidays and the start of the university term.
Of course, if I didn’t find the rest of the money for the mooring fees then the painting would coincide with the start of my new itinerant bookselling lifestyle. Because I was determined that whatever happened, I wasn’t going to give up on my shop.
‘But if I don’t raise the money for the fees in time…
No it’s okay, hear me out.’ I put my hand up to stop the reassurance I knew Jack was about to offer.
‘It will be sad, but it won’t be the end of my world.
And I certainly won’t let it be the end of my business.
I’ve started to realise that there are so many different kinds of success.
I spent far too long telling myself I was a failure because I don’t have bits of paper with exam grades on, and I think differently from other people.
But I’m okay with that now. I’ve started a business from nothing, and sure, it’s had its challenges, but think about the people I’ve helped, the readers I’ve pointed in new and exciting directions, the couples who’ve found each other thanks to some gentle intervention from my Blind Date with a Book events.
All those things are much more valuable indicators of success for me than numbers on a spreadsheet.
Someone told me once that the advantage of living on a canal boat is that home is wherever you happen to moor up.
And even if the Bookship and I have to travel further afield than Oxford for a while until I’m in a position to apply for a permanent mooring space here again, then that’s what I’ll do.
Nana Rose knew when it was time for her to move on from the Oxford Canal, and I know she’ll understand my situation and support me if I have to temporarily do the same.
She’s always had my back and she always will.
’ I shuffled round in my seat so I could take Jack’s hands in mine.
‘As for you and me, I’m not going to let a few miles of canal and river systems stand in our way.
I know that what we have is stronger than any distance. ’
He squeezed my hands and smiled at me. ‘I know that too. I think you’re amazing. You should be so proud of everything you’ve achieved.’
‘I finally am,’ I said, beaming back at him.
My phone buzzed, making Hilda leap up in excitement. ‘Heck, is that the time? We’d better hurry. I have an author event to host.’
Jack started setting up the refreshments table while I concentrated on creating a display worthy of the Worse Things Happen at Sea book which I was helping to launch tonight.
The publisher had issued special editions for independent bookshops, with beautifully sprayed edges with a wave motif which I made sure were on view.
‘It looks good, but I think we’re missing something,’ I said as I stood back and took in the full effect. ‘The display doesn’t really convey the fact that it’s a murder mystery book.’
Jack nodded. ‘I would offer to spill some red wine on the ground to act like blood stains, but it would be a shame to waste it.’
‘Agreed. But you’ve given me an idea. I might need your help for it though.’
‘I’m at your service, as always,’ he said cheerily.
‘You may regret that,’ I said with a laugh.
‘You’re right, I do regret it,’ said Jack five minutes later as he lay on the towpath while I attempted to chalk around his body to create a mock murder victim outline.
Hilda had taken Jack’s position as an invitation to play and was doing her best to ‘help’ by licking his ears and trying to sit on him.
As a consequence, my lines were turning out rather wobbly as the pair of us couldn’t stop laughing.
‘I hope that will wash away,’ said a familiar voice.
I automatically straightened my shoulders and turned round ready to face further criticism. But the sight of Eric’s companion instantly made me melt.
‘Nana Rose, you came,’ I said, rushing forward to give her a big hug.
‘Try to stop me, my darling,’ she said cheerily. ‘The doc’s got me on these new painkillers, and they’ve worked wonders. I feel almost as high as I did back in the ’70s, now those were the days. I was practically running along the towpath to get here, wasn’t I, Eric?’
‘I could scarcely keep up,’ he said in polite agreement, although I couldn’t help noticing that Nana Rose was still holding tightly to his arm.
‘Thanks for coming with her,’ I said quietly to him.
‘Don’t rule me out yet, oh Molly mine. I’m the one keeping him upright, not the other way round,’ said Nana Rose with a wink.
‘Nothing gets past you, Nana,’ I said. ‘Long may it continue.’
‘I’m not going anywhere, I promise you that,’ she said. ‘Now then, Eric, why don’t we go and test out some of that wine I see over there and leave these young people to their chalk outlines.’
‘The Oxford Boating Association regulations say—’ started Eric, but Nana spoke over him.
‘Never mind the regulations. It’s only a bit of fun and it’ll wash away, no problem. You should be celebrating the life these two are bringing to the canal. Even if it is in the form of outlines of dead bodies,’ she joked.
Eric hesitated then shrugged his shoulders. ‘You’re not wrong there, Rose my dear. Now, what can I get you to drink?’
As the pair of them headed over to the refreshments table I leaned down and helped Jack to his feet. We stood back to survey my work.
‘That looks suitable murderous, what do you reckon?’
He grinned. ‘I’ll try not to take it personally how distorted the victim’s shape is. But nobody’s going to be in any doubt about the genre of the book being launched tonight, that’s for sure.’
I reached across and brushed away a bit of chalk which had somehow ended up on his cheek.
‘I wouldn’t want to chalk round anyone else’s body,’ I said, enjoying the way his expression softened in response.
‘Erm, hello? I’m really sorry to interrupt.
I hope I’m not too early.’ A petite woman with a worried expression was coming towards us along the towpath from the direction of Isis Lock.
She was accompanied by a tall man dressed in an outfit which made him look like he’d stepped straight out of an Evelyn Waugh novel.
He seemed vaguely familiar, but I instantly recognised the woman from her photo in the flyleaf of the book we were about to sell.
‘You must be Eva, thank you so much for having your launch here,’ I said.
She smiled nervously. ‘Thank you for agreeing to host it. It feels very strange having a whole night devoted to something that’s been in my imagination for so long.
I really hope some readers actually turn up.
I have this horrid image that nobody’s going to buy the book and everybody’s going to hate it. ’
The man at her side smiled and gave her a reassuring squeeze. ‘As I keep trying to tell my sister those are completely contradictory fears. If nobody buys it, nobody can hate it.’
Eva pulled a face. ‘Thanks for the underwhelming support there. This is my annoying big brother, Matthias,’ she introduced him.
He reached out and firmly shook my hand, then Jack’s.
‘You’re the guy who looked after the Jericho Wine Barge when we were running off to rescue my dog,’ I said, the memory flooding back.
‘Happy to be of assistance,’ said Matthias. ‘My sister had sent me along to scout out the place, although I’d been intending to check out the Oxford Bookship for myself anyway. Gran practically strong-armed her into having a launch. Eva’s more the hide her light under a bushel sort.’
I laughed. ‘I know what it’s like to have a grandparent full of big ideas. I’m very glad you decided to go ahead with holding the event here. Let me get you set up by the signing table, Eva. I hope you’re feeling strong, because we’ve had a lot of pre-orders.’
‘See, I told you it would be alright,’ said Matthias, nudging his sister.
In fact, the evening was more than alright.
I sold all the copies I’d ordered of Worse Things Happen at Sea, and by the end of the night even Eva looked relaxed, posing for pictures in front of the Oxford Bookship sign and proudly clutching her book.
I stepped away from the impromptu photoshoot and went below deck into the bookshop cabin to check what was happening in there.
Matthias was the only customer still browsing, which meant I could fully take in the number of gaps on the bookshelves.
‘Looks like it’s been a successful night for all concerned,’ said Matthias, gesturing at the display table which had been thoroughly picked over.
‘That’s what I like to see.’
‘I’m glad I’ve caught you. I’ve been meaning to ask about your intriguing shelving system,’ he said, gesturing at the ‘Books to inspire bravery’ label.
‘Ah, that. I know it’s a bit different from conventional bookshops, but then again, this is no conventional bookshop.
I’m a reader motivated by emotion. I tend to choose books because they feel right in that moment.
I can’t always put my finger on why that’s the case, but everything normally becomes clear as I get into the story.
That’s the kind of experience I want to create for my customers too. ’
‘That sense that the right book will find them at the right time?’ asked Matthias. ‘Yes, that’s something I very much empathise with.’
He took a wallet out of the breast pocket of his jacket and extracted a business card from its folds.
‘May I give you this? I’m hoping you might be able to help me with my new passion project.’
I examined the card which was designed to look like an old leatherbound book. Written on the book’s cover in beautiful gold cursive was:
Matthias Jennings
Book Sommelier
The Book Nook Guest House
‘What’s a Book Sommelier?’ I asked.
‘An excellent question. Much like a conventional sommelier creates wine lists and recommends perfect food and drink pairings, I do something similar, but with books. I aim to match readers with the read they need at a particular point in their lives, exactly as you do here at the Oxford Bookship. Only I will be doing it in my hotel, the Book Nook Guest House in Holywell Street, which I’m opening this autumn.
Each room will have a literary theme, and I’ll curate individual reading menus for my guests so they can get the most out of their stay. ’
I recalled running with Hilda a few weeks ago past a boarded-up building with the red book banner and the ‘Coming Soon’ poster.
‘Ah, I think I know where you mean. How exciting, a book-themed hotel.’
‘Yes, the renovation work is going well, but I have one fundamental problem I still have to resolve: I need a supplier for all the books, and I was very much hoping you might be able to help me.’