Chapter 30 #2
We cross an avenue, bustling to life, and carry on into the large, lush square beyond where we buy coffee from a vendor. Mum seems weary.
‘What’s up?’ I ask, when we park ourselves on a bench.
She doesn’t answer immediately, gazing out over the gardens.
‘I’ve been such a fool,’ she answers in time, nursing her coffee cup.
I wait for her to say more.
‘You were right, I was wrong,’ she nods. ‘The signs were there all along: the ego, the petulance, the insecurities. I suppose that’s why I never did send him my address, that deep down I always knew Alistair wasn’t the man for me. It was all just a fantasy, an escape.’
‘From what?’
‘From your dad. From not being seen. From the monotony of life, I suppose.’
Again, I say nothing, giving her space.
She turns to me. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.’
‘Don’t beat yourself up too badly,’ I tell her. ‘It’s easy to get lost in the romance of Paris,’ I smile, and she smiles a little too. ‘And it’s probably best you now know the grass isn’t greener – right?’
‘I’m sorry you could see something I couldn’t. I should have listened.’
I shrug it off, glad we’ve cleared the air. ‘It’s always easier to see someone else’s issues.’
I can tell from Mum’s penetrating look that she wants to ask something about my own love life. My body tightens.
‘Do you think Dad’s OK?’ she asks instead, reading my body language.
‘He’s fine,’ I say, a bit surprised by the question. ‘We messaged each other yesterday, after Shakespeare and Company. I think he’s enjoying having the house to himself for a few days.’
‘I mean more generally.’
‘You mean, is he happy?’
Mum nods.
‘I think he’s stressed and worried, but underneath it, yeah, I think he’s pretty content. Don’t you?’
Mum tells me about an outburst where he said he felt trapped by the house and business, that he exists without any fun in his life, that he feels an end is in sight.
‘The end of what?’ I ask, pleased that Mum feels able to discuss their disagreement with me but sorry for their trouble.
‘I don’t know. The shop. Maybe of us,’ she says, her face even paler than it was before the coffee.
‘I doubt he meant the end of you,’ I say, sensing she’s catastrophising.
‘What else could he have meant?’
I pause, recalling the moment I found the loan demand in the office, and how adamant Dad was that I shouldn’t tell Mum.
‘Do you know something?’ she asks when I’m slow to reply. ‘Carly, whatever it is, I need to know.’
‘You should ask Dad. It’s not for me to tell,’ I say, kicking myself for not being quicker of mind.
‘So there is something?’ she says with that look in her eye that tells me she’s creating stories, probably of Dad having some torrid affair. ‘Carly?’
Unable to figure out how not to tell her, I take a deep breath and exhale resignedly. Mum tenses, bracing herself for the worst.
‘The bookshop’s in a really bad way, financially,’ I say.
‘I know that,’ she answers, unsurprised, almost disappointed. She waits for me to say more.
‘Things are so bad that Dad had to take out a loan.’
‘A loan?’ she repeats, as if she’s misheard me.
‘Yes, a loan. He’s terrified about the business failing, possibly having to sell the house. He’s definitely not thinking about the end of your marriage.’
‘Are you sure?’ she asks, her shoulders a little looser. ‘Did he say as much?’
‘Inasmuch as he told me the business was in dire straits. He said the lodger’s income had been helping to pay it off until I moved back in, and that I wasn’t to tell you as, in his words, She’s enough on her plate.’
‘He must have been referring to my block,’ she mutters, her eyes full of concern. ‘And didn’t want me under any more pressure.’
‘Sounds like Dad,’ I say. ‘I feel horrible that my returning home has left the business worse off. I’ve told him I’ll work any old job and help out in the bookshop, but he doesn’t listen.’
‘Neither one of us wants you to fund our life, Carly,’ she says, reaching out her hand to mine. ‘All we want is for you to find what makes you happy.’
I sit for a moment, toying with the idea of telling her about my idea, nervous about how she’ll receive it.
‘Carly?’
I take a breath, decide to go for it. ‘What if I told you that what would make me happy is running the bookshop, turning it into something really special again, a real destination bookshop in the heart of the city?’
She scans my face, trying to read whether I’m being serious or not.
‘I mean it, Mum. I knew the moment I walked into Shakespeare and Company that I wanted to create something just as inviting and comforting at home. I know I can do it; my laptop’s crammed with plans and ideas. I just need to figure out how to convince Dad, and find the money to make it happen.’
‘Are you serious?’ She smiles, clasping her coffee cup.
‘One hundred percent.’
She thinks for a moment, her gaze following a passing toddler on a balance bike.
‘Dad definitely needs a rest, I can see that, and I don’t know what we’d do if we had to close the shop.
The idea of renting it out to someone else feels wrong, and we couldn’t sell it without selling the rest of the building too, which, for your sake, I’ve never wanted to do. ’
‘I’d love nothing more than to turn it around, write its next chapter.’ I pause, a thought making me slump. ‘You don’t think Dad will be disappointed to discover the bookshop is my passion? He’s always wanted me to do something beyond Edinburgh.’
‘No!’ she scoffs lightly. ‘Pay no attention. You know your father, he has a tendency to project his own desires on to others. You’re a homebird, we both know that.
’ She squeezes my hand. ‘I imagine he’ll be worried at first, that’s normal, but ultimately nothing would make him prouder than knowing he’d be passing the family business down to you, the next generation. ’
‘And you think we’ll be able to convince him to let me try, if I can figure out the money?’
‘It might take a while,’ she says, ‘but I’m certain, between the three of us, we’ll find a way.’