Second Chances at the Hopeful Hearts Bookshop (Bonnie Bay #2)

Prologue

MOIRA AND ROBBIE

Five years ago, Bonnie Bay

Moira stands in the doorway of the bookshop that is her second home. She waves off the final customer of the day, and takes a moment to simply enjoy the fresh evening air and appreciate the view.

The shop is called the Edge of the World, and it’s a name that perfectly describes its location on the wild northern coast of Scotland.

It sits at the heart of a tiny village, proudly perched amid a pretty row of buildings that have the sea as their closest neighbour, and the endless horizon of rolling waves as their front yard.

Their own little slice of paradise. She sighs, breathes the salty sea air in deeply, and wipes a stray tear from her eye.

She cries so easily these days, often for no real reason – feeling sad, feeling happy, feeling moved by the beauty of the world. Feeling anything at all, really.

She pulls herself together, and goes back inside.

Robbie, her grandson, is bustling around clearing up.

It’s been a busy day here, and books are abandoned on tables, stray coffee mugs are waiting to be washed, magazines and newspapers are scattered about.

Someone has left their coat hanging on the rack by the door – probably Jimmy Campbell, who only ever comes in for a gossip anyway, and would forget his head if it wasn’t screwed on.

Moira rolls her eyes, and makes a mental note to drop it off for him later.

Robbie helps her finish up the tidying, and she relishes the small rituals – dusting the dark wood shelves, putting the stray editions back in their proper homes, occasionally getting distracted by dipping into one of the novels herself.

Someone has been reading Rivals by Jilly Cooper, and who can possibly resist a few pages of that?

A daily dose of Rupert Campbell-Black is good for the soul, Moira tells herself, when she finally puts it back in its place. It would simply be rude to ignore him.

While she sorts the books, tucking them away in her own haphazard filing system, Robbie is behind the counter cashing up at the ancient cast-iron till.

She found it in an antiques shop during a trip to the Shetland Islands, and immediately fell in love with its ornate silver keys, the sense of history she felt when she touched it.

Robbie, from being a little boy, always loved the solid ‘thunk’ the cash drawer makes when it closes.

Even now, at twenty-one, he grins like a kid when he uses it.

She helps him pile up the notes and coins and paper card receipts. ‘Not bad,’ he announces once the tally is in. ‘I don’t think I’ll bother looking for a job, Granny M. I think I’ll just stay here and be a kept man.’

Moira swats him on the arm, but feels a little swirl of anguish in her belly.

He will be looking for a job, she knows.

He’s graduated from uni, and it’s only natural that he will head off and explore the world – she can hope he eventually comes home, but she’d never dream of holding him back.

‘No you won’t, you loon. You’ll be off into the wild blue yonder when the time is right. ’

He places his hand over hers and squeezes it, meeting her eyes, seeing way more than a boy his age should see. ‘Aye, maybe. But the time isn’t right now, is it?’

She looks away, pretends to be busy cleaning an already clean counter.

No. The time isn’t right now. She needs him right now, and he needs her.

They are helping each other find a way through this new life they are living – the one that doesn’t contain their Angus.

Moira’s husband of more than fifty years, and although technically his grandfather, also the man who raised Robbie from being a bairn.

The world does not feel right without him in it, and Moira isn’t sure it ever really will.

She puts on some music – a collection of folk ballads – and goes to close the curtains, make it all cosy.

She lights one of the candles her friend Ginny makes for her, sea salt and lavender, and takes a final look around at the shop to make sure everything is where it should be.

If all goes to plan, she might be away for a few weeks after this.

It will be the first time she’s left Bonnie Bay for a while – since Angus became ill, since they lost him.

It feels overwhelming, the idea of leaving, but she knows it is the right thing to do.

Despite the emotion rolling through her, she takes comfort from what she sees.

Yes, it is a shop – and yes, it makes her a decent living.

But it’s really so much more than that. It’s a place where folk come as much for the friendship as for the reading material.

It’s a place to share a tale, catch up on local news, to enjoy a simple sense of companionship as they sit in silence with a good book.

Some of her customers have never left Scotland, but you can travel the world in a day with the right story, she always thinks.

More to the point, it gives Moira a sense of purpose.

Something to get up for every morning. She thinks of herself as a practical woman – despite appearances, Angus was the fanciful one – but it’s been harder than she ever imagined, doing life without him.

Moving on from decades of marriage, of ups and downs and everything in between.

Of raising their own daughter, then raising Robbie.

Opening up this shop, laughing and living and loving – all of it gone now.

Gone, but not forgotten. Especially here, in this magical place.

He gave it its name, and he adored it just as much as she did.

Robbie has moved to stand beside her. ‘Still feels like he’s here, doesn’t it?

’ he asks quietly. She nods. It’s not just here that she feels him.

He seems close in so many of the spots that were special to them.

At home in their cottage, up on the clifftops, down at the beach with its red sandstone boulders, looking up at skies circled by gannets and gulls.

To Moira, Angus is still everywhere – but most of all here, in the Bookshop at the Edge of the World.

‘Aye, it does, son. It really does.’

They stand side by side, both silent, lost in their own thoughts.

She feels Angus’s presence in every nook and cranny, his memory infused into every room, every corner, every page of every book.

He was a fisherman for the whole of his life, but like her, he loved stories, art, poetry.

She glances up at one of the shelves, smiles at the collection of Robert Burns that he always kept there.

A battered old copy with a tattered leather cover, faded gilt lettering, and torn pages.

Whenever somebody tried to buy it, she’d steer them towards another edition – that one was Angus’s, and stayed where it was.

But there is a task to do. No need to linger in memories, when Angus had plans for the future.

She gathers her supplies and settles at the big table by the fireplace.

She wishes it was cooler – it would be nice to have the fire roaring away, the comforting sounds and scents to chase away the chill seeping through her soul – but it’s spring, and the day has been filled with blue skies and the kind of showers that magic up rainbows.

Rainbows. Promises. Hope. All of the things that she needs now. Now, it is time to channel all of her emotion in one last task – finishing off this special project that she and Angus planned together.

It was his brainchild really, a typically whimsical scheme that he came up with one day as they sat together on the cliff tops, watching the local dolphins frolic in the wild bay below.

He’d finally retired, Robbie was thriving, and they had so much to look forward to.

Or so they thought. As they sat hand in hand among the gorse and the heather, they had no clue that would be their last summer together.

‘We’ve been so lucky, my love,’ he’d said, his hand squeezing hers. ‘Some losses for sure, but more gains I’d say. I think we should pay it forward.’

She remembers it clear as day – she’d laughed, and accused him of being drunk.

No, he’d told her, he was just high on life.

On the love they’d shared, the world they’d built together.

By the end of their walk back home to the village, he’d convinced her.

They should share this bounty, this magnificent place, their home, the bookshop, their happiness.

They should find a way to give back to the universe.

Over the next few days, they’d talked about it some more, and a plan had emerged: a way to invite people to come and visit, to spend time in the village they both loved so much.

‘D’ye think anybody will be interested?’ she’d asked, a touch more cynical to start with.

‘I mean, Angus, it’s the middle of nowhere! ’

‘Och, of course they’ll be interested!’ he’d assured her, after a busy day in the shop. ‘And it’s not the middle of nowhere, it’s the Edge of the World – the very best place to be.’

He’d been looking at that same battered copy of Robert Burns, a playful smile on his face. ‘But I suppose, my love, all we can do is set the wheels in motion – the rest is up to fate. And just like Rabbie here always said, the best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men…’

‘Aye,’ she’d finished for him. ‘I know. They oft go awry. We’ll be doing it anyway, though, husband, despite that?’

‘Of course, wife,’ Angus had replied, laughing at her expression. ‘How else are we going to spread the joy of Bonnie Bay?’