Chapter 28 #2
‘Ah, here it is,’ I say, picking it up from the shelf and carrying it over to Margaret.
‘Lovely.’
‘Yes, hello,’ Seb’s voice bellows around the shop. ‘The reception here is terrible. They’re stuck in the Dark Ages. If I cut out, send a pigeon carrier, it would probably be quicker.’
He lets out a loud chuckle.
I want the ground to swallow me up. Margaret pretends not to hear; she says nothing as she taps her card on the reader to pay for the book.
Seb continues: ‘Anyway, why don’t we circle back a bit? We need to think outside the box with this project and forge ahead with breaking down silos, don’t we?’
Margaret leans forward and whispers, ‘Is he speaking a different language?’
‘He’s bilingual, Margaret. Fluent in English and corporate jargon.’
Margaret grins, picking her book up from the counter. ‘He sounds like a bit of a twit. Okay, I’m off now. Thanks again for the recommendation. I hope you manage to drill down and move forward.’
I laugh as Margaret leaves the bookshop, shaking her head.
‘Let’s put a pin in that,’ Seb continues. ‘There’s no point in trying to reinvent the wheel. We’ll run the numbers, see what works. We can take it offline, can’t we? Let’s get to the next point in the agenda.’
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I’ve heard Seb in many business meetings over the years but never really noticed until now how ridiculous he sounds. So many words without saying anything. I picture Rory’s face listening to Seb in full swing. He would die laughing.
I sigh, checking my phone again. Nothing from Rory. Not one message the whole time he’s been away.
Pete opens the door of the bookshop, whistling at the top of his lungs. I watch annoyance flicker on Seb’s face at the intrusion, but Pete doesn’t seem to notice him.
‘Morning, morning!’ Pete calls, ducking down when he sees me, bracing himself for impact and standing back up again. He laughs loudly to himself, and I smile along. The joke really never gets old. ‘I come bearing post.’
‘Ah, thanks Pete,’ I smile, taking the letters from his outstretched hand. ‘I thought you were on DIY duty today? Aren’t you in charge of The Toolbox until Rory’s back?’
I’m trying to subtly dig for details on Rory’s return, since he didn’t exactly give me a breakdown of his itinerary. But Pete doesn’t take the bait.
‘Yep, just taking a quick break to do the rounds.’
Seb’s loud voice continues to fill the whole shop with his Teams call.
‘I’m glad we’re on the same page. I know you’ve gone above and beyond for this project, taking on things that are above your pay grade.
Let’s just say, it’s been noted. Look, I’ve got to hop on another call here, but I’ll ping you a message later, okay? ’
The meeting seems to continue, despite Seb trying to wrap it up.
‘Who’s the suit in the corner?’ Pete asks in a low voice. ‘He sounds like a news presenter.’
‘You don’t want to know. Anyway, how’s The Toolbox been?’
‘Busier than I expected. I’ll need a lie down by five o’clock.’
‘I have someone at a loose end,’ I say, gesturing at Seb, who is still trying to finesse his way out of his call. ‘You could take him off my hands, if you want.’
‘I think I’ll pass, love. Sounds like he’s got a screw loose himself. See you later.’
After Pete leaves, Seb approaches the counter, folding his arms. ‘Your postie’s a bit of a prat. Could hear him whistling the whole way along the street before he even arrived. Doesn’t he know people are on work calls at ten in the morning?’
‘Most people around here aren’t,’ I point out, absentmindedly. ‘The fishermen have been up for hours and the shops are busy with customers.’
‘Fishermen? Is that an actual job? Like outside of children’s books.’
I glance up, biting my lip to stop myself laughing. ‘How do you think they get the fish from the sea?’
‘Ah, bloody hell, Ava. We need to get you back to reality. This place is great to visit, I get that. But it’s too slow-paced for you. You love the city buzz and the lunchtime shopping! What can you buy around here at lunchtime? A hammer from the guy next door?’ He laughs, rolling his eyes.
Oh, if he only knew what the guy next door had to offer.
‘Actually, I don’t. I’m happier in my bookshop than I ever was working in the corporate world. I don’t care about shopping either. I’m perfectly happy without it all.’
It’s true. Hearing Seb and all his nonsensical lingo has made me realize how much I don’t miss all that.
‘But, Ava, come on. You’ve had three customers this morning, including your friend and a postman. You’ve sold one book, as far as I can see. You must have only earnt about eight quid. That’s not sustainable.’
My heart thuds in protest. Seb’s right. I hate that he’s right.
‘It isn’t all about the money. Plus, I’ve put in a funding application for a book festival here. If it’s successful, it could really turn things around,’ I say, although the nagging doubt that I had stuffed to the back of my mind is certainly rising to the surface with Seb around.
I’m not even convincing myself here. How can I be happy without any money? I can’t live on fresh air.
As I set my chair up for the interview at the back of the bookshop, I check my phone.
Still nothing from Rory. It feels like we are on some dating show on TV, where we are both being tempted by our exes and have to see who’ll crumble first. After the way we left things, it’s a real possibility that Rory and Elle could come back to Ullapool hand in hand, while I’ll have turned Seb down, as well as a job and a life back in London.
Seb is offering up everything I’d wanted on a silver platter.
Six months too late, but still. All I have to do is accept that he slept with Macy and we can move on.
But things have changed so much in the last few months.
I’ve changed.
As the screen flickers and my interviewer joins the call, I plaster the biggest smile I can muster on my face.
The interview starts well. I answer with ease questions about past successful social media campaigns, my management style, dealing with challenging work scenarios and even the dreaded question about my greatest weakness.
‘That’s great, Ava,’ the interviewer continues, with a wide smile. ‘So, tell me, what are you passionate about?’
I pause. I know what my answer should be.
I think back to my London life: juggling client needs and expectations, feeling exhausted and empty at the end of the day, only to have to search for the strength to start all over again the next morning.
And everyone around me in the same loop.
Endless meetings that leave your social battery flat, nothing left for personal relationships.
Listening to Seb’s Teams call and bad business patter have made me realize corporate life is not where my passions lie.
I look around the vibrant colours of The Next Chapter bookshop, from the canary-yellow cabinet to Granny’s recipes on display, the mismatched furniture, the shelves lined with books I love. I blink in disbelief as I really see the space that I have created.
This is what I am passionate about. My bookshop. My home. The excitement of my deliveries every day. The pleasure I get from someone telling me they love a book I’ve recommended. The connection, the real connection people here have, forged through the breakup bookshop sessions.
My eyes land on the colourful mural of Ullapool created by Rory. It’s a head versus heart decision and, right now, I’m not sure which to follow.