Chapter Three
‘So, dish all the dirt. Who’s the hunky hottie and what’s he up to over there?’ Pixie cornered Tamara in the kitchen where she was elbow-deep in scone mixture.
‘His name’s Gage Bennet and he’s opening a bookshop of all things.’
She ignored the ‘hunky hottie’ reference.
That part of the equation she was still struggling to process.
The tug of attraction he’d set off was merely a natural reaction to Gage being the first decent-looking, intelligent man she’d met in ages.
Nothing to do with the way his dark-blue eyes had turned pitch-black as he’d studied her.
Or how his fit, muscular body had filled out the old grey T-shirt and worn jeans.
Even before he’d mentioned his military service, she’d noticed his close-cropped black hair and the confident way he’d held himself.
Over the years she’d had a few dates, but calling them relationships was a stretch and Tamara had never been tempted to share her house or life again.
When her friends asked if she was lonely or missed sex, she laughed and assured them she was too busy to be lonely and that battery-operated substitutes were far less trouble than a living, breathing man.
But now Toby had grown up and was out on his own, was that still true?
‘I told him I can’t see him lasting long. Where is he going to find enough customers here?’ Being negative about Gage and his plans put her on safer ground.
‘What about all the new people moving in? And there’s no other decent bookshop in a twenty-mile radius.’
‘I s’pose.’
‘So is he even hotter close up?’
‘I didn’t pay much attention.’ The skin on the back of her neck prickled.
‘I’ll believe you, thousands wouldn’t. You sly thing. The other single women around here will claw your eyes out for getting in there first.’
‘I didn’t get in anywhere and for all we know he could be married, gay or whatever.’
‘Yeah, right, if you say so.’ Pixie nudged her. ‘Bet you wish you’d tidied your hair a bit and slapped on some make-up before going over?’
‘Absolutely not.’
The lie brought out her friend’s filthiest laugh.
‘Anyway, his looks won’t matter if he’s as brisk and no-nonsense with potential customers as he was with me.’
‘Handsome, brooding and full of mystery. Yummy.’
‘I need to get these scones in the oven,’ Tamara said firmly.
‘Hey, it just struck me. This Gage person could solve all your problems.’
‘I don’t need you or anyone else matchmaking, and I’m sure it’s the last thing Mr Bennet needs.’
‘Matchmaking? That never occurred to me.’ Pixie’s affronted huff might’ve worked if she hadn’t fidgeted and stared at the wall behind Tamara’s head. ‘What I was trying to say is that lots of bookshops have in-house cafés to lure customers. You could suggest that to him and offer to run it.’
‘I spoke to the man for all of two minutes and most of that we were at odds. I’m hardly going to breeze over there and tell him how to run his business so I can wangle a new job.’ Her exasperation broke through. ‘I get you’re trying to help, but—’
‘I feel guilty. Okay?’ Pixie turned pink. ‘We’re mates. I hate that I’m dropping you in the shit and swanning off to sunny Greece.’
‘Don’t say that again. Ever. You’ll make me cry and it’ll be ugly.’ A feeble smile accompanied the warning. ‘I’m happy for you. Right. End of story. Now, let me do these scones. I’ve still got the rest of the puddings to see to.’
‘In a minute.’ Pixie folded her arms and pulled out the glare she normally reserved for belligerent drunks on a Saturday night.
‘You’re the first to step up when other people have problems and always there when your book-club mates need you.
You were ace when I lost my mum and I poured my heart out to you when I wasn’t sure how Christos felt about me, and vice versa.
Now you need help and that pisses you off. True?’
Tamara tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but it wouldn’t go away.
‘You don’t always have to be strong.’
Yes, yes, I do. Because if I don’t, I’ll fall apart.
Her determination to keep her emotions under control stemmed from the day Fred had blithely announced he didn’t have what it took to be a husband and father, and they’d be better off without him.
It had only been a week after she’d given birth, so her stitches had still itched and her boobs had been so sore she’d had to bite back tears when Toby had latched onto her cracked nipples.
Every inch of her poor stretched-out body had hurt.
Fred had known her parents wouldn’t have been able to help much because they’d still had her sister, Tracy, at home, who’d only been eight at the time. But Fred had walked out anyway.
That was the last they’d ever seen of him. His child-maintenance payment appeared in the bank on time every month until Toby had turned eighteen, but Fred had never once got in touch to ask about the son he’d abandoned.
She’d been forced to call on the same strength when her parents had both died while Toby was still young.
At the time, Tracy hadn’t been old enough to be independent, so she’d lived with them for several years before moving into the flat over the hairdresser’s shop and managing it for the absentee owner.
A few months ago, Tracy had shocked everyone by emigrating to Australia to live with a man she’d met online.
Pixie shook her head and walked away.
Tamara sagged against the counter and took a few deep breaths before straightening her back. She would cope, because that’s what she did. By herself.
* * *
‘Bye, lads, and thanks. See you in the morning. It’s looking great.’
Gage waved the painters off with a sigh of relief. The electrician and plumber had been and gone first thing this morning and thankfully had found no additional work that needed doing.
It was half five, so he hoped the pub was open. Wednesday had been a long day, but now it was time for a well-earned pint.
Not looking like this, it’s not.
No one would need to ask what colour he’d chosen for the interior of the new shop because his clothes were splattered Jackson Pollock style in splashes of pale green and soft white. He’d persuaded the supervisor to give him a paintbrush so he could lend a hand.
A few months ago, Gage had joined an online forum of independent booksellers, which was a goldmine of useful advice.
But he’d chosen to go against the general consensus that shops needed to be bright and cheerful to draw customers in.
Some of the pictures that other bookshop owners proudly posted made his eyeballs hurt.
When he entered a bookstore, it was in search of a sense of peace.
A haven from everyday life. Somewhere he could lose himself and potter around, for hours if he felt inclined, without being pressured by desperate sales assistants.
That might not sound like a moneymaker, but Gage was convinced he could make it work.
Time would tell if his USP — Unique Selling Point — would pay off.
Even after the first coat of paint, the shop’s main area had already been transformed from a dark and dingy space.
Tomorrow’s weather forecast was good, so the supervisor had told him they’d paint the outside first thing.
Gage couldn’t resist having another look at the sign that had arrived that afternoon and was ready to hang over the door.
The dark-green background and simple gold lettering were exactly as he’d envisaged.
The Mighty Pen
New and Used Books
Despite spending over half his life living by the sword, as it were, he had a strong belief in the power of the written word so this seemed appropriate for the next stage of Gage’s life.
Gage had moved his things over from the guesthouse yesterday, so it’d be simple to go up to the flat and strip off to have a wash and put on clean clothes.
Ten minutes later he locked up the shop and crossed the road.
He hesitated before deciding to turn left, instead of right towards the pub.
He hadn’t bargained on how swiftly his tea-making supplies would disappear and if they weren’t restocked, he could have a strike on his hands in the morning.
Buying what he needed in the village shop would kill two birds with one stone by giving him the chance to meet his business neighbour.
The Penworthal Stores weren’t the enemy, or even a direct competitor, but it was ingrained in him to find out as much as he could about the people and places around him.
Instead of being dusty and outdated as he’d half expected, the shop boasted sparkling clean windows, behind which an eye-catching display of items was highlighted with big red arrows announcing this week’s sale prices.
An easel set up on the pavement tempted customers with the promise of fresh sandwiches, hot pasties and pizza.
Gage stepped around a galvanised bucket jammed with plastic-wrapped bouquets of colourful flowers, and an old-fashioned bell jangled as he pushed the door open.
That was an addition he’d be wise to buy before opening his shop.
He’d be working alone until he could afford to hire an assistant, so it could function as low-tech security.
A low wooden beam almost caught him out, but he ducked just in time.
‘I wondered when you’d show your face.’ A gruff man’s voice came from somewhere at the back of the shop.
‘Me?’ He navigated down the narrow main aisle to the long wooden counter. A short, stout, older man with unnaturally ink-black hair peered at him from behind round wire-rimmed glasses.
‘No one else here, so I must be talking to you.’ The man huffed. ‘You’ve bought Gummow’s old place across the road. Must need your head tested. No one’s made a go of that place for donkey’s years. I’ll give you till Easter.’
His officious manner reminded Gage of Captain Mainwaring in Dad’s Army. Although Gage hadn’t been born when the show first came out, he had fond memories of watching the repeats with his father on a Saturday evening.
‘Georgie tells me you’re selling books of all things.’ The man’s cackling laughter filled the shop.
‘Georgie?’
‘Georgie Rowe. My cousin. He and his lads are doing up your place.’
The penny dropped. ‘They’re good workers. I’m Gage Bennet, by the way.’
‘I know that.’ The shopkeeper scoffed. ‘Vernon Bull.’
He shook the man’s outstretched hand.
‘Where’d you get your gammy leg?’
Gage didn’t mind the intrusive question. It was better than people sneaking furtive looks, too polite to satisfy their curiosity. ‘Sudan. Royal Marines.’
‘I s’pose it could’ve been worse. I expect a lot of your mates weren’t as lucky,’ Vernon said matter-of-factly.
‘True. I need tea supplies.’
‘I’ll bet. Eat and drink you out of house and home, they will.’
He bustled off and started picking things off the shelves. It seemed fruitless to point out that Georgie and his men should be done in a couple of days, so he didn’t need an industrial-sized box of cheap teabags, a huge bag of sugar and two litres of milk.
Vernon stopped at a display by the door and selected three packets of biscuits to add to the stack.
‘They’re on sale. Three for the price of two.
Georgie likes his custard creams, and you can’t go wrong with digestives and ginger nuts.
’ Back at the counter, he wedged everything into a large blue plastic bag.
‘Next time I’ll have to charge you five pence if you don’t bring your own, but you can have it for free today. ’
Gage stifled a smile. At a wild guess, he’d say very few customers got something for nothing out of Mr Bull.
Gage certainly hadn’t. Now the shopkeeper could boast about their meeting and send the abridged story of his injuries around Penworthal.
If Vernon found out the main reason why this particular village, rather than any other location, would soon have a bookshop, he’d rub his hands with glee.
Gage’s sympathy for Becky increased. When he’d made his plans, he’d had no real concept of what the fallout could be.
‘Cheers.’
‘If there’s anything you want to know about the village, you ask me. The Bulls have been around these parts since Methuselah was a baby.’ Vernon cackled at his own joke.
Before he could be pinned down any longer, the shop bell rang again and Gage took that as his signal to beat a swift retreat.
If a certain barmaid was working, she’d probably inflict another barrage of intrusive questions on him and he wasn’t in the mood.
Instead, he’d call it quits for the day and get some much-needed sleep.