Chapter Five
A silent book club? That didn’t make sense.
Frank had never mentioned the silent aspect, although admittedly after the first twelve months they’d never discussed what he did in this bookshop at length.
But reading was a solitary pursuit, surely?
Grace could understand people coming together to discuss what they liked or disliked about a book, but not sitting and publicly reading in silence.
That was just weird. If she wanted to, and she didn’t, she could read for hours at a time in the comfort of her own home.
And she could do it in her favourite armchair with no bra on and her feet on the coffee table.
So why on earth would anyone choose to come to a bookshop and read communally?
Crush was looking at her. At least, Grace thought she was. Her eyes were masked by that long fringe and Grace was reminded of a cute alpaca – one with a lot of tattoos. Her feet itched to get out of the shop. ‘Oh, well. Never mind. I haven’t brought a book with me, so I’ll …’
One side of Crush’s mouth quirked up in a smile.
‘Don’t be hasty. I’ve got one or two spare.
’ She gestured to the shelves, treating Grace to a view of the underside of her arm which held a scroll with words inked in.
Crush followed her gaze. She twisted the skin on her underarm to read.
‘Razors pain you, Rivers are damp, Acids stain you, And drugs cause cramp. Guns aren’t lawful, Nooses give, Gas smells awful.
You might as well live.’ She grinned. ‘Resumé, Dorothy Parker. Got this tattoo when I was eighteen. The letters will probably merge together when my skin crinkles and turn into one big word-stain. You don’t think about that when you’re eighteen do you? ’
‘You don’t,’ said Grace, not quite sure how else to respond.
‘Still glad I got it, though. No regrets, eh?’ said Crush, letting her arm drop.
No regrets? Grace was only here because of one of hers. She tried to stop her feet from inching towards the door.
‘As you can see, we’re a bit thin on the ground these days; we need all the new members we can get.
Frank was good at bringing in new readers, and calling people up when they hadn’t been along for a while, but since he …
’ She rolled her shoulders as if the thought of Frank’s death was hard for her too.
‘It’s never been the same, so it’s nice to have fresh blood.
’ She smiled at Grace. ‘Now, what’s your genre?
’ Crush slapped her hand on top of a pile of books.
‘My what?’
‘Genre. What kind of books do you like?’ She pointed at a pretty young woman with a black ponytail, a cow’s lick at her hairline giving her a heart-shaped face, sitting in a chair next to the sofa.
‘Jasmine likes cosy crime.’ She directed a finger at a completely bald man who sat with a straight back in a chair near a table with a coffee machine, kettle and small fridge tucked underneath.
A large cat with fluffy white fur and brown ears, face and paws slept at his feet.
It looked like an unusually downy Siamese.
‘Harry reads military stuff and spy thrillers, and Annie’ – she gestured to a woman whose blonde highlights had grown out to show a mixture of brown and grey roots – ‘is a psych thriller girlie.’
The woman waved. ‘This seat’s free,’ she called, tapping the orange sofa cushion next to her.
Grace nodded, hoping no one could see the tension tugging all the muscles in her body tight.
She didn’t feel like she could read in this shop, and she couldn’t imagine sharing the bright sofa with a woman she’d never met before.
It felt too … intimate. ‘Do you know what,’ she said, giving in to the urge to escape.
‘I think I’ll sit this one out because I didn’t bring a book.
I’ll go home and dig one out for next time.
I think that’s the best thing to do.’ She smiled at Crush.
‘Thanks, though. See you next time, maybe.’
‘Aw, don’t go.’ Crush’s mouth drooped at the sides. ‘You don’t have to buy a book. You can start any one you like from the shelves, just be careful not to break the spine, that’s all. If you like it, they might have it at the library, or they’ll order it for you if they haven’t got one in.’
She realized Crush was worried she couldn’t afford to buy a book. ‘I’m happy to buy a book, it’s not that. I’m just—’
Crush grinned. ‘Oh, then you’re my favourite type of new member,’ she said.
‘I’m happy to host the book club, course I am, but if it gets me new customers as well, that’s a win-win.
’ She took Grace’s elbow and led her towards a table in the centre of the room.
‘Now what do you fancy? What about I Let You Go by Clare Mackintosh? It’s a cracking page-turner.
’ She lifted a book with an image of a rain-spattered window and an orange butterfly on the cover.
‘Loads of red herrings and breadcrumbs in this one. I love trying to work out which is which.’ She glanced up at Grace’s face, then picked up a book with a bright blue cover and a crow pecking at old-fashioned milk bottles.
‘Have you read The List of Suspicious Things? It’s set in Yorkshire in the seventies,’ she said.
‘It’s sweet and funny and there’s a mystery vibe going on. Any of that your bag?’
‘Erm, I’ll take them both,’ said Grace. Crush’s obvious enthusiasm made her reluctant to admit she didn’t have a bag when it came to books.
Frank recommended the few titles she read each year, but admitting that she read so little might disappoint this woman, and for some reason she didn’t want to do that.
‘Oo, I like you,’ said Crush, taking the books over to the till, which was in the same place as it had been when Grace worked there.
Then it had been a beautiful solid oak desk.
This was a purpose-built rectangle with display shelves layered along the front.
Grace followed her, unable to shake the sense that this room felt alien, or she did, and somehow that felt like letting Frank down.
For his sake she would buy the books, sit through whatever this strange meeting was, then go home and never come back again.
A warm presence at her shoulder made her turn. The blonde woman called Annie was towering over her, pale eyebrows raised. Her canines turned slightly in over her front teeth, giving her an unusual but oddly pleasant smile. ‘What did you choose?’
Grace picked up the books and showed them to the woman, almost cricking her neck to look up at her face.
‘You’ve got an eclectic taste,’ said Annie. ‘Wish I had. I’ve got so used to reading fast-paced thrillers that keep my mind racing, I’ve lost my appetite for everything else.’
‘That sounds like a challenge to me,’ said Crush, holding out the reader for Grace to tap her debit card.
‘I’m going to make it my mission to find you a book that isn’t a thriller, but grips you the same way.
’ She tapped her finger on the blue book with the crow on the front.
‘Do you know what? I think this would do the trick. It’s about a little girl on the hunt for the Yorkshire Ripper. ’
‘Brilliant. Sold,’ said Annie. ‘I’ll have to wait until the paperback comes out, though.
’ She turned to Grace. ‘Aren’t booksellers ace?
If you buy a book off the internet, it’ll keep serving you suggestions for the same type of novel.
In here you get a rock star picking out something different especially for you. ’
‘Ex-rock star,’ said Crush.
‘Rock star turned bookseller,’ said Annie.
‘I’ll take that.’ Crush handed a paper bag with the two books in over to Grace, who’d been watching the exchange with interest.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You’re a musician?’
‘Yeah, I’m a bassist,’ she said, looking past Grace and smiling at the next person who’d joined the queue. She reached for the book proffered by the customer. She tapped on the screen of the till, quickly glancing up at Grace. ‘Take a seat with Annie. I’ll close up and be over in a few minutes.’
Feeling ambushed, Grace followed Annie to the sofa.
It reminded her of the one in Friends and when she noted the semicircular sign in the window, she saw more nods to the sitcom.
Soft light glowed from various Tiffany lamps; the one next to Grace was made up of pearly white and green glass, with red butterflies made out of copper wire.
Annie sat, crossing her long legs, but when Grace joined her, her feet hardly reached the floor.
She shifted, trying to find a position where she didn’t feel like a toddler trying to hang with the grown-ups.
She wedged a sage-coloured cushion behind her back.
The cat next to the bald man’s shiny shoes opened its eyes and viewed her with what appeared to be confusion, the dark lines above its sapphire eyes like a permanently furrowed brow.
I don’t know what I’m doing here, either, Grace wanted to say. I’m just as befuddled as you.
She counted six people and one cat in the seating area at the back of the shop.
She recognized one or two of the faces and presumed she must’ve seen them around the village, but she had no idea of their names.
She and Frank had lived in Chislehurst all their married life, but, other than calling in on their elderly neighbours, Grace had always kept herself to herself, and now she realized that meant she was alone, even in a group.
The room was haunted by memories of her past, when she had a job she loved and a husband who was her world. Sweat trickled down her back. She wanted to go home.
‘She used to be in Parker,’ Annie said, conspiratorially, nodding her head towards Crush who was now turning the sign on the door over to closed.
‘Parker?’ Grace adjusted the cushion behind her back so the soles of her boots sat flat on the parquet floor. Sweat dribbled from her armpits and soaked into her bra.
‘The band.’
Grace widened her eyes. She’d heard of Parker.
Everyone had. She calculated it must’ve been almost twenty years since the indie girlband were at the height of their fame.
Rosie had been a fan, she was sure of it.
When she envisioned the band, she thought of a woman with a shaved head and black kohl-rimmed eyes.
That must’ve been the lead singer. Grace supposed it wasn’t unusual not to remember the face of the bassist. Didn’t they usually stand at the back?
She watched Crush pick up a book which was lying on the desk, then make her way over to the group.
‘Not gonna lie,’ she said, flopping into a dark green beanbag. ‘Not been the best day.’ She lifted her book and Grace read the title: The Collected Dorothy Parker. ‘So it’s comfort read time for me.’
‘Would you prefer to get straight to reading?’ asked the bald man whose name Grace couldn’t remember, in an accent that wouldn’t have been out of place in Buckingham Palace.
His navy blazer and the Windsor knot in his tie matched his accent perfectly.
The cat looked up at the sound of the man’s voice.
It stared at him with such adoration that Grace’s heart ached.
Why hadn’t she thought of getting a pet in the last year?
A heavy stone immediately landed in her abdomen for thinking a puppy might dull the loss of the man who’d stood by her side for forty-six years.
‘We can talk later, if you feel up to it,’ he said, his voice gentle.
‘That all right with you?’
The group mumbled assent and, to Grace’s surprise, they all opened up their books and e-readers and dipped their eyes to the page.