Chapter Six
Now, whenever she opened The Bookmark, Erin couldn’t help seeing the room through fresh eyes.
She took in the cornucopia of prints, the painted brick fireplace, and the blue candlesticks with half melted candles on the mantlepiece, waxy bobbles dripping down their sides.
She could remember exactly when her mother bought the Murano glass vase made up of multi-coloured squares that sat in the fireplace and caught the sun in the late afternoon, casting rainbow patterns across the grate. She loved every part of that room.
Now she was at risk of losing it, the memories attached to each item in her pretty, hotch-potch café seemed so precious that even the thought of it no longer being there every day at the turn of a key caused her heart to ache.
When Tybalt slinked past her and bounced into his favourite armchair, tears sprang into her eyes.
He’d already lost his cosy spot under the desk in Victoria’s gift shop.
Now he would probably lose his place here too, along with all the petting he got from the customers who adored him.
That thought made her press her hand to her chest. What about her loyal customers?
Where would they go if The Bookmark closed down?
Where would the baby groups go? Nowhere else locally had a corner filled with wipe-clean toys.
She knew many people came for the company in familiar surroundings more than the food and drink.
And where else had a wall of books for customers to peruse?
One dreadful thought tumbled over another.
What about book group? They’d have to find a new venue.
Everything would change, and if there was one thing Erin hated above all else, it was change.
During a restless night, Erin had thought hard about how to tell Jack and her friends about the rent increase.
Jack was already dealing with enough change.
If he knew that their income was at risk, then he might feel like he had to take any old job, rather than something he was passionate about.
She didn’t want to force his hand. She would keep it to herself for now.
It felt like a long day, and Zita was her last customer.
As usual, Erin turned a blind eye when she tipped the sachets of sugar from the bowl in the middle of the table into her stained canvas bag.
She’d been a regular of The Bookmark for as long as Erin could remember.
She recalled once pointing out to her mother that Zita was sneaking the sugar into her bag.
Mary had smiled and shaken her head. ‘I know,’ she’d said. ‘She’s a character, that one.’
‘But she only buys one cup of coffee, then nurses it for two hours while she reads the books. And she takes more books than she brings in,’ Erin said, indignantly.
‘Why do you think that is?’ Mary said.
‘Because she’s a cheapskate?’
Erin still winced when she remembered the disappointment in her mother’s eyes.
‘Or it could be that she’s lonely, and she finds comfort here, reading and watching the world go by.
We have plenty more books. It’s not as if she ever comes during the breakfast or lunch rush, so we don’t usually need the table. ’
Stung, Erin countered with, ‘Even if that’s true, she shouldn’t be stealing the sugar.’
‘What’s a little sugar? It’s not worth losing a customer over.’
Over the years, Erin had grown oddly fond of Zita, who must now be in her eighties.
She rarely spoke, other than to say a quiet thank you for the coffee Erin or Riley made, without her having to give her order.
Erin had stopped trying to elicit conversation over a decade ago, and let the old lady read at the table nearest the door in peace.
She often refilled the sugar bowl on her regular table shortly before Zita arrived at 4 p.m., in the full knowledge that it would be empty by the time she left.
Now, she was clearing away Zita’s empty cup, trying not to become overwhelmed with worry about where the old lady would spend her afternoons if The Bookmark closed down.
She still used the word if in her head, but really it felt more like a when.
She shifted the chairs ready for the rest of the book group to arrive, biting down on the inside of her cheek to stop herself from crying at the unfairness of it all.
People needed places like this. She needed it.
She went over to the old Pioneer turntable which had been her mother’s pride and joy when she bought it back in the eighties.
The LPs she kept at the cafe were stacked in the cupboard beneath, and she put her finger on one after the other, pulling them towards her, checking the sleeves.
For her, choosing an album was like choosing a book.
It had to be the right one for that moment in time.
She let out a wobbly sigh when she saw Miles Davis’ familiar face, lips pursed against a trumpet’s silver mouthpiece on the cover of Kind of Blue.
It was her mother’s favourite, and it was perfect for calming the nerves Erin hadn’t been able to shake since the letter arrived.
She slid the vinyl from the sleeve and breathed in the dusty, plasticky scent that always took her back in time.
In recent years, she’d caved in and had The Bookmark wired with a modern sound system, but no amount of technology could replace the weight of a record in her hands, the lift and precise placement of the arm, and the distinctive crackle through the speakers before the first notes.
‘Miles,’ said a voice from the doorway. ‘Good choice.’ Joe wandered into the room, Tybalt rising to greet him as he walked towards the armchairs.
Joe sat, with his usual noisy exhalation and Tybalt jumped onto his lap, staring up as Joe held his hands out in front of him, closed his eyes and moved his fingers, as if plucking invisible strings.
‘Mum loved this one,’ said Erin. ‘Was it a regular on your set list?’ She was eager to be distracted by one of her friend’s tales of the time he was a double bassist, playing in various jazz clubs around London.
Joe opened his eyes and smiled. ‘Of course. The bass notes move up and down the neck so beautifully, listen.’ He closed his eyes again and Erin did the same, only opening them at the sound of the door opening. Her stomach gave an involuntary flip at the sight of Adam.
‘Miles Davis,’ he said, nodding as if he approved.
He was wearing the biker jacket covered in badges again, and underneath Erin spotted a T-shirt with Pixies emblazoned above what looked like a black and white photograph of a topless Flamenco dancer.
That seemed an odd choice to wear for a book group.
What if someone was offended by nudity? He probably didn’t care.
He was probably the kind of man who wore what he wanted when he wanted regardless of who he might offend.
It occurred to her that she was trying to find fault with him to counter her attraction.
She didn’t have the time or the energy to fancy anyone right now. She had enough disruption in her life.
‘You’re a jazz man?’ said Joe, his blue eyes lighting up.
‘Isn’t everyone?’ Adam approached them, the thick soles of his biker boots clonking on the parquet floor.
‘Anyone with any sense,’ said Joe.
‘Joe’s a double bassist,’ said Erin, with pride. ‘He’s played with all kinds of famous musicians, haven’t you?’
‘Was a double bassist,’ Joe corrected her. He held out his hands and rubbed at his thickened knuckles. ‘Blasted arthritis put a stop to it a few years ago.’
‘But you did,’ said Erin. ‘You had all those experiences.’ She turned to Adam and found that he was watching her. A blush crept onto her cheeks. ‘The stories this man can tell.’
Adam tickled Tybalt under his chin before pulling over an upright chair and sitting. Erin approved of the fact he didn’t seat himself in one of the armchairs. ‘I’d like to hear those.’
‘Evening all.’ Susan blustered in, smoothing down her hair.
‘It’s blowing a gale out there.’ If it was, then her grey helmet didn’t appear to have been touched by it.
Riley followed after her, then Mercy, then Hafsa, who was wearing a coral-coloured jumpsuit, looking like she’d stepped off a catwalk, rather than from a GP surgery in Lewisham.
Riley peered at Adam’s T-shirt. ‘My grandad loved the Pixies.’
‘Way to make me feel old,’ he said. He glanced down at his chest, as if surprised to find the picture there. ‘Ah, I didn’t think about the graphic when I put this on this morning. Hope I’m not offending anyone.’
Joe leaned forwards and examined Adam’s chest. ‘Goodness,’ he said. ‘My late wife, Nuala, would have had something to say about that.’
‘She’d have sent you home to change,’ said Erin, silently acknowledging that her theory of him not giving a damn had been disproved.
She recalled Nuala’s fierce temperament, her views as fiery as her flame-red hair.
She’d been a primary school teacher, and instilled feminism in her young charges decades before it became accepted.
‘Anything that could be interpreted as exploiting women, and you’d know about it. ’
Adam tugged the T-shirt out to examine the picture. ‘She looks quite happy.’
Joe shook his head. ‘Rooky error, son. You’re seeing it through the male gaze.
Think of the people behind that shoot. The man behind the camera, whoever decided the woman should be topless, all the unreconstructed men who are viewing her as just a body.
’ Erin glowed with pride. Adam might be oblivious to everyday sexism, but her seventy-five-year-old pal wasn’t.
She’d be eternally grateful to have been brought up around people as open-minded and thoughtful as her parents and their friends.
‘Okay, I hear you, but … it’s the Pixies. It’s punk pop. I’d be very surprised if the women in the band weren’t on board.’ He turned to Riley. ‘Help me out, here.’
Riley smiled. ‘It’s a nice shirt. I like it.’
‘Anyway,’ said Susan, slapping her hands on her thighs. ‘Enough about breasts on chests. Let’s decide on our next book. Who’s got a suggestion?’
‘I have,’ said Riley. ‘Chegs says I should read more classics.’
‘Does he?’ Erin crossed her arms, watching as Riley took a battered copy of Great Expectations out of her bag.
‘Is he well read himself?’ As far as Erin was aware, Chegs worked in finance, not publishing.
What a kind-hearted, empathetic spoken word performer like Riley was doing with a city trader was beyond her.
She had the feeling Chegs was indulging his wayward side before ultimately settling down with a woman who wore her shirt collar up and a pastel jersey over her shoulders.
Riley deserved better. Erin hoped she understood the subtext behind her questions, because her silent rule meant she couldn’t offer advice or criticism without being asked.
‘He says he is.’ That did nothing to dispel Erin’s suspicions.
Neither did the frown that appeared on Riley’s face, which suggested she was trying to think of a time she’d seen her smug twat of a boyfriend actually open a book.
Or maybe that was Erin’s imagination. ‘Has anyone read this?’ Riley showed the faded brown cover with figures in waistcoats and skull caps.
Wasn’t it about a woman who was jilted at the altar? The cover gave no indication of that.
‘I read it years ago,’ said Susan. ‘I wouldn’t mind a reread.’
‘Let’s hear the last page,’ said Erin.
‘Surely you don’t need to hear the last page of Great Expectations?’ said Adam. ‘Everybody knows what it’s about.’
Erin bristled. ‘It’s what we do.’
‘But …’ He raised his palms. ‘It’s Dickens. You either want to read it, or you don’t.’
‘He makes a fair point,’ said Susan. ‘Any idiot knows the premise.’
Erin scowled at her. It was bad enough that this man was coming in and upending things, without one of her own going rogue.
‘We are called The Last Page Book Group for a reason,’ she said.
‘I’d rather follow protocol and keep things as they are, if that’s okay with you?
’ She felt she had to add the question out of politeness.
‘Protocol?’ said Adam, with a tip of his head.
He wore a smile that could be described as flirtatious, but Erin wasn’t going to concede her position just because he made her insides flutter. ‘Yes. I thought you understood—’
‘There’s no harm in it, is there?’ interrupted Hafsa, diplomatically.
‘Is that true, though?’ said Adam. ‘Surely it interferes with your enjoyment of the book, if you already know the final outcome?’
‘Not mine,’ said Erin. ‘It gives me a sense of calm. I like to know what’s coming.’
‘I just don’t get it,’ he said, scratching the stubble underneath his chin.
‘We explained last week,’ said Erin, her exasperation showing in her voice. ‘I know it’s not for everyone. If you want—’
‘No, no, it’s fine.’ He raised his hand in a placatory gesture.
‘It’s good, actually. I’m always up for trying something new.
’ He directed the last comment at her, and Erin was sure she saw a hint of playfulness in his eyes that was as annoying as it was appealing.
But as he sat back in his chair and crossed his legs, she reminded herself why it wasn’t a good idea to develop feelings for this charming man.
First off, she’d been taken in by good looks before.
She wouldn’t allow herself to make that mistake again.
Plus, they were from completely different worlds.
He was a travel writer and adventurer extraordinaire.
She was a single mother with responsibilities, and a business that was three short months away from financial ruin.
He clearly had no idea what it was like when you had to know what was around the corner, or you were consumed by panic.
She couldn’t afford to be so gung-ho. There was no safe way of predicting the outcome of a relationship, so the best thing to do was avoid it altogether.
She would put a spike in any feelings she had for him and preserve what she already knew made her feel safe: her solid, predictable book group.
She took a breath before saying, ‘Riley, will you please read out the last page?’