Chapter Thirty-Two
A new energy crackled in the room, as they brainstormed money-generating ideas. ‘I’ve been thinking about what’s going on next door,’ said Adam.
‘Next door?’ said Joe. As if aware that his old haunt was the topic of conversation, Tybalt peered around the group. ‘What’s happening there?’
‘We overheard a couple of fellas discussing the rent rise the other night, and saying they planned to knock through from the empty shop and make this one big unit.’ Adam scratched under his chin, thoughtfully.
‘What are they planning to do with all that space?’ said Susan.
‘Open some kind of burger chain,’ said Erin, glumly.
‘Another fast-food place?’ Susan sounded disgusted, ‘Instead of your lovely café? That’s awful.’
‘We can’t let that happen,’ said Joe. ‘Those places are soulless. This café’s part of the local community. A fast-food outlet couldn’t offer anything like as much to the area.’
‘Well, if they can afford the rent and I can’t, then …’ Erin lifted her hands and trailed off.
‘They said another couple of things that got my journalistic antennae twitching, though,’ said Adam, propping his elbows on his knees and leaning forwards.
‘I think the two of them might be related. The one with the older-sounding voice called the other one “son”, and when they talked about the planning application … I don’t know, something just struck me as off. ’
‘So, you’re saying it might be another family run business?’ It occurred to Erin that if that was the case, then maybe it would make losing the café more bearable.
‘That’s not the impression I got,’ said Adam ‘And they talked about how people around here were too snobby to want a burger chain, so even if it was, it would probably have a different ethos to this place.’
‘Charming,’ said Susan, crossing her arms, seemingly oblivious to the fact her indignant tone and pious expression did little to disprove the point.
‘It felt more like the older man was pulling some strings, and a third party was involved somehow.’ Adam ran his tongue over his lips. ‘I’m wondering how he knew the exact figure of the rent increase. Have you told anyone except Jack?’
Erin shook her head vigorously. ‘No one. Even thinking about it made me feel sick. I put my head in the sand when I first got the letter. I was paralysed by fear, I couldn’t think about it, never mind talk about it. I only mentioned it to Jack the other day, and the only person he told was Riley.’
‘Oh, love. I’m so sorry you’ve been going through this.’ Joe gripped her hand tightly. ‘I wish you’d said something.’ He turned to Adam. ‘You think there’s something fishy going on?’
‘I certainly think it’s worth looking into. Leave it with me.’
‘Thank you,’ said Erin, choked by all the kindness, but painfully aware of how little time she had left to make this work.
‘Does anyone have any ideas about how we can get profits up?’ said Susan. ‘Fast?’
‘I could try to pull a few strings and get you a feature in one of the local papers,’ said Adam. ‘And maybe some advertorial at a discount.’
‘Thank you,’ said Erin, blown away by how proactive he was being.
‘That’s really kind. I’ve looked into advertising, but it’s so bloody expensive.
And it would have to be a series of adverts, wouldn’t it, to shift the dial?
Don’t you have to see something seven times or something like that for it to permeate?
’ If that was the case, three and a half weeks was nowhere near enough time, even if she could afford it.
‘You just need to get someone to taste your superior coffee and experience your superlative customer service once and then they’d be a customer for life,’ said Susan, her tone suggesting she was taking the news of the café’s demise as a personal affront.
If only it were that simple. ‘The only people I can guarantee will be customers for life are you lot and Zita, and she costs me more in sugar than she contributes to profits.’
‘I’m never filling her bowl up again,’ said Riley, slumping back in her chair and crossing her arms. ‘And you can’t make me.’
‘Fair enough.’ Erin stared out of the café’s window at Brigade Street beyond. The scene was so familiar. It broke her heart to think she would lose that on top of everything else.
‘You need a USP,’ said Riley.
‘I thought we had one.’ Erin turned to view the wall of books behind her, the spines adding a trove of colour to the room.
‘Maybe people aren’t interested in sitting quietly with a book anymore.
Perhaps they’d rather scroll on their phones.
Things don’t stay the same, do they?’ Oh, how she wished they did.
‘That’s so sad,’ said Mercy. She examined the wall of books.
‘I suppose it’s the way of the world, though.
When I was at the library, I admit I was reluctant to embrace changes when they came along.
I was up in arms when they introduced digital books to borrow.
I thought it was fine that we had the cassette versions, then the CDs, because visually impaired readers needed stories too, but when they brought in ebooks and audio downloads, I thought it would be the death of what I considered real books and the library system as we knew it.
But I was wrong. It evolved, people kept reading, and I learned the library is so much more than somewhere people come to get physical books.
It’s a community space, and that has a value all of its own.
I feel a similar way about this place, too. ’ She gave a deep sigh.
‘I do love an audiobook,’ said Adam. ‘When you’re travelling, it’s a lot easier to carry headphones than a hardback.’
‘I still remember my first audiobook.’ Mercy grinned.
‘It was the Orwell Collection, narrated by Stephen Fry. Sixteen hours of pure brilliance. I never looked back. I know now that it doesn’t matter how someone reads, or listens, the story is the same, and every reader will have their own takeaway from the book, however it finds its way into their head.
The fact is, the old ways aren’t always the best. They’re just old. ’
Much as Erin wanted to argue that the old ways did matter, she had to admit Mercy made a very good point.
She’d recently listened to In Memoriam by Alice Winn on her walks to and from work, and playing it while she cleaned the kitchen and prepared food had made the mindless tasks dissolve as her brain was entirely transported by the poignant, heartbreaking love story set against the horrific conflict of the First World War.
She would never have time to sit and read all of the books she wanted to.
Being able to listen to some was a welcome addition to her life.
With this in mind, she had to reluctantly concede that not all change was bad.
‘What about applying for a license and turning this place into a café-bar?’ said Riley.
‘We’d have to overhaul the menu and offer different food, buy in all kinds of alcohol, hire staff.’ She lifted her hair from her neck, which had grown sticky at the last suggestion.
‘We could turn it into a venue,’ said Riley. ‘You could have live music or spoken word events. I could ask that promoter Gavin if he’s got any ideas.’
They all peered around the room, and Erin could imagine them all thinking the same things; the café was just about big enough for the comfy chairs they were sitting in, and the smattering of tables, but there was nowhere for anything resembling a stage.
The corner where the record player stood would be big enough for one person and a microphone stand, but an amp would be a push.
Erin eyed her mother’s record player and tears stung the corner of her eyes.
She couldn’t do away with that. It was part of what made the place special.
She didn’t want anything about The Bookmark to change.
That wasn’t true. She did want it to make money again.
‘I don’t think it’s big enough,’ she said.
‘It’s a shame, because the events coordinator in me loves the idea of holding things like readings and spoken word gigs here. ’
‘I still think it’s worth getting Gavin to take a look. He might have some ideas.’
‘Okay,’ said Erin, more to appease Riley than because she thought anything would come of it. It would take too much time to implement any of these changes, and time, along with money, was far too short.
‘I’ll give it some thought, too,’ said Adam, decisively.
‘And I’ll let you know what I find out about what’s going on next door.
This place is the closest I’ve ever had to a local.
I don’t want to lose it.’ The others murmured their agreement, and while Erin was deeply moved by his words, a layer of guilt added to the misery of potentially not being able to keep hold of the business.
Adam offered to stay behind at the end of book group and help her tidy up.
It would have been churlish to refuse, especially since her grounds were that her feelings for him were getting stronger, despite her best efforts, and that wasn’t what she wanted.
Instead, she agreed, and rushed around to get the jobs done as quickly as possible, so she didn’t act on the magnetic pull she felt whenever he was near.
He paused in the kitchen doorway. ‘I’ve arranged to meet Oliver,’ he said. ‘We’re going to an exhibition at Tate Britain.’
Erin grinned properly for the first time that evening. ‘That’s great news. How do you feel about it?’
‘Nervous.’ He scratched the stubble under his chin. ‘But excited. It’s weird. I’m not usually a worrier, but I keep thinking of all the things that could go wrong.’
Swallowing the urge to say, welcome to my world, Erin said, ‘Like what?’ as she powered down the coffee machine and checked all the other appliances were turned off.
‘What if he doesn’t like me? I mean, what if he expects a proper father figure, a bloke in a suit and tie, and I turn up like this.
’ He gestured to his slightly crumpled We Are Scientists gig T-shirt, and faded Levis.
‘I’m an overgrown kid. I ride a motorbike and don’t have a regular job.
I don’t even own my own place. That’s hardly stable father material, is it? ’
‘You’re fine as you are,’ said Erin, thinking to herself that he was worrying because this mattered, really mattered.
Perhaps he wasn’t lucky for his ability to breeze through life.
Maybe she was the fortunate one for having people she cared so deeply about that their welfare kept her up at night.
And she wanted to tell him he was more than fine.
He was clever and interesting and kind. ‘And he’s an adult himself.
He’s probably not looking for a traditional father figure.
In my view, authenticity is the best thing you can offer anyone.
Don’t pretend to be someone you’re not or try to fit some kind of mould.
That’s all artifice and you can’t make proper connections if you’re pretending.
He’ll want to know the real you, and the real you is all right, from what I’ve seen.
A bit annoying, obviously, but generally passable. ’
‘High praise.’ Adam gave a short laugh. ‘Annoying but generally passable. I’ll put that in my bio.’
‘You do that.’ Erin couldn’t remember when she last had this easy banter with a man. ‘And you’re putting down roots, aren’t you? You’ve got a local café. That’s a start.’
‘I have.’ He bowed. ‘Thank you.’ He took in a breath. ‘I wanted to talk to you about that, actually. When I said this place felt like a local, I didn’t mean to add any pressure. It’s not just the café that makes it feel like that, it’s the people.’
Goosebumps rose on Erin’s skin. ‘I appreciate that, thank you.’ His words permeated through the layers of anxiety and lodged deep in her mind, because what he said was true.
The people she loved happened to congregate at The Bookmark, but the building mattered too.
It felt like part of her, it was so tied up in her memories and her family history.
Adam insisted on walking her home, and she was glad to have his solid presence by her side. As the roads got quieter on their approach to her flat, she realized they’d become comfortable enough in each other’s presence to walk in companionable silence.
‘Thank you,’ she said, when they arrived at Dartmouth Grove.
‘No problem.’ He stood with his hands deep in his pockets. ‘Any time.’
She had the urge to roll onto her tiptoes and kiss his cheek, but would that be too intimate?
She imagined the feel of his stubble against her lips and a shiver ran through her.
Resisting her instincts, she reached out and squeezed his forearm.
‘Night, then.’ Embarrassed, by her odd gesture, she turned and marched towards the building, hearing him echo her words back at her, and feeling the cold leather of his jacket somehow hot on her palm.