The Seaside Book Club
Prologue
DRIFTWICK BAY – JURASSIC COAST – DORSET
Two weeks ago
Howard switched on the classic bronze table lamp at his desk. Darkness surrounded the cottage in Driftwick Bay, and silence – apart from the low hum of the laptop when he pressed the power button – cloaked the room.
Five minutes to go.
As the laptop warmed itself up, Howard went into the kitchen to fetch his mug of tea, and clutching it between both hands, he managed to get it back to the rear room of the cottage without spilling a drop.
He found the link for tonight’s book club session in his emails and clicked, as usual almost taken by surprise by his face on camera.
Sometimes he genuinely forgot that he was in his seventies, with grey hair and lines on his face that showed a life well lived, because when he disappeared into books he felt like a different person.
With books he got to inhabit a whole range of worlds, meet a cast of different characters, some likeable, others not so much.
He loved nothing more than absorbing himself in a story and becoming a part of it.
And it wasn’t only the books on his shelves at home that gave him pleasure, it was the many hundreds lining the shelves of Driftwick Bay Books, the bookshop he’d taken over soon after they moved down this way.
He’d saved Driftwick Bay Books from being bought by a developer and turned into more holiday accommodation and it had not only warmed his heart to do so, it had also earned him kudos in the town with locals, who still thanked him to this day that they’d got to keep their beloved bookshop.
Howard’s love of reading had been his companion ever since he was a little boy.
He had always found bookshops and libraries magical and enticing.
But owning a bookshop wasn’t something he’d ever put on his wish list until he came here and heard on the local grapevine that the bookshop was about to be bought up and subsequently got rid of.
He’d told the other members of the book club about the locals’ plight, and he’d found himself saying out loud that he wanted to save it.
He wanted to learn the ropes. He’d retired but he’d missed having a focus and this shop could make him and Bonnie a real part of this town where they wanted to spend the rest of their days.
And so, with the encouragement of the members of the book club, he’d made a counter-offer to the bookshop’s owner and while it wasn’t as high as the money offered by the developer they agreed to sell it to him at the last minute.
He’d signed on the dotted line and taken it on.
And now, he couldn’t imagine it any other way.
He caught sight of his copy of The Railway Children by E.
Nesbit slotted in at the end of one of the shelves behind his desk.
When it had been his turn to choose a title for book club he’d wanted the others to experience this one because it was a particular favourite.
A couple of attendees had turned their noses up at the choice, as was their right – they’d get their own back soon he was sure.
But his favourite people at the book club, Faye and Margot, had both been excited.
Faye, in her late twenties, had never read it!
Margot had but not for years and couldn’t wait to leap into the story again.
He imagined they’d found a more up-to-date version of the book than his rather battered paperback he’d had since his dad gave it to him in the late 1960s.
His copy had yellowing well-thumbed pages, but diving into it again had been special.
Set in the early 1900s, the story was a joy to read, full of charm with its English countryside and characters who were brave and kind.
As he’d reread it he’d gone back to his childhood.
He’d been the boy on the steam train with his grandad during one of England’s humid summers, the boy who loved the playground and making friends and being brave at the smallest of things.
But mostly it had been an escape for him to lose himself in the story, which reminded him that he’d had a good life.
He’d had seventy-one years and more experiences than many and he was grateful, but he needed to keep being brave just like those characters in The Railway Children were and stand his ground because he was being pressured by the developer who had wanted the bookshop originally and was still after it.
The screen in front of him changed as Faye, the young woman who ran the book club, came into view.
When he’d joined up a year ago the book club had gone by its original name, The Seaside Book Club, and had been run by its founder, Clare.
Clare was an insomniac who had sought solace in reading, but after she passed away Faye, her niece, took over her legacy.
She was doing a fine job with it too. And soon after Howard joined, given the time of the book club was always at the midnight hour, he’d suggested they change its name to The Midnight Book Club.
He’d been joking, he’d thought Faye would want to keep the original name, but Faye decided they could try it out.
He’d felt bad, suggested The Midnight Seaside Book Club instead, to incorporate the original name, but she’d dismissed his worry and announced to everyone that from now on they would go by the name of The Midnight Book Club.
The fact that plenty of members lived by the seaside or had strong ties to the coast made it a seaside book club anyway, she’d assured him with a smile.
Next to appear was Margot. The three of them were different generations but that didn’t matter.
They were the regulars, the ones who were always there, the constants while other members dipped in and out.
Howard didn’t mind in the slightest though because they seemed to have an easy rapport and usually had a bit of a natter before anyone else joined.
And as the town of Driftwick Bay settled down in their beds, Howard felt some of his weariness fall away when the carriage clock on the bookshelf ticked so that its hands met on the hour.
It was time. Time for the Midnight Book Club.