The Little Bookshop of Lonely Hearts: A feel-good funny romance

‘I did.’ Posy gestured at the flip chart in the manner of a game-show hostess presenting a top-of-the-range fridge freezer to a delighted TV audience. ‘Can I get a drum roll, please?’

She got a half-hearted stomping of feet as she turned the page over and was greeted with silence. Worse than silence. A collective, what the . . . ? look on all five faces.

Posy put her hands on her hips. ‘What do you think? Yes, it’s a bit out there, but it’s memorable, right?’

‘“Reader, I Married Him”,’ Tom read it out loud like he’d only recently learned to speak English. ‘No. No, right?’ He turned to Nina, sitting on his left. ‘Come on. I can’t be the only one who thinks Posy’s been huffing spray mount again.’

‘That was only the one time and it was an accident,’ Posy protested. ‘You’re on my side, Nina! You love the Brontës! It’s from Jane Eyre!’

‘Oh my God, spoilers!’ shrieked Sophie, but then she giggled and smiled at Sam, who tried to smile back but decided he’d be better off hiding his face behind his fringe. Sometimes Posy longed to knock their heads together.

‘I know it’s from Jane Eyre but I’m sorry, Posy, I love you loads, but that is a terrible name for a shop,’ Nina said. ‘Not every romance novel ends with a trip down the aisle. Hello! We’re living in the twenty-first century.’

‘You think a romantic fiction bookshop is a terrible idea?’ Posy had to cling on to the flip chart stand for support. She thought she’d found the answer to all their problems, but now that she stopped to think about it, Verity hadn’t expressed an opinion for or against the scheme and as for Sebastian … he’d made his feelings on the subject only too clear.

She was all out of ideas. This was it. Go big on romance or go home. Or else let Sebastian have the shop and God knows what he’d do with it. He had no respect for what Bookends represented. All those rooms, all those shelves that had held books that took their readers to magical lands and beautiful truths, the reading nook, the weathered floorboards that had been trodden by so many customers coming in for a story …

‘Shit, Posy! Are you crying?’ Nina scrambled to her feet so she could enfold Posy in her arms and press her against her amazing breasts, which admittedly always felt quite comforting.

‘I’m not crying,’ Posy said, but her words were muffled by Nina’s chest and she was kind of crying. There had been a couple of tears and a throb in her throat. It was pre-crying.

‘It’s a crappy name, not a crappy idea,’ Nina insisted as she stroked Posy’s back rhythmically. ‘It is a good idea, isn’t it? Who doesn’t love a bit of romance? Reading about it is the closest I get to it. Most times I’m lucky if I can find a guy who’ll buy me dinner, and then it’s only because he thinks I’m going to let him come home with me and see me naked.’

‘God, Nina, there are children present!’

Posy couldn’t see Tom because she was still face down in Nina’s cleavage, but he sounded strained.

‘I’m not a child,’ she heard Sam snap.

‘Do guys really expect you to get naked just because they bought you dinner?’ That was Sophie. ‘A really expensive dinner or, like, a cheeky Nando’s?’

They were getting off-topic. Posy freed herself from Nina’s embrace and sniffed. Then she looked plaintively at Verity, because Verity was Bookends’ designated adult.

‘I think your idea has possibilities, as long as we can achieve it on a budget of, well, zero pounds and nought pence.’ Verity pressed one fist to her right temple as if she were reaching the limits of her endurance. ‘But that name, I can’t even say it out loud.’

If Verity was on board, then it only left Tom, who wasn’t exactly swinging from the light fitting with glee. Though the light fitting, like everything else in the shop, was past the first flush of youth and could barely take the weight of an eco bulb and a paper shade. ‘What about it, Tom? Could you bear to sell nothing but romantic fiction if I promise not to paint the shop pink? I know you’re doing a PhD in English Literature, but would it be a massive step down?’

‘It’s not solely on English Literature. It’s more nuanced than that,’ Tom said, because the topic of Tom’s PhD thesis was a mystery to them all. Whenever Posy asked Tom about it he started using long, fancy words like epistemology and neorealism, and so Posy remained clueless. It was probably for the best. ‘Anyway, I’m not wholly against the idea of romantic fiction. But I am not working in a shop called Reader, I Married Him. Can you imagine what it would be like having to answer the phone?’

‘Hello, you’re through to Reader, I Married Him, what can I help you with today?’ Sam parroted, then looked at Sophie, who rewarded him with a smile.

‘OK, I get the message,’ Posy said in a resigned tone. ‘What do we call the shop then?’

‘The Love Shack?’ Nina suggested. ‘Though that sounds like we sell marital aids. What about Meet Cute? That’s one of my favourite bits of a good love story.’

‘What’s a meet cute?’ Sophie asked. Which ruled that out because not everybody knew what it meant. ‘Couldn’t we just call it Love Story?’

‘Too vague,’ Verity said. ‘Come on, people – think! Why do people like romantic fiction?’

They sat in deafening silence for the time it took the clock on the wall to do a complete circuit then hit the minute mark with a sticky-sounding click.

Posy tried to think what it was about romantic novels that had her forsaking housework, TV, and going out on actual dates so she could find some real-life romance. ‘Better a night in with a good book, than a night out with some lame guy who can’t be bothered to put on a clean shirt,’ she was fond of saying.

Was it the sparky heroines who didn’t give up on love, no matter how many times they’d had their hearts broken? Was it the hero with his dashing good looks and sardonic wit, who might be nursing a broken heart too? The sizzling first kiss? The lingering looks? The attraction that couldn’t be denied? It was all of those things that kept Posy coming back, but above all else, it was the happy ending. It was the hero and heroine walking off the page and into the sunset hand in hand. You might not get your own happy ending, Posy knew that only too well, but a good romance always finished with a happy ending, and if it didn’t then Posy felt cheated. There had even been a couple of occasions when she’d flung a book across the room in disgust.

‘It’s the happy ending,’ she said out loud. ‘Everyone wants a happy ending.’

‘Happy Endings?’ mused Verity. ‘Possibly.’

‘Oh no. No. No. No.’ Nina looked horrified. ‘You can’t call it Happy Endings. It sounds like a knocking shop masquerading as a massage parlour.’

‘Does it? Why?’ Both Sophie and Sam looked confused. From under Sam’s fringe, Posy could almost hear the cogs whirring, then light dawned. ‘Oh! I get it! Yeah, can’t call the shop Happy Endings. I’d get rinsed at school.’

‘God, why does everything have some smutty other meaning?’ Posy lamented. ‘Happy Ever Afters should be a beautiful thing, not some sordid double entendre. This is precisely why we need more romance in the world and not … Oh! That’s it! Happy Ever After! It’s perfect. It is perfect, isn’t it?’

‘A Happy Ever After guaranteed, or your money back!’ Nina exclaimed. ‘We could have that as our slogan.’

‘Except we might have to issue a lot of refunds to people who bought copies of Wuthering Heights or The Great Gatsby,’ Tom said, but he was smiling. ‘I can cope with working in a shop called Happy Every After. Just about.’

‘Happy Ever After, then. That’s the name of the shop,’ Verity said, as she started gathering up her things. ‘All those in favour, raise their hand.’ She looked around. ‘That includes you, Tom.’ Tom raised his right hand and gave Verity the middle finger of the other one. ‘Great. We’re unanimous. I really have to go now. I wasn’t planning on staying late tonight.’

She was out the door with her coat hanging half on, half off, because when Verity decided she’d had enough, there was no weapon forged that could stop her.

‘Happy Ever After. I like it,’ Nina said. She looked around. ‘So, pub, everyone?’

Sam nodded. ‘Yeah, I’ll have a vodka and tonic, if you’re buying.’

‘You will have no such thing because you aren’t going to the pub – and neither are you, Sophie. The two of you are going upstairs and you can start on your homework until Sophie’s dad comes to pick her up,’ Posy said and really Sam should be thanking her instead of glaring, because now he and Sophie could bond over the Hundred Years War and what a bitch she was.

The two of them, grumbling all the way, stomped up the stairs as Posy followed Tom and Nina through the shop so she could lock the door behind them.

She watched them hurry across the courtyard. It was raining. Nina shrieked as she skidded over the cobbles. Tom took her arm and they ran around the corner.

Upstairs, she heard a door slam and the sound of music suddenly blaring out, but down here all was still and calm.

‘Happy Ever After,’ she whispered under her breath as she straightened display tables, plumped cushions and did a very lacklustre job of mopping the floors, because they couldn’t afford a cleaner and it was usually Verity’s job as she said it was the only way to ensure that it was done properly. ‘Happy Ever After.’

No matter how many times she said those three words, they never lost their meaning. Their intent. Their promise.

‘Happy Ever After.’ She stood in the centre of the room, next to the main display table, her hand resting on the photo of Lavinia and Perry. ‘Do you like your new name?’

Maybe Posy had been waiting for a sign, some acknowledgment from a higher power that she was doing the right thing for herself, for Sam, and for Bookends. Giving the shop a happy ever after too.

The shop stayed silent but Posy felt the same comforting glow that always came over her when she was alone among the books and decided that that was all the answer she needed.

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