The Bookshop on Rosemary Lane: The feel-good read perfect for those long winter nights

‘Dell, what on earth’s got into you tonight?’

‘Nothing! It just sounds like it’s stuck in 1972, that’s all. The ladies’ section.’ She shuddered and glared at him, knowing she sounded bitter and out of sorts. Mark was studying the screen now. For such small creatures, moles couldn’t half wreak havoc on a course. In certain areas the piles of earth had all joined together, almost obliterating the grass.

‘Della …’ He paused. ‘You weren’t … checking up on me, were you?’

‘No, of course not.’

She looked around the room, at the study in neutrals. Even the abstract painting above the fireplace was a homage to beige, a series of perfect circles that might have been drawn around a coffee mug.

‘Yes, you were. What on earth made you do that?’

Della looked back at her husband, wondering how a fifty-two-year-old man could still look so attractive in rather old-mannish checked M&S pyjamas at 3.20 a.m. ‘I just wondered,’ she muttered, ‘when I was coming back from Mum’s and drove past the course and saw it was closed.’

‘Oh, right.’ His tone lightened. ‘Well, yes, you’ve read about it now. Mole invasion. Completely out of control these past couple of weeks.’ She watched his shoulders relaxing, and glanced at the wisps of dark hair on his chest. ‘Started when Gordon – he’s the new green keeper – took over,’ Mark added. ‘Bit of an environmentalist.’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘Well, the guy before used poison and there was barely any problem at all.’

‘Poison? That sounds pretty extreme.’

‘You can’t just chase them away, Dell,’ he chuckled.

‘And what does this Gordon do?’

‘Nothing,’ Mark remarked with a wry laugh. ‘That’s the problem. He’s tried humane traps where you catch the buggers, then take them off for a drive and release them so they can wreak havoc somewhere else. And when that didn’t work he had some mole whisperer guy come round …’

‘A mole whisperer?’ Della spluttered. ‘Is that really a thing?’

‘Apparently so,’ Mark replied, closing her laptop. ‘He was supposed to be able to coax them out of their tunnels by, I don’t know, whispering sweet nothings, I guess.’

Despite everything, Della laughed. ‘I wonder what he whispered?’

Mark leaned closer and breathed into her ear. ‘Come out, little moley. Stop wrecking our course. There are so many more fun places you can go.’

She turned to him and smiled. After all these years, she still noticed how lovely his eyes were, a soft greeny-blue, outlined with the dark, silky lashes she’d once pronounced wasted on a man. ‘So, where have you been playing, then? Since the mole thing, I mean?’

‘Cragham. It’s actually a much better course.’

‘Why didn’t you say?’

He gave her a curious look. ‘Since when have you been interested in golf, Dell?’

‘Well, it’s just not my kind of— ’

‘I mean, d’you really want me to come home and give you a detailed report on the game?’

Della frowned. ‘Of course not.’

He smirked. ‘D’you want to know how I broke eighty for the first time, but it all went to pot and I tried to grind it out with a wedge?’

‘I beg your pardon?’ she asked, sniggering now.

‘You want to know about my swing, honey?’ She smiled, overwhelmed by a desire to kiss him. But he was already on his feet, tugging her up by the hand too. ‘Come on, let’s get back to bed.’

‘God, yes, it’s so late.’

He held her hand as they made their way upstairs, and it was still wrapped around hers, warm and comforting, as they lay side by side in bed. ‘Is there something else, Dell?’ he ventured.

‘No, no, there’s nothing.’ She felt ridiculous now, petty and jealous, no better than the kind of woman who rummages through a partner’s emails and finds precisely nothing untoward.

‘Is all this about Sophie leaving? I mean, is that why you seem so tense?’

She turned this over in her mind. ‘Maybe. I mean, I know it’s great for her, a whole a new adventure …’ She broke off. ‘I ran into Pattie and Christine today after I’d been to Mum’s. Popped into the chippy for tea.’

‘Pattie and Christine?’

‘Yes, you remember, the ladies from the haberdashery shop, they were at Mum’s funeral tea.’

‘Oh, yes, the weirdos!’

She pulled her hand away from his. ‘They’re not weird, Mark. They’re really kind. I’ve known them practically all my life.’

‘Yes, I’m sure they are, but don’t you think it’s a bit, I don’t know, sad to spend your whole life running a dismal little shop in the back of beyond?’

She considered this. ‘Not really. I’ve never thought about it like that.’

‘What would you think if that was the sum total of Sophie’s ambitions? To sit behind a shop counter for years on end?’

Like I have, you mean? The words hovered on her tongue. ‘That’s different.’

‘How is it different?’

‘Because … she’s young, she’s talented and ambitious.’

‘And she’s ours,’ he added gently.

‘Yes, exactly. Anyway, what I was trying to say is that they’ve closed the shop …’

Mark chuckled softly. ‘Front-page news: haberdashery shop in Burley Bridge shuts down. Where will old ladies get their zips?’

‘Yes, well, they’ve been saving up and now they’ve bought a place in Majorca.’

‘You mean a holiday apartment or something?’

‘No, a cottage in the mountains.’

A beat’s silence. ‘And they’re going together? The two sisters, you mean?’