The Little Book Café: Amy’s Story

‘Ah sure. I just help out now and again.’ Patrick gave Amy a warm look. ‘It’s your daughter here who’s the one in charge and a fine job she does of it too.’

Katrina simpered. ‘Really? How very kind of you to say so. And is that an Irish accent I can hear? So terribly charming.’

Patrick gave a modest nod but didn’t say anything.

‘Mum, I’ve got to get on. I haven’t done anything this morning yet, apart from clean up.’

Katrina made a great show of examining her watch. ‘Goodness, yes. I must away. Can’t be late for Suki.’ She patted her hair. ‘Having my hair done before my little holiday,’ she said for Patrick’s benefit.

‘Now, why would you, when doesn’t it already look grand?’

‘Oh,’ Katrina giggled. ‘It’s true then, the Irish are charming.’ She caught Amy’s glare. ‘Right, off then.’ Reaching up to air kiss her daughter, she trilled, ‘Bye then both. Lovely to have met you, Patrick.’ Then she was gone, leaving a Dior-scented whirl in her wake.

‘You’re not at all like her,’ was Patrick’s only comment.

‘Apparently I take after my father.’ Amy caught Patrick’s look. ‘Thank God.’

He laughed and held up the paper bag again. ‘Now, come on, I can’t function without coffee at this unearthly hour. Let’s eat breakfast and you can tell me why you’re running so late.’

Over their coffee and pastries, eaten at one of the scrubbed pine tables in the café end of the bookshop, Amy filled Patrick in on what she had found when she’d opened up that morning.

His blue eyes widened over the rim of his mug. ‘That’s a shame. I remember you saying you were going to carve them when I came by on Friday.’

‘It doesn’t make me feel very secure down at this end of town when the days are so short, to be honest,’ Amy said, thinking about what her mother had pointed out about the harbour part of town being deserted off season.

‘It’ll just be kids, Amy. Bored I expect. And sure, isn’t the biggest crime around here the theft of the traffic cones from the one way system? Bet that’s kids too. A gang of lads thinking they’re the big “I Am.”’

‘A gang?’ Amy’s voice trembled. ‘In Berecombe?’

Patrick put his hand over hers. ‘Sure, they’ll just be lads, no older than ten or twelve.’ Patrick pulled a face. ‘Think we can safely assume they’re not blessed with imagination. They’ll claim there’s nothing else for them to do.’

Amy’s fears deflated a little. ‘You’d think Paul Cash has got enough on his plate,’ she said, referring to the town’s only policeman. ‘What with Tash’s court case looming.’

‘Is that still happening?’

Amy nodded. ‘Poor woman can’t move on until it’s all sorted.’

‘So this Adrian, this ex of hers is up for rape, is that your man?’

‘Yes. He did all sorts of horrible things to Tash too but she got out in time, before it escalated. All sorts of – coercive, is that the right term? – behaviour.’

Patrick scowled. ‘Can’t get my head round men who treat women like that. And you’d never know, from looking at her, that there was anything wrong in her life. Always seems so in control.’

Amy gathered their mugs and plates. ‘Well, she likes to keep things private, does Tash. I’m always a bit scared of her, to be honest. Sharp tongue.’

‘Maybe she’s had to be like that to survive with this Adrian fella?’

‘Maybe. I hadn’t thought of it like that. She put their breakfast things on a tray. I’ll wash these up and then perhaps we can have a look through the spring catalogue.’

‘Grand.’ Patrick leaned back on his chair and looped his hands around the back of his head. ‘And Amy, if you like, I can come and work in here for a few hours a day. To keep you company and keep the wee beasties away,’ he added, casually.

Amy turned, the tray still in her hands. The thought of having Patrick in the bookshop for most of the day was almost too much to contemplate. His suggestion was the best thing that had happened all morning. Admittedly, there had been little competition. ‘Would you?’ she breathed, trying to keep the love out of her voice. ‘Would you really?’

‘Of course. That’s if you don’t mind me hogging the internet and scribbling at something in some dark corner. Oh,’ he added, as he warmed to his theme. ‘And I need constant refuelling. A writer runs on coffee and carbohydrates, at least this one does. It’s pure selfishness on my part. It means I don’t have far to go to get at Millie’s lemon drizzle.’

As well as owning the bookshop, Millie and her husband, Jed, also ran the café next door.

‘Wouldn’t it interfere with the next book?’

He paused, appearing to decide what to say. ‘Ah, no real deadline for the next and I’m still at the planning and ideas stage, so I can work anywhere that’ll have me. If I get here about three I can hang around when it goes dark and you won’t have to lock up on your own.’ He looked about him, at the still empty shop. ‘Not sure how much trade there’ll be and you haven’t got many talks or children’s events on this month, have you?’

Amy shook her head. ‘One or two a week until we’re nearer Hallowe’en.’ She blushed. ‘Plus your book signing, of course. I really would love the company. Have to confess to feeling a bit spooked lately. Oh Patrick, it’s so terribly kind of you.’

‘No problem, darlin’. I like it in here. I like the company too.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Now,’ he nodded to the tray still in Amy’s hands. ‘A coffee refill is required and we’ll get down to this catalogue.’

Amy beamed. ‘Right away!’

Chapter Three (#u9a01921f-b69f-536e-9399-554783c1efc9)

Patrick was as good as his word. He arrived just as the light was beginning to fade from the sky, the white lights along the seaside promenade flickering on to guide his way. He’d often pick up something sweet from Millie’s café on the way and would order Amy to sit down and eat and drink, despite her half-hearted protest that she was supposed to be dieting.

Today was no exception. Amy had been rushed off her feet all day and had had no time to dwell on any dark shadows lurking malevolently in the corners. She’d had the order of Christmas stock in and had taken delivery of thirty boxes of books. Patrick had arrived to help with stacking them out of the way and had then taken his now usual seat at the table nearest the door so he could keep an eye out. She was in the middle of unpacking them when the doorbell jangled and Tash flew in, immaculately dressed as usual. Amy never understood how Tash did a full day’s work as an estate agent teetering on sky-high stilettos and dressed in a tight skirt suit.

Amy was always a little wary around her. Lee, her ex-fiancé, had been Tash’s boyfriend previously and it always made Amy feel awkward. She didn’t really know why; Lee had only gone out with Tash for a short while. Then, having sent Amy a text, on the morning of the wedding, baldly stating that he couldn’t marry her, Lee had left Berecombe to join the navy. He hadn’t even managed the text properly – it had arrived too late to stop her turning up at the church. Then he disappeared from their lives, taking whatever confidence Amy had, with him.

‘Oh Amy, just the person,’ Tash cried. ‘Mum and Dad are due back from Portugal at the weekend and I’ve completely forgotten it’s Mum’s birthday. I thought you might have a book?’

Tash looked so unexpectedly panicked that Amy laughed. ‘We’ve got one or two.’

Tash laughed too. ‘So I can see.’ Her brows knitted as she took in the pile of boxes. ‘Had a delivery?’

‘It’s all the Christmas books I ordered.’ Amy chewed her lip. ‘To be honest, I’m worried I’ve gone a bit overboard. The shop’s been like death lately.’

‘Oh, don’t worry about that. Berecombe always goes quiet after the carnival, then we get an onslaught of tourists on the run up to half term. It’ll pick up, and most of that lot will be pre-ordered Christmas presents or on sale or return, won’t they?’

‘Some.’

‘And I love your new postcard and greetings card selection. That should do well in the run up to Christmas.’

‘Yes, I hope so, although I’m holding off from putting out anything Christmassy until after Hallowe’en. Some are prints by local artists. Something a little different, I think. The birthday cards are particularly nice. You’ll be wanting one of those, I expect?’

Tash looked blank.

‘For your mother? For her birthday?’

Tash slapped a hand to her dark fringe. ‘Oh my, yes. A card. How could I have forgotten? I never forget Mum’s birthday.’

‘Well, you’ve had a busy few months,’ Amy put in, gently.