The Little Book Café: Amy’s Story

‘I don’t see missing out November and December being a problem,’ she began slowly, still thinking it through as she spoke. ‘Why don’t we meet again in mid-January? It’ll give us all a breather and we can return refreshed in the new year. The days will be lengthening by then too.’ She glanced outside as a gobbet of rain spat at the huge windows. ‘It’s never much fun having to turf yourself out on these cold dark nights. I hope everyone will feel able to come to the Hallowe’en party at the end of the month, though?’

There was a murmur of agreement then Emma piped up. ‘Tell you what, if some of us can’t go a few weeks without some booky talk, why don’t we meet in the pub? Have a less formal chat over a drink?’

‘Well, I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Emma,’ Marti said, looking put out.

‘But if you’re not in the country, you can’t really object to us meeting up?’ Tash said sweetly. ‘And if you or any of your friends are around when we do meet up, you’re more than welcome to come along.’

‘I simply don’t want the group to split into…’ Marti paused, searching for the right word. ‘Factions.’

‘It’s not,’ Tash countered. ‘It’s just a way of keeping the social aspect of the group going.’ She appealed to the others. ‘And that’s one of the things we really like about the group, don’t we?’

Amy saw Kit nudge his girlfriend to stop talking before she dug the hole any deeper. She needed to take control before the group really did disintegrate. The animosity between Tash and Marti bubbled underneath every meeting and had done so since the first one. ‘I think that’s a good compromise,’ she said quickly. ‘We next meet properly in January. As you’ve said, Marti, it’s unlikely you can make November and Millie, you’re quite right, we all have so much on in December. And, if anyone is free and fancies meeting up on a less formal basis, we can go to the Old Harbour, as Emma has suggested. It’s quieter out of season than the Lion on the High Street.’ Before anyone could object, or put forward another idea to cloud the issue further, she added, ‘Perhaps we could bring along a book we’ve enjoyed, talk about it a little and swap?’

‘Great idea, Amy,’ Emma said, eagerly. ‘We could put the emphasis on reading just for fun.’ She went pink. ‘I mean, I’ve loved the books we’ve discussed but sometimes isn’t it nice to just read for the sheer pleasure?’

‘Yes, something frothy,’ Tash said.

Marti bridled. She took in a great sniff. ‘Well, personally I always read to improve myself.’

Laughter rippled around the room. Marti was suspected of never reading any of the books. It didn’t, however, stop her expounding on the merits of the text at length.

‘Really?’ Tash said, in acid tones. ‘You must tell me, sometime, how the books we’ve read have improved you.’

Amy felt the meeting begin to swerve out of control again.

‘Genius,’ Patrick said suddenly. He’d remained silent until this point. ‘The whole thing’s genius. This way, we can keep things ticking over until we start again next year. And now, can I make a suggestion?’

Amy’s heart sank. She thought she’d just sorted everything out. Surely she could have relied on Patrick for support.

‘As we’re not reconvening until January, could we not read A Christmas Carol? A bit of Dickens, nice and spooky for the month of Hallowe’en and it’ll get us in the mood for Christmas, so it will.’

‘Oh Dickens!’ Marti cried. ‘Now that’s who I call a writer.’ She clapped her hands together. ‘One of my absolute favourites. Such a towering genius.’

‘Oh, what have you read?’ Tash asked, innocently.

‘Well,’ Marti blustered. ‘There’s the one about the knitters or something isn’t there? And there was one adapted for television that I enjoyed tremendously.’

‘Oh yes, the knitters. The women who knit, now where was it,’ Tash frowned, pretending to remember the details. ‘At the doors of the Old Bailey, wasn’t it?’ She winked at Emma, and Amy could see they were enjoying the joke at Marti’s expense.

‘That’s the one,’ Marti sighed in triumph. ‘Such a powerful scene. From Here to Eternity, I think it was called.’

Amy could see Tash biting her lip to suppress her giggles at Marti’s ignorance and, before she could goad the poor woman any further, she intervened. ‘Right, that’s settled, we read A Christmas Carol this month, meet once more to discuss it, enjoy the Hallowe’en party and meet up when we can in the period before January. Sorted.’ She said this all in one sentence. Stopping to take a breath, she cast a look at Patrick. ‘Thank you,’ she mouthed, hoping the love she had for him didn’t radiate out with too much ferocity and kill him on the spot.

As she stood at the shop door saying goodnight to the departing book group members, Amy was aware that Patrick remained at her side. She handed over Tash’s gift-wrapped book and said, ‘It was very wicked of you to tease Marti like that.’

Tash looked chastened. ‘Sorry Amy but I can’t resist, especially when she’s on one of her, “Isn’t literature the most marvellous thing,” rants. I wouldn’t mind so much if she wasn’t such a book snob.’ She took the book off her. ‘Thanks for this. I’m sure Mum will love it.’

Emma joined them, overhearing the conversation. ‘Marti’ll have a fit when she hears what the working title of Biddy’s erotic novel is.’

‘What is it?’ asked Patrick, Amy and Tash as one.

‘Last thing I heard it was A Tale of Two Titties.’

‘Go Biddy,’ Amy said through the laughter. ‘You’ve got to hand it to the woman.’ Emma waved goodnight and followed Tash, who was hand in hand with Kit, on the promenade. Amy looked out into the night after them and blew out an enormous breath. It puffed out into the frigid air.

‘That’s one big sigh,’ Patrick said.

‘Even without our resident OAP troublemaker, I still have difficulty keeping the meeting in order.’

‘You did a grand job,’ he exclaimed. ‘Sure, it’s a thankless task in there some nights. And it’s not like a work meeting; they’re there for pleasure. You can’t play the three-line whip on them.’

‘More’s the pity,’ Amy replied, with feeling. Then she brightened and added, ‘Although I think Biddy would rather like a whipping.’

‘I think you could be right there,’ Patrick said, in mock serious tones. ‘However, I, for one, do not want to pursue that line of thought.’ He shuddered. ‘Now I can’t get the image out of my brain!’ He held out his arm in chivalrous fashion. ‘Can I walk you home, this dark night?’

Amy glanced into the darkness stealing around the corner of the bookshop and shivered. ‘Oh Patrick, that would be lovely.’ She locked up, checked three times that the door was secured and then turned and put her hand through his arm. She gazed up at his profile. Is there anything so painful as unrequited love, she wondered, feeling the familiar longing for him shoot through her. Stamping on the accompanying pain, she contented herself with hugging his arm to her.

Chapter Eight (#ulink_e641755f-37a9-5515-b95e-4b680f4b2fda)

The last evening class came around far too quickly. It had been a coup to get funding for the short course of four lessons and Amy had been proud to offer them at the book café. The outreach literary study for beginners had been popular, and charismatic tutor Joel Dillon had been even more so. She’d been bitterly disappointed to learn that Joel had, out of the blue, taken an unexpected sabbatical year and had gone to live in the midlands.

‘Oh it’s such a shame,’ she said to Patrick, as she sank down on one of the bright green easy chairs in the children’s section, worry etched onto her face. ‘It means he can’t lead the final session. The group will feel so let down. It’s such short notice too, I can’t think who could do it instead. It would have been so nice to finish off the sessions and bring it all to a satisfying conclusion. Joel was so popular as well.’ She stared hopelessly at the copy of The Gruffalo that she was supposed to be putting on display.

‘I think that might have been the problem,’ Patrick said wryly. He put a mug of coffee on the floor next to her. It was four thirty in the afternoon and trade, although brisk earlier in the day, had tailed off now the October chill clung dankly to the harbour end of town. ‘There you go. In your favourite Persuasion mug too.’

‘Thanks Patrick. You’re a star.’ Amy positioned the book in its place next to an arrangement of posters tacked onto a background of fake grass.

Patrick perched on a chair upholstered in sky blue. Sipping his own coffee he said, ‘That’s looking good. I like the plastic grass stuff.’

‘Thanks. I’m trying to get something up for the next storytelling session. The Gruffalo always goes down well with the little ones.’

‘It does when you read it to them.’

Amy felt a blush creep treacherously over her face. She couldn’t cope when Patrick was nice to her. A peculiar mixture of pleasure and pain consumed her. And, as he was nice to her all of the time, it was reaching danger point. To hide her confusion she picked up her coffee and shoved her pinkened nose in the mug. Something Patrick had said before his compliment now struck her as odd. Putting the mug back down and trying not to long for a biscuit to go with it, she asked, ‘What did you mean about Joel?’

‘You mean about him being popular?’

Amy nodded.

Patrick scrubbed a hand over his stubble. He pulled a face. ‘Ah now, how to put it. He’s been a good friend to me,’ he paused, ‘and I don’t like to criticise, but he likes the ladies, does Joel.’

‘Well, that’s okay, isn’t it?’

He gave her a rueful look. ‘Not if they’re students and he’s got a fiancée.’

‘Oh.’ Amy considered what Patrick implied. ‘Oh,’ she repeated, as the truth hit her. She blushed anew. ‘But it’s not actually illegal is it? It’s not as if they’re children. All students at uni are over eighteen.’ She wrinkled her nose. It was all a bit sordid and she was disappointed in Joel.

‘Not illegal, no. Not strictly speaking. Frowned upon though. And frowned upon enough for the university to ask him to take this year off or lose his job.’