‘I just want you to know the same offer I gave your dad is open to you. In case you’re wondering what to do.’
‘Not really,’ said Emilia. ‘I’m going to be running the shop from now on. And trust me – no amount of money will change my mind.’
‘It’s the best offer you’ll get. This building’s worth more to me than anyone else.’
Emilia frowned. ‘I don’t understand what you don’t understand: I’m not selling.’
Ian gave a smug shrug, as if to say he knew she would come round in the end.
‘I just want you to know the offer is still on the table. You might change your mind when things have settled down. I think it’s great that you want to carry on, but if you find it’s a bit tougher than you first thought …’ He spread his hands either side of him.
‘Thank you,’ said Emilia. ‘But don’t hold your breath. As they say.’
She was proud to stand her ground. Proud that her father had taught her there was more to life than money. The air felt tainted with the scent of Mendip’s wealth: the expensive aftershave he wore that was cloying and overpowering.
Seemingly unruffled, he held out his card.
‘You know where to find me. Call me any time.’
She watched as he left the shop and climbed back into his car. She rolled her eyes as it glided off down the high street. Dave loped over to her.
‘Was he after the shop?’
‘Yep,’ she replied.
‘I hope you told him where to get off.’
‘I did.’
Dave nodded solemnly. ‘Your dad thought he was a cock.’
With his dyed black hair tied back in a ponytail, his pale skin and his myriad tattoos, Dave wasn’t what you’d expect to find in a book shop. All she really knew about him was he still lived with his mum and had a bearded dragon called Bilbo. But his knowledge of literature was encyclopaedic, and the customers loved him. And Emilia felt a surge of fondness for him too – for his loyalty and his kindness.
‘I just want you to know, Dave, I don’t know exactly what I’m doing with the shop yet. Everything’s a bit upside down. But I don’t want you to worry. You’re really valued here. Dad thought the world of you …’
‘He was a legend,’ said Dave. ‘Don’t worry. I understand. It’s tough for you.’
He put a gentle paw on her shoulder. It was heavy with skull rings.
Emilia gave him a playful punch. ‘Don’t. You’ll make me cry again.’
She walked away to the shelves, to choose another tranche of books. She hoped desperately that things could stay the same. Just as they were. But it was all a muddle of paperwork, probate and red tape. She had gone through her father’s paperwork and bank statements and handed them all over to Andrea with a sinking heart. She wished she’d discussed things with him in greater depth, but when someone was on their deathbed the last thing you wanted to talk about was balance sheets. The problem was it didn’t look as if they were balancing.
It couldn’t be all bad, she thought. She had the shop itself, loyal staff, hundreds of books and lovely customers. She’d find a way to keep it all afloat. Perhaps she should have come back earlier, instead of mucking about travelling the world and trying to find herself. She didn’t need to find herself. This was her – Nightingale Books. But Julius had insisted. He had as good as kicked her out of the nest, when she’d had a disastrous fling with a man from Oxford whose ex-wife had turned out not to be so very ex after all when he had realised how much the divorce was going to cost him. She’d been in no way responsible for his marriage break-up, and thought she was doing a good job of getting him over it, but it seemed she was not sufficient compensation. Emilia had thought herself heartbroken. Julius had refused to let her mope and had bought her a round-the-world ticket for her birthday.
‘Is it one way?’ she’d joked.
He was right to make her widen her horizons, of course he was, because she’d realised very quickly that her heart wasn’t broken at all, but it had been good to put some distance between herself and her erstwhile lover. And she’d seen amazing things, watched the sun rise and set over a hundred different landmarks. She would never forget feeling as if she was right amongst the clouds, on the eighteenth floor of her Hong Kong apartment block, overlooking the harbour.
Yet despite all her adventures and the friends she had made, she knew she wasn’t a free spirit. Peasebrook was home and always would be.