Andrea had done her best to keep her spirits up, but Emilia felt that keeping the shop open was becoming less and less viable: something she was just doing because she didn’t want to let her father down.
She passed The Icing on the Cake, its windows crammed with sugared doughnuts oozing wine-dark jam and shiny chocolate cakes and golden custard tarts. She went in and bought a sausage roll – she was more of a savoury than a sweet person – and devoured the melting pastry and herby sausage meat in three bites.
To cheer herself up, she called Bea with the news about Mick Gillespie. ‘You’ll never guess who I’ve got coming to the shop.’
Bea squealed when she heard the news. ‘Oh my God – he’s my favourite actor of all time. That Aran jumper he wears in The Silver Moon – I bought Bill one like it.’
‘Do you think people will come?’
‘Of course! And we’ll dress the shop.’
‘Not leprechauns and shamrocks?’
Bea laughed. ‘No. I’ll think of something clever.’ She gasped. ‘Do you think we can take him out for dinner afterwards?’
‘I’m booking him a room at the Peasebrook Arms.’
‘You’ll have to give me his room number.’
‘Bea – he’s an old man!’
‘I know. I’m only kidding. But that’s great. You’ll have them queuing round the block. We’ll make it a night to remember.’
Emilia hung up, smiling to herself. Suddenly all the problems of the past few weeks began to recede. She felt a little shoot of hope. Maybe she could turn the shop round, with a bit of help and a bit of imagination?
Sarah managed to find a rare parking space on the high street in Peasebrook. She was en route to the hospital for her daily visit but there was something she really needed to do. She locked her car and took a deep breath. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for what she was about to do, but if she waited until she was ready she would never go.
She could feel him as soon as she walked into Nightingale Books. The very essence of Julius. The shop was him. She looked around, expecting to see him bent over a table of books, looking up to meet her gaze, smiling at her over his spectacles.
The memory, the longing and the sadness were overwhelming. No one had ever made her feel like Julius. That meeting of the mind and the soul. And the body … She chastised herself. That wasn’t why she was here – to wallow in her memories of what would never be again.
Emilia was hanging up the phone as she walked over to the counter.
‘Emilia? It’s Sarah. Sarah Basildon.’ She wasn’t sure Emilia would recognise her, necessarily. Sarah was modest. She never assumed people knew who she was, even though they usually did.
‘Sarah. How lovely to see you. Hello.’
‘How are you?’
‘Oh … you know. It’s been tough but I’m getting there.’
‘You must miss your father dreadfully.’
‘Oh God yes.’ Then she remembered. Marlowe had told them about Alice at the last rehearsal. A car crash. She’d been taken to hospital. ‘But how’s Alice? I heard about the accident. I’m so sorry.’
‘Well,’ said Sarah. ‘The great thing is she will be all right. Her leg was very badly injured. But she’s in very good hands. We’re hoping she’ll be back on her feet for the wedding. Literally! Otherwise she’ll be going up the aisle on crutches.’ Sarah tried to laugh. It was obvious she was being brave.
‘Would you give her my love?’ Emilia didn’t know Alice well, but she liked her. They’d both been at Peasebrook Infants. Alice was a few years below her, but Emilia remembered her in the playground, with her flaxen hair and duffel coat. Emilia had gone on to the high school, and Alice went off to boarding school somewhere, so they’d drifted apart, but Emilia was looking forward to playing at her wedding. It was bound to be a fairy tale.
‘She’s why I’m here, actually. I wanted a copy of Alice’s favourite book – I can’t find it anywhere at home. But I thought it would be nice for her to have something to read.’
‘Of course. What is it?’
Sarah gave a smile. ‘Riders. Jilly Cooper. Do you have it in stock?’
‘Of course! A book shop’s not a book shop without Riders. Especially round here.’ Emilia walked over to the fiction shelves. She could see a range of fat paperbacks in the C section. The comfort of Jilly Cooper. She’d read them all herself: it was always a celebration when a new Jilly came out. ‘Here we are.’
‘That’s wonderful – she’ll love that. I remember when she first read it. I didn’t get a word out of her for about a week.’
Sarah handed over a ten-pound note. As Emilia wrapped the book in a bag, she hesitated, as if she wanted to say something. Eventually, she cleared her throat.