Hugh chuckled. ‘You thought I was going to snort Peasebrook up my nose?’
‘No. I just wanted to know the truth.’
‘Well, now you know my murky past. But I’m a reformed character. So you can tell the rumour-mongers to put a sock in it.’ He grinned. ‘How about you? Have you got any confessions? Any dark secrets you think I should know before it’s too late?’
Alice found herself going red. She told herself it was the heat from the fire.
‘To be honest, I don’t think I have, no.’
‘Are you sure?’ teased Hugh. ‘You look a bit guilty to me. No cheating at Pony Club camp?’
‘Certainly not,’ said Alice stoutly. ‘I got every single one of my trophies fair and square.’
‘Well, I’m glad to hear it,’ said Hugh.
Alice took a gulp of her tonic.
She wasn’t going to tell him about wanting to kiss Dillon. She didn’t think that would go down very well at all.
Twenty-Two
On Monday morning, Emilia phoned the staff and told them each about the flood but asked them not to come in. She made up an elaborate excuse about a difficult meeting with the insurers, otherwise she knew they would all be there helping to clear up and she couldn’t face them yet. She knew she was betraying them by selling, and although she knew she didn’t need to keep the shop open just because of them, it still sat uneasily with her.
She stood in the middle of the shop and looked at the damage. It was a sorry mess. Sorting out the books that hadn’t been damaged was going to be a job in itself and she wasn’t sure what to do with the remaining ones. Have a big sale? Donate them to a library? Let the townspeople come in and help themselves to whatever they wanted?
She’d been stupid to try and keep Julius’s dream alive. It wasn’t her dream. Or her world. Nightingale Books was hers in name only. Trying to keep it open had been more trouble than it was worth. She’d been keeping it open from a sense of duty. Out of sentimentality. She had to let go.
She’d have to find the courage to tell Sarah Basildon what she was doing as well. She knew Sarah would be upset, not least because that would mean there was no chance of the literary festival she had dreamed of going ahead. Was she being selfish? No, she told herself. She couldn’t keep the shop just because she didn’t want to upset Sarah. If Sarah wanted to set up a festival in the future, she could find someone else to run it for her. There’d be loads of people in Peasebrook ready to help.
She felt popped, as if someone had taken a pin to her. Deflated. As if her spirit had evaporated. She wasn’t sure she deserved to feel like that, but she supposed it was partly grief, partly stress and partly not being sure what to do with her life.
She wanted a new chapter. She smiled at the metaphor. If only you could just rewrite things, she thought. Where would she go back to, if she were going to rewrite her life?
There was somebody in the doorway. She hoped it wasn’t one of the staff. She didn’t have the heart for a conversation about the shop’s future.
It was Jackson.
‘Bloody hell,’ he said, surveying the chaos.
‘I left the taps running.’ Emilia made a face. ‘The bath overflowed.’
‘I can get you some dehumidifiers. That’ll help dry it out.’ He looked up. ‘And I can patch up the ceiling for you if you want. Temporarily.’
‘Thanks, but there’s not much point. I’m just trying to rescue as many books as I can. The next person can worry about the damage.’ She looked at him. ‘I’m selling the shop.’
Jackson didn’t tell her he already knew.
‘You can’t sell up. You know that, don’t you?’
‘I haven’t got any choice.’
‘But it’s wonderful. The shop’s wonderful. What you do changes people’s lives. For the better.’
‘Oh, don’t romanticise.’
‘Seriously. You changed my life, with those books you gave me. You made me see things as they should be. You’ve made me see what I should be. It’s too late for me and Mia, but … well, I understand where I went wrong now. I’m not going to make the same mistakes next time. And that’s down to you.’
‘Well, that’s great. That’s wonderful.’ Emilia tried to smile.
‘But if you close the shop, you’ll never be able to do that for anyone again.’
‘Of course I will. In some other way.’
‘I think you’ll regret it.’ Jackson’s eyes were burning with intensity. ‘When I came into this shop you seemed so happy with what you were doing. You couldn’t wait to find me something to read. You were made up when I came back and I’d liked it. What other job would give you that?’
‘I don’t know yet!’ Emilia shrugged.
‘Don’t sell it,’ said Jackson. ‘It’s part of who you are.’