And the whole country knew about it.
3
BONNIE
Bonnie ran a duster across the cherrywood classic English desk. Howard had just come home from the bookshop, which he’d left in the capable hands of his assistant, Iris, and in about eight hours he would sit here, just like he had last week, open up the laptop and join in with the Midnight Book Club.
She moved on to dust the windowsills next to the double doors she’d left flung open to bring the July air inside. This room had the best natural light out of all the rooms in the cottage with its enormous windows on three sides, one of which had the doors that led out to the garden. It was a perfect space to have their reading room and art room combined.
She paused. She closed her eyes briefly and inhaled the sea breeze before she opened them again to admire the view. How could anyone resist doing so? From this quiet elevated spot in the town of Driftwick Bay nestled snugly near West Lulworth in Dorset, the rear garden of their cottage was bordered with low stone walls and hedges. They were also blessed with a beautiful view of the countryside sprawled on either side of the meandering road that led down towards Lulworth Cove.
After Howard’s parents – her in-laws – had passed, this cottage, his parents’ own retirement property, had become a holiday house, Bonnie and Howard’s way to escape work and the busyness of their lives in Reading. But it had turned into so much more than that. Relocating to Driftwick Bay had been done swiftly and with no regrets as soon as Bonnie had taken retirement from her job as a district nurse. And after she and Howard went travelling together – conscious of having more days behind them than there were ahead, travel was something she wanted them to do before they ran out of time – they had settled in and made the town their home. Now they said hello to people in the street and in the shops, and they got to see this magnificent town and the stunning coastline whenever they liked. Being here on a permanent basis was the best thing they had done – she knew that already. Driftwick Bay was beautiful. They were a stone’s throw away from the 95-mile stretch of Jurassic coastline in Dorset and had incredible scenery and walks at their fingertips. And even more importantly she and Howard had time together.
The cottage had needed work, but they hadn’t done anything much until they moved here permanently – before that they were never here in the bay for long enough. Instead they’d carefully and considerately gone through Maureen and Brian’s belongings each time they came, and for a while everything else stayed the same apart from the garden, which they either tended to if they had time on one of their visits or hired someone to come in and keep on top of things. They were especially aware of the hedges and keeping those healthy, as well as the wisteria around the front door that in the spring produced purple, pendulous sweet-smelling flowers that lifted the cottage’s beauty even more.
A couple of summers ago they’d repainted the white picket fence surrounding the cottage and given the front door a fresh coat of ocean blue paint. Soon after that the bathroom had needed urgent repairs, which had turned into a remodel, and then they’d made the decision to enhance the kitchen ready for the day this would become the place they called home. They’d gone on to repaint all the rooms last summer.
Bonnie sighed and adjusted the clip that kept her curly hair piled on top of her head out of the way. Taking in the view wasn’t going to get the housework done, was it? She’d always liked a clean house and coming to Dorset was no different in that respect to the Victorian two-up two-down terrace in Reading they’d lived in since they were married. Cleaning was at least far easier to fit in now that she was retired. There were a lot more hours in the day.
She should’ve done some housework earlier to get it over with but as usual, painting had grabbed her attention and before she knew it Howard’s working day had come to a close and he was back at the cottage. He’d had a great day of trading at the shop he’d said. They’d both wondered whether he’d be able to hack going back to work again, but he was full of joy and enthusiasm, at least for now, and he had part-time help with Iris who knew the bookshop well, having worked there for the previous owner. The only irritating and slightly tricky-to-manage part of his new role was the developer who had been after the bookshop in the first place. The man or one of his minions kept visiting Howard at the shop and offering him more money. Howard said he didn’t know how many more ways he could tell them that the bookshop simply wasn’t for sale and never would be.
She turned away from the view to finish dusting the windowsill. Howard was in the kitchen staying out of the way at her insistence, even though he’d tried to pitch in like he always did. But he had a working life again so in her mind it was only fair that she did the bulk of the cleaning.
She dusted the back of Howard’s leather reading chair, a chair so big and comfy it almost swallowed you up when you sunk into it. She cleaned the top of the tall set of drawers she used for her art supplies, plus the top of the table pushed into one corner where she could do some of her work. She moved on to dusting the vast collection of books Howard had built up over the years. He had a few of the classics, some he’d embraced, others not so much. He lovedLittle Womenby Louisa May Alcott – she remembered him reading it for the Midnight Book Club and she’d heard all about it on one of the few times she’d woken up and wandered closer to the back room. He didn’t know but occasionally she’d sat on the tiled floor in her nightie outside the room, a blanket beneath her bottom and pulled around her, and listened to her husband of more than four decades laugh and chat away about his love of reading. The way he talked about characters was the way he spoke to and about people in real life, with respect and understanding.
These books on the shelves were Howard’s treasures: a copy of Kenneth Grahame’sThe Wind in the Willowsthat he’d found at a second-hand shop and looked like it had been loved for many years; a signed copy ofThe Da Vinci Codeby Dan Brown: a special edition of an Agatha Christie murder mystery she’d gifted him last Christmas. He had a whole variety of genres, many titles collected since boyhood including The Secret Seven books by Enid Blyton as well as the entire collection of The Famous Five books, all a little bit tired and worn, but Howard had told her that was what made them so special.
For years Howard had attended book clubs in person. Some of them were questionable: one seemed to focus more on the alcohol content of a meeting than the word content; another was too wishy-washy, he said, with nobody really wanting to read anything that challenged their minds; another was single genre and that wasn’t for him as he liked to read widely; and the last one had simple fizzled out as people dropped away for alternative commitments.
Howard had found the book club a year ago and, being a night owl, attending at midnight wasn’t a problem for him. When he took on the bookshop Bonnie had suggested he start his own club instead, perhaps run it at a more sociable hour, but he’d insisted that the club that met at the midnight hour was still the best thing for him – he didn’t have to host, he could do it from home, and he could wear his pyjamas if he liked. Howard never missed a session, even if he was feeling under the weather and should be tucked up in bed letting her fuss over him. Books to him were the best type of medicine and they made him happy.
As she carried on with the dusting her mind reflected on the last nine months. They’d gone by in a bit of a whirlwind since she retired. She and Howard had gone travelling a fortnight after she wrapped up her working life, much further afield than either of them had ever been. Of course asking Howard not to read for two months would’ve been like asking him to chop one of his legs off and so he’d bought himself his first Kindle especially for their trip. The Kindle had gone with them on safari to Africa, on a boat trip along the Norwegian fjords; it had accompanied him on the many rail journeys connecting them from one European country to another, and amid all of that he’d kept up with the Midnight Book Club online – no matter what time zone they were in.
Bonnie couldn’t understand the allure of books, but then again Howard couldn’t understand her passion for painting. She’d taken a sketch pad with her on her travels, along with a set of pencils, and many a time she’d disappeared into her own little world, mostly while Howard was reading. She and Howard were different in enough ways that it made their relationship interesting, and yet totally on the same wavelength with other parts of their lives.
Her chores complete, she went into the kitchen where she found Howard eating a biscuit and of course reading a book.
‘I’m going to nip out for a walk.’ She loved the lengthy days that came with summer. She washed her hands at the sink. ‘I want to get to the post office before it closes.’
She turned to look at her husband as she dried her hands and pumped a little of the cream from the ceramic dispenser next to the sink into her palms. ‘Howard, did you hear what I said?’
He looked up.
‘I’m going for a walk,’ she reiterated, the cream all rubbed in now.
He refocused on his book. ‘I’ll come with you.’ And still reading, he popped the last bit of his biscuit into his mouth.
‘You’ve only just walked up the hill.’
‘It’s good for me,’ he said. ‘And don’t worry, I won’t be nipping into work. Iris is closing up. She’ll tell me off if I go back in.’
Iris was lovely and firm for which Bonnie was grateful. She liked that Howard didn’t do ridiculous hours now he’d taken on the bookshop. He came home to her at a reasonable time. ‘I’m leaving now,’ she told him. She wasn’t, she still had to find some sandals and get her bag, but if she told him that he’d snatch another few pages before he even thought about getting ready.
He didn’t take his eyes off the book. ‘No, you’re not – you haven’t even got your shoes on.’
She started to walk away. ‘Getting them on now,’ she called back over her shoulder.
Howard didn’t take long to get himself together and ready to leave. And as usual they’d only just locked up when he took her hand.
