Page 11 of The Bookshop By the Loch

“Dear me. I’m so sorry, Lexie. That must have hurt.” He stared around himself. “We spend so much of our time at work, I should know. You have to enjoy it, otherwise what’s the point?” And as if to articulate what he was saying, he gestured around Book Ends with a flip of one gnarled hand. “This place means the world to me but it’s time.” Sadness clouded up again in his dark eyes.

“Yes, sometimes you just have to move on,” I agreed.

“Lexie, I’m so sorry. What can I say?”

“There’s nothing you can say, Trevor.” I turned to appreciate the bookshop’s enviable vista, watching the mirrored surface of the loch. The scenery rose and fell behind it and clotted bursts of heather in pink and purple were studded on the hillsides. “My pride has taken one hell of a mauling, but I’ll just have to try and put it behind me.”

“That’s the way,” encouraged Trevor. “So, what’s your plan?”

“Plan?”

“What are you going to do?”

I found myself running my fingers up and down the polished counter. “To be honest, I’ve no idea.”

He gave a brief nod. “Well, I’m sure that whatever you decide to do next, it’ll be successful. And you do have some time to weigh up your options.”

“I do. Thank you.”

Trevor’s voice dragged me back. “You’ve got a very impressive track record in the book industry.”

I halted my fingers as they sought out the knots and grains on the counter. “That’s very kind of you to say that.” I gave a small smile. “I’m going to offer freelance editorial services to writers.”

“That’s good. It’ll keep you out of mischief,” he teased.

I glanced out of the shop windows. The sun was fighting through some cloud and was stippling over the top of the loch water like little gold stars.

“I’m sure there are quite a few frustrated Dan Browns and Danielle Steeles out there, who’ll keep a great editor like you busy. You’ve been warned, Lexie!”

Then his expression drifted into something more wistful. “It only seems like last week that your Grandma Pattie would bring you in here for a browse.”

I blinked at him as I took in the bookshelves again, creaking under the weight of the grinning novels. “She used to buy me a new book every time we came in.”

Much to my embarrassment, a sudden wave of emotion came out of nowhere and caught me off guard. It was a painful, biting cacophony over not getting the senior editor job, my dad’s sudden appearance on TV and now the loss of this gorgeous bookshop. It was morphing together into one giant lump and I felt like I was being crushed under the weight of it. I could feel it pushing down, draining me of any shreds of optimism I might have had.

Hot tears stung the corners of my eyes.

Trevor didn’t say anything. He reached into the pocket of his brown cords and plucked out a freshly washed and ironed hankie. He handed it across the counter to me.

I snuffled into it. “Thank you. I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologise.”

“I’m really going to miss this place.” I swallowed, forcing out a grim smile. “I hope whoever buys it keeps it going as a bookshop.”

Trevor looked cynical. “That would be wonderful, but I think unlikely. Like I said, too much competition from the online retailers and the supermarkets now.” He sighed. “No doubt it’ll be transformed into some upmarket homeware shop, selling candles for sixty pounds a pop.”

The thought of Book Ends not being here anymore, made my stomach twist. My late grandma would have been heartbroken too. “So many people will miss this place and not just because of all these amazing books. It’s been such a large part in people’s lives around here.”

“Aye. I know, lass. I feel so guilty about it, but what can I do? Folks don’t have a lot of disposable income nowadays and unfortunately, visiting their local bookshop drops down their list of priorities.” He lowered his voice, agonised.” All things considered, I think it’s time me and Book Ends parted company.”

A preoccupied look took over his despondent features again. He turned his attention to some ten pence pieces in the till.

I gazed around, my attention flitting from the mullioned, gleaming windows to the embossed spines of the hardbacks and paperbacks lined up on the shelves.

My head returned to the horrified comments from Flora Simmonds and her entourage about the bookshop closing. Perhaps if the locals had been more supportive of Book Ends in the first place, Trevor wouldn’t feel like he had no option but to call time on it.

I took in the unmistakeable scent of print and paper. I could see my teenage self as though it were yesterday, in my trainers and tight jeans, tugging out the steps and clambering up them to fetch novels from the higher shelves. I had plaits and my feet felt like they were too big for the rest of my body. Working here during the school holidays, had been my idea of heaven.