Page 38 of The Bookshop By the Loch

Bracken Way was basking in the early morning sunshine as we pulled up into one of the sought after and currently empty parking bays along the main street.

Trevor and Chloe were waiting for us outside the shop when we arrived.

Mum had decided to do the same as me, dressing down in her battered old jeans and a loose denim shirt, while her fancy outfit was covered in plastic sheeting and draped over one arm.

Grandpa, on the other hand, had decided not to bother with such trivialities and was already suited and booted in his best dark grey suit, white shirt and colourful, stripey tie. His papery mouth broke into a warm smile under his military-style moustache when he saw Trevor and Chloe standing there. Trevor was sporting a smart, naval-type blazer, white shirt and red tie, with matching dark blue trousers.

Chloe, meanwhile, looked charming and professional, in a black and white, slim-fitting dress and a matching monochrome band in her hair.

Grandpa gave me one of his supportive, big hugs. I got a comforting whiff of Brylcreem. “Well, little dove. Are we all set then?” he asked.

I pulled a face as I embraced Trevor, who turned red. I fished around inside my bag for the shop door key and unlocked the shop door. “Let’s hope so!”

We spent the next half an hour having a cup of tea and reminiscing over Naomi and Grandma Pattie and how they would’ve loved to have been here, thrown into the middle of it all.

The bookshop felt like she was holding her breath. There were the packed and rejuvenated bookcases, glossy new window displays of the latest book releases, not to mention the multi-coloured beanbags for the children to relax on.

My attention then travelled to Tobias’s gallery.

All his portraits, hanging on those chic mint-green walls, seemed to follow me whenever and wherever I moved. He had selected an eclectic mix of his work for his grand opening of Mirror Image, which included my favourite of the little girl and her teddy, not to mention the half-naked woman with the tousled hair.

There were a few of his other paintings of couples, expectant and embracing, and other pieces of work featuring elderly gents. Their expressions were lived-in and craggy, bearing their own individual stories.

The spotlights above each artwork were not yet switched on, but Tobias had assured me yesterday that he would be arriving around 9am.

Mum had insisted on giving the shelves and the counter a final dust, even though you could’ve eaten your breakfast off them.

Grandpa gave his head a bemused shake. “Dear God. I don’t know who’s the more bloody nervous, you or your mother.”

Trevor, who had already given the shop windows a final once-over with vinegar and a cloth, aided by an enthusiastic Chloe, rung up a couple of book suppliers to order copies of an A-lister autobiography, and had already popped to the bank, smiled. His spectacles shone. “I might not look nervous, but inside, I’m quaking. I shall be celebrating with a drink at the end of the day – and I don’t mean orange juice.”

Grandpa’s pale eyes lit up. “Och, that sounds like a fine plan, Trevor. The first round is on you.” He creaked up from his chair behind the counter. “Oh aye. Look sharp, ladies and gents. It’s Coleen Hegarty.”

Bearing down on the shop entrance, accompanied by two of her waiting staff, was Mrs Hegarty. They were juggling boxes of bottles of champagne and elegant glasses.

She rapped on the door, before turning to gesticulate to someone lagging behind further up the street.

I hurried to the door, opened it and insisted on helping them inside.

Mrs Hegarty’s husband Frazer was following up the rear with the trestle tables. “All hands-on deck!” she boomed. “The girls have managed to persuade their boyfriends to come along and give us a hand too.”

“That’s very kind of them.” I smiled.

“Ken was going to drop this little lot off himself, but he’s got an urgent order in for a fiftieth birthday party who’ve been let down by their caterers,” explained Mrs Hegarty, taking great delight in directing operations.

She, together with her entourage, trooped in like clockwork soldiers on parade, wishing us all a good morning, before Frazer and the two strapping young lads set up the trestle tables outside the bookshop windows.

The champagne bottles and glasses were placed with the utmost care on top of the bookshop counter. I hoped the sea of glorious books and receiving ten per cent off first purchases on opening day would tempt lots of people in.

“I even brought three tablecloths along with me,” announced Mrs Hegarty with self-satisfaction, widening her eyes in a meaningful way at the young girl with two long blonde plaits.

The teenager took her cue, delved one hand into a huge canvas bag over her shoulder and pulled out three lacy white tablecloths, each folded and wrapped up in protective cellophane.

“Oh wow, Mrs Hegarty You’re a star. Thank you!”

She glowed with delight. “Aww away with you! Just thought it might add an extra touch of class.”

“I do hope you can all manage to pop down at some point this morning to help us celebrate Book Ends’ re-opening.”