Page 96 of The Bookshop By the Loch

He vanished and I switched back to professional mode for the customers.

I relaxed that Friday night on my bed, a glass of white wine at my elbow and Celeste’s manuscript propped up on my lap.

Mum, Dad and Grandpa had retired for the night.

As I prepared to read more of Celeste’s book, I mulled over how my life was beginning to take more of a cohesive shape. The estate agents had rung to say the sale of my Glasgow flat was now almost complete and I was just waiting to get the official go-ahead, so I could move into my new place in Bracken Way.

I took a slow sip of the zesty wine. Moving back here hadn’t been a backward step after all. It had been a learning curve, but a valuable one. Leaving Literati and taking a risk had been worth the worry. It had shown me that I was more capable than I thought.

I did miss some of my lovely authors, but my love of books and reading would always stay with me and Celeste’s story was compelling. It could do with sharpening up in places, but it had a lot going for it. The story resonated even more with me now that I knew she’d drawn on her own painful experiences and her singing career, in order to write it.

I had just reached the end of chapter ten, where the protagonist, Melissa, was about to reveal some dark secret to her mother, when my mobile rang.

I reached over to the bedside table, careful not to send the loose, typed pages of the manuscript skittering everywhere across my bedroom carpet.

Rhiannon’s name appeared on my phone screen. Would this be another valiant attempt from her to try and persuade me to start back at Literati again? Or was she just giving me a call to say hi and ask how I was?

It turned out it was a combination of both.

I told her about my parents getting back together. She let out a stunned gasp. “Jesus. What a woman your mother is.”

“I know. I just hope Dad realises it too.” Then I asked her about her ex-husband, Guy.

There followed a series of dismissive sniffs. “He never changes. Still a flash sod and making his new editor Theo wait for his latest self-improvement tome.”

I took a mouthful of my wine. “And what’s his latest book about?”

“Developing your creativity, in order to harness inner calm.”

“Oh, some nice light reading then. Is it any good?”

“I’ve only read the first fifty pages, but nah. It’s still the same flowery bollocks he always writes, but it’s part of a three-book deal, the public love him and Literati thinks the sun shines out of his arse, so…” She grunted with disapproval down the line. “Anyway, enough talk about my dick of an ex. How is Book Ends doing?”

“It can be challenging, but business is brisk and yes, I love it.”

There followed a somewhat strained pause.

“Alright Rhiannon, why are you really calling me at this time on a Friday evening?”

She feigned innocence. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, come on Rhi. Out with it.”

“Alright. You rumbled me, although I was genuinely keen to check that you were ok.” I could hear the cogs turning in her mind from here. “What’s happening, Lexie?”

“With what?” I knew what she was referring to, but decided to delay the inevitable.

“With climate change,” she groaned. “What the hell do you think I’m talking about? You and your career as an editor.”

I took another mouthful of my wine and prepared to answer her, but she jumped in first. “Look, I’m going to be honest here. I’m surprised you’ve stuck with this bookshop manager job this long. I thought you might get bored.”

“Nope. No boredom here,” I trilled. “Quite the opposite.” Pictures of Tobias, Celeste, my dad and Book Ends ran through my mind.

Rhiannon sounded more conciliatory. “Lex, I know you’ve had your hands full, but I remember in the dim and distant past what you said to me when you first joined Literati.”

I shuffled on top of my bed. “What was that?”

“That a good editor is like a jeweller. They polish, craft and hone the work of a writer until it gleams.”