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WINTER
1
RAE
It’s just another quiet morning in my little bookshop in the quaint Sussex town where I live. Arundel’s a pretty place, on the edge of the rolling hills of the South Downs, with gorgeous historic buildings and a view around every corner. In so many ways, idyllic.
The shop is cosy inside and this morning, a handful of mostly window-shoppers drift in and out, seeking refuge from the icy wind. Most of their faces are familiar – Arundel’s a small town – until the door jingles and this girl walks in. She’s wearing faded jeans and an oversized puffa jacket, and strands of long dark hair are escaping from under her black and white beanie hat.
As she marches towards the self-help section, there’s an air of impatience about her as she pulls off her gloves and picks up book after book, scanning the blurb on the back before adding them to her pile or putting them back on the shelf.
My heart goes out to her. She’s obviously another customer at some kind of crossroads. But clearly she isn’t wallowing. She’s come looking for books to help set her life back on track.
Dropping one of them, she mutters something under her breath. Then as she leans down to retrieve it, a few more cascade onto the floor.
As I watch her pick them up, a voice interrupts my observations.
‘Excuse me.’
I turn to find another woman holding out a book with a generic title that seems to perfectly fit her bland makeup and mousy hair.
‘Thank you,’ I say. Silently berating myself for judging her, I place the book in one of our paper bags before handing it back. ‘That’s fifteen pounds please.’
She frowns as she gets out her bank card. ‘How much?’
Today, for whatever reason, it hits a nerve. ‘Books are pricey these days. But when you think of the time the author’s spent writing this, not to mention the editing process, the cover designers and sales teams, I think they’re worth every penny.’ I stop, horrified at myself. I’m the quietest, mildest person. I absolutely never talk to anyone like that. As she puts her card away, I take a deep breath and smile sweetly. ‘Have a nice day.’
I stand there mortified as she heads for the door, watching as it jingles when she closes it behind her.
‘Well said.’ It’s the girl in the beanie hat. ‘I couldn’t agree more.’ She casts her eyes around. ‘I like your shop.’
‘Um… Thanks.’ Slightly wrongfooted at being overheard, I take in her faded tan, her brown eyes constantly shifting around the displays of books, and I’m not sure what to say. ‘I’m so sorry you overheard that. And for the record, it isn’t how I normally talk to customers. I mean, I completely get that none of us want to spend any more money than we have to.’ I glance at the pile of books she’s holding, mentally totting up the cost of them, realising she’s missed one. ‘I may be out of line – again – but can I be honest with you?’
She looks at me warily. ‘Go ahead.’
‘Well…’ I hesitate. ‘I’ve read all of these – and they’re great books, if you have tons of time and don’t mind reading different incarnations of the same basic principle. But…’ Stepping out from behind my desk, I go over to another shelf. Picking up a book based on ancient philosophy, I come back and hold it out to her. ‘If you haven’t already read it, I’d start with this one.’
She looks annoyed. ‘I’m more than capable of choosing my own books.’
‘Oh.’ I’m taken aback. ‘Of course.’
Rolling her eyes, she takes it anyway, turning it over and reading the blurb, before handing it back. ‘Really not my thing.’
‘I think you might be surprised,’ I say tentatively. ‘Of course, it’s only my opinion. I just happen to think this one is a really good starting point.’
She raises one of her eyebrows. ‘You’re saying this when you don’t have the faintest idea of what’s going on in my life?’
I’m only trying to help. And when it comes to matching people and books, I like to think I’ve developed a kind of sixth sense about these things. ‘All I was thinking was that so often it’s less about what’s actually happening around us – and more about the way we think.’ I go over to a different shelf and pick up another book, before coming back again and handing it to her. While books can be an escape, I like them to mean something. ‘This one’s about our planet – and the damage the human race is wreaking. It has beautiful prose and the most stunning – and quite shocking – images of the mark we’re leaving. It always reminds me of our place in this world.’ I stop myself, because it has nothing to do with any of the other books she’s picked up. But when I wasn’t in a good place, it helped me to think about the bigger picture. ‘Reading it gave me a completely different perspective…’ Suddenly I realise I’m making massive assumptions, because as she pointed out, I know nothing abouther. ‘Sorry… It’s hardly for me to say. I mean, I don’t even know you.’
‘No. But this is more my thing.’ Looking slightly less frosty, she opens it and reads the list of contributors. ‘Actually, I know some of these guys.’
‘You do?’ I stare at her, slightly in awe. ‘Wow. How come?’
‘Work,’ she says briefly. ‘I’m a travel writer,’ she adds.
Ever since opening, I’ve loved having real-life writers in my shop, not that it’s happened that often. ‘You write books?’
She shakes her head. ‘Mostly pieces for magazines – you know, the glossy kind. I’m working on a podcast, too, about off-the-beaten-track travel for people who would usually go on package holidays.’
