The Bookshop of Second Chances by Jackie Fraser (best life changing books .TXT) 📕

disapprove anyway. I line up two cups in the kitchen and get the biscuit tin out. I’m almost nervous.

He’s due at ten-thirty and it’s absolutely on the dot when he knocks.

I open the door and am surprised, again, by how tall he is. I rarely have to look up when I speak to anyone. Today he’s wearing dark jeans and a purpley-blue jacket over a dark shirt.

He frowns at me, as though faintly confused by my presence. ‘Hello,’ he says. ‘You asked me to come and look at your books.’

I’m amused he might think I’ve forgotten why he’s here. ‘I did. Come in. Thanks for coming out.’

‘No problem.’ He looks round. ‘Bit strange to be here without Andrew.’

‘I haven’t changed much,’ I reassure him, as I usher him into the sitting room and gesture at the sofa. ‘Have a seat. Would you like a drink?’

He nods. ‘Tea, no sugar. Thanks.’

‘Won’t be a moment,’ I say, and hurry out to the kitchen. When I come back with cups and saucers (note to self: buy mugs) on a tray with the biscuit tin, he’s standing by the window with his hands in his pockets, looking out at the garden.

‘Always liked it in here,’ he says, ‘nice sunny room. Although that fire surround is an abomination.’

We both look at the fireplace, which is brick, with a horrible copper sort of hood thing and niches for ornaments.

I laugh. ‘I suppose Andrew must have done it? Looks fifties or early sixties maybe.’

‘Yeah, I expect it’s more efficient than what was there before. You could probably open it up though,’ he says, coming over to sit down. ‘The original one will be behind it.’

‘It’s not old enough to be an inglenook or anything thrilling, though. Is it? I mean the Lodges would have been built at the same time as the house? When was that? Eighteenth century? I can’t picture what would be behind it.’

‘It probably is bigger. You could ask Charles’ – he says the name with a twist of dislike – ‘to dig out the plans for you. They’ll be up at the house.’

His legs angle upward from the sofa, making him look as though he might be a different scale to the furniture, half a size larger, perhaps.

‘Really?’ I stare at him, although it makes perfect sense, of course.

He nods. ‘Whole archive full of that stuff.’

‘When was the house built?’

‘They started work in 1770. The Lodges were built after the house was finished, so probably around 1775.’

‘It’s odd; it doesn’t feel as old as that. I suppose there’s been so much done to it.’

‘They tried to modernize it. Make it more appealing to the tenants. In the 1911 Census, there were twelve people living here,’ he adds. ‘Nine children. A granny. And the lodgekeeper and his wife.’

‘Bloody hell.’ I can’t imagine it. ‘Nine children? I suppose the library was another bedroom.’

‘I think so. It was pretty spacious, I should think, for working people at the time. I’ve got some pictures at the shop. I should have brought them to show you.’

‘Of the Lodge?’

‘Yes, some early prints, and some old photos as well. There are loads more up at Hollinshaw. Actually, there’s probably stuff here. I’m sure Andrew had some drawings and prints.’

‘Oh, I’d love to see what it used to look like. Not much different?’

‘All veg out the front, and a pig,’ he says, smiling. ‘No wisteria.’

‘Oh, so it is wisteria. I wasn’t sure.’

‘It’ll look amazing in about two weeks. You have to prune it hard, twice a year. February and August.’

‘Oh, okay, so I’ve missed one lot. I’ll have to look it up – I don’t know anything about wisteria.’ I open the biscuit tin. ‘Two ends of the spectrum. Rich tea or Tunnock’s caramel wafer?’

‘Oh,’ he says, ‘you’ve learned my weakness.’ He takes a wafer from the tin and grins at me. ‘Thanks.’

‘So you valued the books before?’

‘I did, yes. Must be eighteen months ago, two years maybe. Probably won’t be much different, although he did buy more.’

‘I just want to know about the Scotts, and then if there are other sections I think I’ll keep some of them, but mostly, like I said, they’re wasted on me. But I do like them. I’m a bit conflicted.’

‘If you’re not going to read them…’

‘I know, and I probably won’t. I looked at the Dickens, but I’ve got some already, you know, and although mine aren’t worth anything, that’s a good thing in some ways. I don’t know. And I was thinking maybe I should make it back into a bedroom. Or a dining room, or something. I just need some advice, really.’

‘Okay,’ he says. He takes a bite of his wafer and chews thoughtfully. ‘The Newton’s probably worth the most. You might get forty grand for it. I don’t know what he paid; he’d had it for fifty years or something.’

‘Forty grand? For one book? Shit.’ I’m horrified. ‘Should it be locked away somewhere?’

He shrugs. ‘Two volumes. It’s probably in the safe, isn’t it? And it’s unlikely it’d get stolen. Unless someone knew it was here. I won’t tell anyone,’ he adds.

‘Is there a safe? I haven’t seen one. Alastair never mentioned a safe.’

‘I’ll show you. Anyway, Newton. They’re quite rare. And he’s very famous.’

‘Well, I know, but–’

‘Second edition, 1713,’ he says. He sips his tea.

‘Oh my God.’ I think for a moment. I read a biography of Isaac Newton quite recently. ‘Is it maths or optics?’

‘Maths… well. The Principia. Opticks you can get for about three grand. I’ve got one, if you want one.’

‘Wow. Forty grand?’

‘Yeah, I can’t buy that from you, sadly, but I could sell it for you.’

‘Shit.’

He drains his cup. ‘Let’s go and have a look then, shall we?’

I follow him out to the library. ‘Hope you’re keeping the blinds drawn,’ he says.

‘Oh, yeah. For the bindings? Yeah. I only opened them this morning to dust and because you were coming.’

He stands in the middle of the room, looks about and sighs. ‘It’s a shame to break it