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

all she does is snarl, ‘Is the door open?’

‘Yes–’ I say, and then she’s gone, whisking past me. I hear his footsteps down the stairs as he runs after her.

‘Lara! For God’s sake,’ he says. ‘Oh hey, Thea. Look, I’d better go after her; she can’t get home unless I give her a lift to the station.’

The station’s in Dumfries, which, as previously established, is an hour and twenty minutes away.

‘That’ll be a delightful journey,’ I say.

‘Jesus, I know. Sorry, I’ll be back later.’

‘Okay.’ I watch him as he runs after her. Bloody hell.

He slams back into the shop at lunchtime, just as I’m eating my sandwiches. I had to put up my favourite sign – Back in five minutes! – so I could run across to the Old Mill and pick up my food. There was actually a customer waiting when I got back as well, the first time that’s ever happened. And she bought something – miracles will never cease!

‘Hey,’ I say. ‘I bought you some lunch. I didn’t know if you’d want it.’

‘Thanks. Back in a sec, desperate for a piss.’

‘Oh, do tell me more,’ I mutter, as he runs for the loo.

Then he’s back. ‘Why does the hot tap take so long?’

I shrug. ‘I think it’s because your plumbing’s ancient.’

‘How rude. It’s no older than the rest of me,’ he says, and laughs at my expression. ‘Sorry. Are these for me?’

I nod.

‘Thanks very much. I’m starving. No breakfast.’

‘Too busy yelling at each other?’

‘Hm. Yes.’

He slumps into his green armchair and takes a huge bite out of his sandwich. ‘Be an angel and make me a coffee?’ he says, indistinctly.

‘I think you’ll find that sentence might sound better as, “Thea, please would you make me a coffee?”’

‘I’d be terribly grateful.’

‘I’m sure you would. I’d rather you didn’t ask me to be an angel though.’

‘A darling?’

Now I’m blushing. ‘That’s worse.’

He tuts through his roast beef. After swallowing, he says, ‘Would you though? Please? I’ll get you one later. Or buy your dinner, or something.’

I sigh and push myself off the counter. In the semi-darkness of the kitchenette I make two coffees and bring them back. Now he’s on the phone – his phone, not the old-fashioned shop phone, which has a dial and which I try never to use because it’s too echoey and peculiar.

‘If you’d just stop yelling at me,’ he says, ‘I could… No. No, it’s not… Jesus Christ.’

I stop watching him and move away into the hall. I’m fascinated, but I can’t just sit there goggling while he has a personal conversation. I stand on one foot and then the other and pretend I’m not listening. I can hear him clearly; he’s annoyed and therefore quite loud.

‘Okay. I don’t care. No. Whatever. No… It’s not meant to be difficult, is it? No. But it is… You tell me… Right, well, as I said, whatever.’

I think that’s it. Is it? I peer through the doorway. He puts his phone on the counter and presses his fingers to his forehead. ‘Fuck’s SAKE,’ he says.

I go back into the front of the shop and pick up my coffee. ‘Lucky for you there’s no one here but us,’ I say. ‘Very unprofessional.’

‘Gah.’

‘So. How was your morning?’

He groans. ‘God save me from self-obsessed, high-maintenance bitches.’

‘I don’t much like her,’ I say, ‘but please don’t call her a bitch.’ I lean on the counter, not looking at him.

‘Why not?’

‘Gendered insults are lazy.’ I pause. ‘“High maintenance” is also gendered, obviously.’

‘She’s a bastard, then,’ he says, after giving it some thought. ‘And unreasonable. Or… maybe not unreasonable, then. I don’t know.’

‘What were you fighting about? If you don’t mind me asking?’

‘Oh, the usual. I’m distant and uninterested, apparently.’

‘And are you?’ I take a sip of coffee.

‘Well, yeah. I’m not very interested in her, why would I be? It’s an arrangement of’ – he pauses – ‘mutual convenience, not a love affair.’

I wince. No wonder she’s angry. ‘Is that how she feels about it?’

He has the grace to look embarrassed. ‘I think so. I mean, we were both pretty honest about it in the beginning. I hope.’

‘So – forgive me for prying – how does that work? Did you say, “I wouldn’t mind having semi-regular no-strings sex”? Is that effective? I’d like to find out, you know, in case I ever need to do anything similar.’

He laughs. ‘You won’t need to, though, will you? I mean, you’ll meet someone. You won’t need to make a pointless and irritating arrangement.’

I’m not sure I believe this, but still. ‘Is it pointless and irritating?’

‘For something that’s supposed to be all about sex, there’s a lot of shouting. And not much sex.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yeah, oh.’

‘How did you meet?’

He finishes his sandwich and brushes crumbs off his lap. ‘Through Sophie.’

‘Oh yeah, I forgot about her. How d’you know her?’

He turns back to his laptop and rattles the mouse to wake it up. ‘How d’you reckon?’

‘Um, your brother used to go out with her?’

‘Bingo.’

‘So you–’

‘I’ve slept with both of them, yes. Sophie was a long time ago; she was Charles’s girlfriend at uni, or one of ’em.’

‘Was she? She looks a lot younger. Than Charles I mean.’ What I really mean is ‘than me’ but no need to expose one’s insecurities.

‘No, she’s your age. Sophie, I mean. Lara’s thirty-eight or something. There’s another one in the middle – Rachel.’

‘Slept with her?’

He looks at me for a moment and then laughs. ‘No.’

‘Oh dear. What happened?’

‘God, you’re rude. I’ve never tried.’

I consider this. ‘Is she desperately ugly?’

‘Ha. No, she’s happily married, has been for years; it’s very unusual.’

‘Rich people are awful,’ I say, vaguely.

‘You don’t know the half of it.’

I’m still intrigued by something he said yesterday. ‘So, Lara’s husband–’

‘No idea. Not interested. If I’m in Edinburgh, I call her, and if he’s away, we meet up. Even if he’s not, sometimes. If he’s away I go to hers though, which is easier than trying to make sure wherever I’m staying is acceptable.’ He rolls his eyes. ‘I don’t know why you’re