Book Woman Read online

  Mary took a step back.

  “He’s gone? I was only speaking to hi last week.”

  She shrugged.

  “I believe he’s left the company.”

  “Well can I see his replacement?”

  The girl looked around.

  “That’s Ms Shropshire, I’ll ask; you are the Library manageress aren’t you?”

  Mary nodded and then re-examined the bookstall in the hope that it was a temporary summer affair. However, it looked solid and purpose built. The young girl reappeared and led her out the back to a poky office sandwiched between a bare mess-room and a set of smelly staff toilets. One look at Ms Shropshire caused Mary’s heart to sink; Ms Shropshire was small, hard-faced and shrew like. She tried for a friendly introduction.

  “Hi, I’m Mary Webb from the book shop up the road.”

  Ms Shropshire put down a fat ledger and shook hands, her grip was firm, but soft round the edges.

  “Sue Shropshire; I’ve been expecting you.”

  “I’m surprised you’re selling books.”

  “So are we.”

  She looked into Mary’s eyes and then glanced away. Mary decided she’d have to fish for information.

  “Surely alcohol must carry a better profit margin, especially at this time of year?”

  Sue Shropshire grimaced and sighed.

  “My predecessor managed to loose our alcohol licence for us.”

  Mary decided that there might be the light at the end of the tunnel.

  “Surely you’ll get it back”

  Sue Shropshire leant against the table and placed her hands by her sides, tightly gripping the edge of the table.

  “Not for at least a year. It’s the new government policy, even then it’s not guaranteed as we lost it due to selling to underage customers. If what they say is to be believed it will be a minimum two years with absolutely no guarantees at the end.”

  Mary tried a different approach.

  “But aren’t there more profitable things for you to sell? At the sort of prices you are charging, even with a heavy purchase discount, you can’t be making much profit.”

  Sue gave the ghost of a smile.

  “I must make money where I can; the company required profit margin hasn’t changed, just what I am allowed to sell.”

  Mary tried to hold her temper.

  “You’re selling them at a price that is below what I can buy them for.”

  “Then buy them from us.” Sue snapped back. “I’m sorry Miss Webb, but I have a store to run and a profit to make and it’s all the harder without alcohol sales. Books are staying until we get our licence back.”

  Mary let her irritation show.

  “How would you like it if I sold oranges?”

  Sue twitched her nose.

  “If you can sell them cheaper than we can you are welcome to do so.”

  Mary left muttering under her breath. As she walked back she did some sums in her head. Three months they could cope with, even if it was during the summer season. Six months they might. But one year would probably be the death-knell for the book shop and two years definitely so. She diverted to her favourite coffee shop, The Red Cabin; she needed to think.

  Mary managed to get a table to herself by out manoeuvring a couple of little old ladies. As they glared at her she smiled sweetly and stirred her coffee. She pulled out a battered calculator and did some rough sums and sipped her coffee while contemplating the numbers. The equation was all too simple. To run the library they needed access through the back of the downstairs shop, which used to be the ballroom foyer and cloakroom. Running a book-shop there had been the logical thing to do when John had first opened, but now she was not so sure it was still the right decision. Maybe a café or newsagents might be better; but Eastburgh was peppered with coffee shops and there were already two newsagents running a cut-throat price war, a third wouldn’t survive a week. It just had to be a book-shop, especially with the library above. The library normally never held more than two copies of any book and that often meant people who could not borrow the book upstairs, bought it downstairs. She mused over the problem for a few minutes and came to no solution; she wondered about e-mailing John and then instantly put the idea out of her head. She broke off a piece of shortbread and wondered about the overall viability of the whole set-up because if the book-shop/library set-up was so financially unstable now as to be affected by one supermarket up the road selling books, what would it be like in two years time? She looked up to see a woman staring at her, Mary’s mind went into overdrive and then she smiled.

  “Hello Charlotte, I didn’t know you worked here?”

  Charlotte expertly cleared the table next door and wiped it over.

  “Been here for three months, but only Thursdays and Saturday afternoons.”

  Mary racked her brain for information.

  “And how’s young Jonathan?”

  Charlotte’s face fell.

  “He lives with his father,” she mumbled. “He’s married and has a large house.”

  “Do you see him much?”

  Her face fell further.

  “They’re in Canada.”

  Mary decided to change the subject.

  “Why didn’t you come back to us, we must pay better than here.”

  She twisted her wiping cloth.

  “Didn’t think you’d have me, not after…”

  Mary recalled the reason for Charlotte’s departure; she had all but emptied a bookcase by throwing the books one by one at her child’s father while screaming at the top of her voice. “If Tom’s in Canada I doubt that we’d get a repeat performance.”

  Charlotte shrugged.

  “I also work at the supermarket Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Friday afternoons.”

  Mary’s interest rose.

  “Been some changes there.”

  Charlotte nodded disconsolately.

  “Mr Jones got himself sacked over losing the alcohol licence and his replacement is everything Mr Jones wasn’t. She’s hard on the staff, brutal on disposing of non-profitable lines and has already halved the casual staff and cut back on shifts on the grounds of economy.”

  Mary’s spirits rose, maybe the supermarket would fold up before the book-shop. Charlotte suddenly had a brief look of panic.

  “Must go, it’s been nice talking to you.”

  Mary watched Charlotte as she worked her way across the coffee-shop floor; she moved with economy and flow, even clearing tables.

  Mary wandered back to the library and set about working on the month’s accounts. A computer program did most of the hard work, but it still needed the correct data fed into it. She still had not really solved the problem of the book-selling supermarket and had to temporarily park the problem, but she knew in her heart of hearts that some positive steps would have to be taken at some time in the not too distant future and more than likely before John returned.

  Mary arrived home to find her sister Jenny cooking the evening meal while her other sister, Cathy, was talking to her mum. Mary gave her a formal kiss and then looked at the contents of the saucepan.

  “I hope you’re not planning on giving mum Vegetarian Chilli Con Carne.” She said quietly.

  Jenny scowled.

  “Just because it’s vegetarian doesn’t mean that it’s not wholesome.”

  Mary rolled her eyes and gritted her teeth.

  “It’s not the vegetables, it’s the spices, they’ll play havoc with her digestive system and she’ll be up all night.”

  Jenny paused stirring and blinked.

  “She used to like it, it was her favourite.”

  Mary snorted.

  “Ten years ago. Look there’s some frozen chicken in the freezer, how about I microwave that for her?”

  Jenny sighed and turned away.

  “If you must.”

  Cathy appeared at the kitchen door and Mary provided her second formal kiss of the day. Another kiss of family greeting without real friendliness. Cathy l
ooked around the kitchen.

  “Shall I lay the table?”

  Mary gritted her teeth.

  “If you remember our dining room table is in Jenny’s living room, we’ll eat off our laps, the armchair table is easier for mum now.”

  Cathy looked perplexed for a few seconds and scowled.

  “Must we be so common?” She said rather offishly,

  Jenny instantly took on the older sister roll.

  “Well if it’s better for mum it’s right for us.”

  Mary sighed inwardly, she could cope with her sisters, but strictly on a one at a time basis; when they were both together it usually meant tension of one sort or another. Eventually they all trooped into the lounge and had dinner, which proved to be a none too relaxing affair.

  An hour or so later the three sisters were back in the kitchen and Cathy peered round the door into the lounge.

  “Looks like she’s asleep.”

  Mary had had enough; she sat on her kitchen stool and crossed her arms.

  “OK girls, what’s this all about? You two haven’t come together to see mum for years, even on her birthday you manage to avoid one another.”

  Cathy went slightly pink, but Jenny looked her straight in the eye.

  “We thought it was about time we discussed mother’s will.”

  Mary blinked in surprise and indignation.

  “Pardon?”

  Jenny took on the older sister expression and folded her arms.

  “I said we think that it’s time we discussed mother’s will.”

  Mary tried to control her anger.

  “I rather think that is a matter for mum, not us.”

  Cathy leaned against the sink while Jenny stood in the middle of the floor with her arms crossed and a sour expression on her face.

  “We don’t want you manipulating her,” she said bluntly.

  Mary’s mouth almost dropped open; she wagged a finger at Jenny.

  “I have never discussed her will with her. I do not intend to discuss her will with her and I would never be so crass as to try and get more than my fair share.”

  Cathy sniffed and sniped from the sidelines.

  “Well Father left you a special legacy.”

  Mary began to see red.

  “It was my money anyway and he was keeping it for me. If you remember when he died it still took me ten minutes to walk up the front garden path on my Zimmer frame. He left me the money to buy a car when I could manage to drive so that I could be mobile; I didn’t see either of you complaining at the time! I seem to remember I ended up six months later taking mum to church while you two swanned off every Sunday with your boyfriends.”

  Jenny kept her arms folded, but leant forward slightly.

  “Well you are with her all the time, it would be easy for you to put ideas in her head.”

  Mary gave a sly smile.

  “So which one of you is taking mum on a summer holiday? Eh? Which one of you is having her for Christmas? It’s not as if I haven’t tried, but neither of you seems willing to lift a finger to look after her.”

  Cathy rolled her eyes and sniped again.

  “Oh, so you’re the little martyr are you?”

  Mary swung herself round on the stool to face Cathy.

  “Don’t you dare! I love looking after mum and there’s nothing about martyrdom in it, but from time to time you two ought to show at least willing once in a while.”

  Jenny inspected her immaculate fingernails.

  “I’ve two kids you know, it isn’t easy.”

  Cathy nodded.

  “We haven’t got a spare room downstairs; you’ve got a stair-lift.”

  Mary snorted.

  “Which was installed for me and which mum is terrified of. And don’t give me the sob stories, if you loved mum enough you’d find the time.”

  Jenny went cherry red, but Cathy stepped in before she said anything.

  “We’re straying from the point, we came to talk about the will.”

  Mary looked Jenny straight I the eyes.

  “Look, as far as I know there isn’t a will; so that means that the four of us will get equal shares. But I sincerely hope that that will not be for many years to come.”

  Jenny cocked her head to one side and her lips made a thin straight line.

  “Does that mean that you’ll also reimburse us a quarter of what Dad left you?”

  Mary gritted her teeth and snarled.

  “No it does not! What Dad left me is between him and me, and whatever mum leaves me will be between me and her; and frankly I think that you two are bang out of order.”

  Cathy stood upright.

  “What about the house?”

  Mary suddenly exhaled and the penny dropped.

  “So that’s what this is all about, you disgusting pair of vultures think that mum will leave me the house.”

  Jenny inspected her beautifully manicured fingernails.

  “It had crossed our minds.”

  Cathy brushed down her silk blouse.

  “After all when she dies you will have nowhere to live.”

  Mary couldn’t believe her ears, she wiggled off the stool.

  “And which of you two helps with the household bills? Which of you pays for the upkeep?” She took a step forward and hissed.

  “And I do it not because I have some mercenary vision in mind, but because I love mum and if we have to sell the house after she dies so be it, but mark my words, it certainly won’t be before, so whatever you two are after you can forget it now.”

  Cathy coughed and said casually.

  “We only wondered if mother might be better off in a home…”

  Mary struggled past them and opened the front door.

  “You’d better go now; if she goes to a home it will be over my dead body and you had better believe it!”

  Jenny picked her coat off of the banister knob.

  “Just thought you should know where we stand.”

  They trooped out and Mary almost slammed the door, remembering at the last moment that her mother was asleep. She turned round to find her mother standing in the lounge doorway.

  “Think I’m deaf do they?”

  Mary walked up to her.

  “How much did you hear?”

  Her mother scoffed.

  “All of it of course, they never come as a pair unless they want something. They never could stand one another from the day they were born.”

  She suddenly smiled.

  “And there is a will, it’s lodged at our solicitors and your uncle George is the executor.”

  Mary took her hands.

  “You haven’t done anything silly in it have you mum?”

  Her mother swayed her way towards the shower room cum WC.

  “I’ve done what I think is right and let that be an end to it.”

  She closed the door and Mary suddenly felt exhausted; she swore under her breath and went back to start loading the dishwasher.

  Mary was falling. She was falling when she knew that she should be floating. She tried flapping her arms, but she was still falling. She passed through a cloud and found herself in the middle of a pile of flower pots. She tried to stand up, but her legs were all bendy. Then all of a sudden she felt her legs in a crushing machine and she screamed. Mary woke up in a dead sweat and wondered for the umpteenth time if she had actually screamed or if it was it only a mental scream in the nightmare. She had lied to Bella; she still had nightmares, but thankfully not every night. And on the dreadful day of the accident she had felt the pain in her legs; not at first admittedly, but as soon as the paramedics had moved her the agony had clicked in and she could not forget it, or put it out of her mind. She reached over and looked at the clock and then lay back on the bed; her heart was racing and she knew from experience that it would be at least an hour before she would get back to sleep.

  Mary's mother lay in the bedroom below. She may have been elderly, but she still had that mother’s instinct that something was wr
ong with her child. Admittedly she did not now scream every night, or every week, but at least twice a month she did scream in her sleep. Her mother fretted over the problem, as far as she remembered Mary had had terrible nightmares for two years after her accident and then they had suddenly tailed off for no reason she could fathom. She thought that there had been a space years with no, or few, nightmares. However, eighteen months ago the nightmares had started again. There appeared to be two types of nightmare, the single scream variety, as she had just heard, and the prolonged moaning variety that could go on for up to fifteen minutes. Mary’s mother turned over and lay listening, something was not quite right with her child and it worried her. Perhaps, if she could find out what had disturbed her child’s equilibrium, she might find the answer. She sighed and realised that she was in reality worrying about a thirty-something woman, but once a mother always a mother.

  Mary was still in bed, but there was something wrong; she was lying on her belly and her legs felt like lead and her arms were all covered in bandages. Her nose was running and she couldn’t wipe it. She found it irritating and humiliating, especially as her nose was dripping all over the bedclothes and it was dripping blood. Suddenly her mother was beside her; not the mother asleep in the room below, but her mother of fifteen years ago. She tenderly wiped Mary’s nose and kissed her on the forehead. It was so comforting to have her there, so comforting that she knew she could sleep safety and she would wake up safe and well.

  Chapter 4

  Are we coping?

  Saturday morning Serena, the bookshop manager, waylaid Mary grinning from ear to ear.

  “Solved the problem of Prima Donna in Purple Aspic.”

  Mary smiled in response to her smile.

  “How?”

  “It’s selling so well that the warehouses are short. I sold our stock to Bridgeson’s. He took it at his cost-price which is 20p per book higher than our supplier; so we’ve got rid of the stock and made £40 in the process.”

  Mary almost screamed, but managed to stay calm.

  “But the supermarket is sold out of copies; they’ve changed their offer over to Henry Gomer’s Long walk on a rippled lake. So we might now get people looking for the book.”