Patrick stood, with one foot precariously balanced on the top rung of the ladder, pinning up great swathes of fake cobwebs. ‘That do?’ He peered down at Amy holding the bottom of the ladder safe.
‘Brilliant! I love how they’re all sparkly. Then folk won’t think I just haven’t bothered with the dusting. It’s perfect, Patrick. You can come down now.’ She tried not to be too aware of his rear as it descended and ducked to one side once she was sure he was safely down.
They took a moment to admire the day’s work. In the children’s book area, the decorations were jokey. Ghost windsock puppets made out of paper drifted in the air, a spider trail led to a pin the spider on the web game, with ghost lollipops as prizes. Underneath the display of Hallowe’en-themed books, a pair of legs, clad in striped red and black tights borrowed from Millie, and Amy’s Victorian style lace-up boots stuck out from a pile of autumn leaves, complete with a broken broomstick. A profusion of black, orange and white balloons bobbed above. In the rest of the bookshop though, things had taken a more sinister turn. In a dusky corner, a dressmaker’s dummy loomed, half unseen wrapped around with a white chiffon shroud. Patrick’s paper bats flew along the edge of the mezzanine and a full-sized skeleton lay grinning malevolently in a bed of glittery cotton-wool in the cauldron, surrounded by red-stained candles. The sparkling cobwebs hung from every corner.
Amy pulled a face. ‘Too much?’
Patrick shrugged. ‘If you’re going to do something…’
‘I’ve got some headless figures made from chicken wire to put at the entrance. I’ve painted them with glow-in-the-dark paint to protect our new pumpkin family against any vandals.’ Amy spoke with relish. ‘They’re really scary.’
Patrick leaned against the ladder and laughed. ‘There’s no end to your macabre imagination, is there? It’s terrifying.’ He sobered and gave her an intense look. ‘Darlin,’ you’ve not let me say how sad I am for you. About what happened with you and Lee. Sure, it’s a terrible thing to have gone through.’
Amy now regretted telling him anything. The gamble hadn’t paid off. He hadn’t told her one thing about himself she didn’t already know, apart from the tantalizing hint that he’d not got on with his own mother. Now, he’d regard her as everyone else did; a failure. A jilted at the altar failure. The last thing she wanted from anyone was pity. And she certainly didn’t want it from him. ‘Oh, it’s ancient history,’ she bit out. ‘Lee went off and joined the navy. Can you imagine? Let’s hope he offered it more commitment.’ Forcing a smile, she added, ‘And, if you think the Hallowe’en decs are good, just you wait until you see what I’ve got planned for Christmas!’
Patrick accepted her deliberate change of subject. ‘Can’t wait but does it involve more ladders?’ He wiped imaginary sweat from his forehead. ‘Is now the time to tell you I’m feared of the great heights?’
Amy clapped a hand to her mouth in horror. ‘You’re not! Why didn’t you tell me? Oh Patrick I’m so sorry to make you go up there.’
‘You’re too easy to wind up.’ Laughing, he caught her by the waist and whirled her round. ‘Can’t say it was my favourite thing to do but it’s all done now.’
Amy let him dance her around and around in an impromptu waltz until, dizzy and breathless, she found herself backed up against the Local Folklore and Myth shelves. Breathing hard, they laughed at one another and then the moment stilled. The air shifted. Laughter eased into something else. Something far more potent. Patrick inched closer and pinned her against the bookshelf. She felt the spines of the books pressing into her own. He had a hand either side of her shoulders, his mouth inches from hers. Her breasts rose and fell against his blue sweater. Inside she was molten.
‘Ah darlin,’ you’d be an easy one to love,’ he whispered.
He lowered his chin to the side of her cheek and she felt his stubble rasp against her skin, his breath hot on her ear. Kiss me, she urged him silently. Kiss me and then I can show you all the love I have for you. She held her breath, explosions of desire shooting through her. Screwing her eyes shut, she concentrated on his lovely roughness. Everything was roughness – his scrubby beard, his sweater, all except for his voice. That was as sweet and smooth as honey. Kiss me, she willed but all he did was brush his lips against her cheek. Chaste. Friendly. And only a hint of what might be.
‘Fuck. I can’t do this,’ he muttered. ‘You’ve been hurt enough.’
She felt him leave. A great gulf of emptiness filled the space he’d left. Disappointment tasted like ashes. What couldn’t he do? And why? And yes, she’d been hurt but she was ready to love again. But only with Patrick. Only with him. And the man remained a complete mystery.
From somewhere far off came the jangling of the shop bell. A customer. Amy opened her eyes with difficulty, unwilling to descend from the ecstasy she had so nearly tasted. She blinked, looking around. Patrick was nowhere to be seen and a woman was browsing the General Fiction section. Several others joined her. Must be Yummy Mummies afternoon in Millie Vanilla’s. They often popped in to restock their reading after a meeting. Amy straightened her much-despised cardigan and tried to ignore the unsatisfied throbbing still claiming her. Taking a deep and calming breath, she went over to see if she could sell some books.