When Amy opened up the bookshop the following morning, she found a note pushed through the letterbox. It was from Patrick. After her encounter with Lee, she’d gone into the pub with Emma to look for him but he was nowhere to be seen. After getting changed, she’d made herself some tea and waited in the shop but to no avail. Cold and weary, she’d reluctantly locked up and gone home.
Unfolding the letter, she was momentarily distracted by his handwriting: bold with swirling loops and written in indigo ink. Romantic. Old-fashioned.
Darling girl,
I hope you don’t think me too cowardly for disappearing. I’m assuming the fella was your Lee and I’m assuming you needed to talk. Alone. Unfinished business? I was trying to be tactful! Awaiting the outcome with no patience whatsoever. But, my Amy, I have to be in LA for the next few days. Big meetings scheduled and rumour of film rights. Also, the book refuses to promote itself, it seems. I promise you I’ll be back in Berecombe before long. In truth, I should have flown straight to the States from Ireland but I had to see your sweet face first. And now we have our own unfinished business. Inside, I’m screaming, yearning to see you, to resolve it, but will have to live on jet-lag and the memory of your lips on mine until then. Darling girl, those explosive kisses! Is it wrong of me to hope or has Lee reclaimed you? Don’t ring, it’s a conversation that needs to be done face to face and I still have things to explain too. Important things. I need to hold your hand when I tell you. But if you really need to, you can contact me via Whiz. Can you believe I don’t have a phone? Can’t abide the things. Holding onto the memory of your kisses.
Patrick.
Amy sank onto the stool behind the counter and reread it. It made as little sense as the first time. Bloody Lee, getting in the way! If he hadn’t turned up and Patrick hadn’t felt a misplaced discretion, their business together would have been very much resolved. She had no doubt. Even though she still knew so little about Patrick, she would have taken him to her bed last night. To not do so would have been the regret of a lifetime. She read the letter a third time. Ridiculously, he’d diverted to see her. For one night. He wanted to see her again. He thought her kisses were explosive! Warmth spread through her as she remembered his lips. He hadn’t done too badly either. And he had things to tell her and needed to hold her hand while he did so. Amy’s heart sank. That didn’t sound good. Maybe he really was married to Dymphna. She blew out a breath and glanced at the clock. She didn’t have time to dwell on Patrick Carroll today. She had a class visit from the primary school to host and it was book group that evening. Folding up Patrick’s letter, she gave it a little foolish kiss, cursed him for rejecting mobile phones and tucked it safely into her bag.
The school children all had money to spend on a book and swarmed around the shop like enthusiastic and frenzied ants. They were fascinated and horrified by the Hallowe’en-themed decorations in equal measure. It took most of the afternoon to give an explanatory talk on how the bookshop worked, do a short storytelling and another hour to man the tills as each child brought their purchases to the till.
As the last one trotted out, proudly clutching a book, a Hallowe’en lolly and a bookmark that Amy had made, she found a beanbag and sank into it with a mug of tea. Relishing the sudden quiet, she closed her eyes as she gave thanks that she hadn’t gone into primary school teaching as she was once tempted. Still, it had been a good afternoon and many of the children had promised they would bring their parents in at half term.
A sound came from the front door. It was still propped open as it had been a sunny, warm afternoon and the press of small bodies had made the shop stuffy. Amy opened her eyes and looked to where the noise had come from. Getting up, she expected to see a teacher and child returning in search of a forgotten glove or bag. She peered out of the door but there was no one in sight. Dusk was settling and a faded sunset imbued the harbour with a flat, orange light. A chill breeze skittered a dried leaf across the terrace. It would be dark soon. Daylight, even on bright days like today, was getting in short supply.
Amy’s blood turned to ice as she heard the scuffle of feet and a laugh. Definitely not the giggle of one of the seven year olds who had just left. The old spooked feeling enshrouded her again. Then fury erupted as she saw that one of her glow-in-the-dark wire figures had gone. She’d spent ages making them and still had remnants of blisters on her fingers from twisting the wire into place. She heard another laugh and then a smothered cough. Someone whispered, ‘Shut up, you wanker!’
Without making a sound, she stepped out of the shop and pulled the door shut behind her with a bang. Then she stood, hardly daring to breathe in case the ruse hadn’t worked.
Voices came from the side of the building, this time less hushed.
‘S’okay. We can go. She’s shut up shop.’
‘Ian, you fuckin’ bellend, grab the other end, will ya?’
Three boys emerged from the side alley, struggling to carry the wire sculpture between them as they were crying with laughter. When they clocked Amy standing there, their faces turned to chalk. Dropping the figure, two ran but Amy was too quick for the third. Reaching out, she grabbed his hoodie and held on. When she yanked him round she couldn’t believe her eyes.
‘Stevie Tizzard!’