Libby sighed and reminded herself to keep her cool. It wasn’t the assistant’s fault that the system had messed up. There was no point in losing her cool over the phone. ‘Fine,’ she said, sourly. ‘Well, I suppose there’s nothing that can be done.’
‘We really are terribly sorry. If we can be of assistance to you at any time in the future, please do get in touch.’
Libby thought it highly unlikely she would ever look for assistance from that company again, but she stopped short of saying so, simply ending the call instead.
She was just about to launch into the mother of all swearing outbursts and possibly throw something, when she heard a female voice say: ‘Is this a bad time? It’s just I was finishing up and thought I’d call in for a nosy?’
Biting back the very bad f and b words that were itching to come out of her mouth, Libby squinted a little to make out that it was Jo standing in the door frame – a look of fear on her face, as if she knew she had just stumbled into a breakdown in the making.
‘Erm, come in. Of course, come in,’ Libby said.
‘I’ve brought some flowers from Harry’s shop. He said you might like them,’ she said, handing over a plastic-wrapped bundle of red and yellow carnations which had probably seen better days. There was clearly something about Libby that made Harry feel compelled to foist his on-the-turn goods off on her. She had the good grace to smile at the gesture, though, and took the flowers, filling a drinking glass with water from the five-litre bottle she used to make tea and coffee and standing them up on the thickened glass top of the counter. At least it was a burst of colour about the place.
Jo was walking through the shell of the shop, oohing and aahing: ‘You feel it, don’t you?’ she said, turning to smile at Libby. ‘The history in the place? You feel the souls of the people who’ve been here before, not in a haunty way, just in a sense that this place could tell a hundred different stories.’ She took her dark-rimmed, tres chic, glasses off and rubbed them on her T-shirt before putting them back on and looking back around. ‘I have a thing for old buildings. For things that can be reinvented,’ Jo said. ‘Maybe because I like being reinvented myself. It’s nice to think people and places can get a second chance, or a third chance, or whatever.’
Libby nodded, made the appropriate affirmative noises.
‘Listen to me rambling,’ Jo said and walked back to the counter. ‘Noah is always telling me that the customers don’t need my life story – but, sure, isn’t that what it’s all about? Talking to people? Having a laugh? No point in doing anything if you’re not enjoying it?’
The way she looked at Libby made her feel as if she could see right into her thoughts and it unnerved her. The question over whether or not she should continue with Ant, when she wasn’t enjoying it as much as before, was still in her thoughts.
‘You must love this. I mean – who wouldn’t. It must be a dream project.’
Libby nodded and smiled again. It was a dream project – she had no problem telling anyone who wanted to hear just how much of a dream project it was. ‘I’m very lucky,’ she said. ‘I just hope it all works out. I need it to.’ Libby fought the tears that were pricking at her eyes. This was stupid, being brought to tears over a stupid van and a stupid vintage market trip which was causing her nothing but trouble.
‘It’s stressful too, I imagine,’ Jo said, as she looked pointedly at Libby. ‘Is everything okay? I’m sensing maybe not?’
Libby sniffed, annoyed at herself for getting upset. ‘I know it sounds trivial, but I’d a van hired to drive to the vintage market and auction on Saturday in Belfast and the company have double-booked. The auction only happens a couple of times a year, and they have some great pieces, but I think I’m going to have to let them go. I know that sounds like a stupid thing to get upset over, but I really want an authentic feel to the place.’
Libby thought of the conversations she’d had with Grandad Ernie about how old things still had value and could bring their story with them, and she was gone. A fat teardrop rolled down her dusty cheek and plopped unceremoniously on the counter.
‘Oh, pet,’ Jo said, as she whipped around the counter and pulled Libby into a tight hug. ‘Do you know what my mum always says? There’s no point in getting upset over something that can be fixed. And I happen to know exactly how to fix this.’
Libby watched with curiosity as Jo took her phone from her handbag and scrolled through her screen before tapping on a number and holding it to her ear.
‘Noah, what are you doing on Saturday? Yes, I know it’s a busy day – but we can hold the fort without you, the place won’t burn down. I have something that you could do that would really help our new neighbour. You know, Bookshop Libby? She needs a van to take to a market or auction or something in Belfast and the hire company has let her down. I was thinking, sure, don’t you have a big van you could drive for her? It would get you out of my hair for a bit too, and you’ve no need to worry about Paddy. I’ll mind him. I’ll even take him for a walk.’
Libby was caught somewhere between feeling hopeful at the thought of getting to the vintage market after all and feeling uncomfortable at imposing on Noah in this way. This was a big ask. For him to take the day off work, to drive her to Belfast. They barely knew each other and the thought of almost two hours in a car either way (longer, if the interminable roadworks were still in place) was awkward, to say the least. She imagined it would be quite rude to put her earphones in and listen to her latest Audiobook.
Libby tried to gesture to Jo that it didn’t matter – but it seemed that the diminutive redhead, who believed in second chances for people and places, was not easily dissuaded when she thought she was doing someone a good deed.
She waved Libby away in a ‘Don’t worry, it’s fine’ manner before she turned her back and continued her conversation, in slightly more hushed tones. ‘You can consider it your good deed for the week and I’ll definitely owe you. Yes. If that’s what you want. Yes. I know you always want one of those,’ Jo whispered, laughing.
Oh God, Libby cringed, unable to escape the feeling that Jo was offering Noah all sorts of sexual favours if he would drive the poor sad sack of a neighbour to Belfast. She wanted the ground to open up and swallow her.
She tried to hide her embarrassment when, moments later, Jo ended the call and turned to her with a smile.
‘All sorted. Your friendly local landlord will take you in his van. I used my powers of persuasion.’ Jo laughed.
‘Thank you,’ Libby said. ‘But, really, neither of you should go to any trouble. It’s a busy day for you. I can’t ask you to do that.’
‘You’re not asking,’ Jo said, with the kind of quiet determination which made Libby think that she could perhaps be quite scary when she needed to be. ‘We’re offering. And we’re happy to do so. It won’t do Noah any harm at all to get out from behind that bar for a day. You’re doing us a favour really. He never takes time off unless forced.’
When Libby climbed into bed that night and tried to shut her brain enough to sleep, she wondered what kind of mood a man who had been forced to take a day off and who had to be bribed (probably with sexual favours) to take her to Belfast would be in during their long journey.