Written for a magazine submission; unsuccessful.
The second-hand bookshop was nestled into a far corner of the high street. It had been many different things over the years: first, a barber shop; then, a clothes shop; then, a café. Now, though, it was in its third year of being a second-hand bookshop.
Or, as Jenni preferred to call it, ‘the shop where books magically multiply’. Honestly, she would leave in the morning for her job at the local registrar office, only to return in the late afternoon to discover yet another teetering pile of books, waiting to be put out on the shelves.
“What was I supposed to do?” Marc, her husband, would demand defensively. “They said they would put the books in the tip if I didn’t take them!”
Then, just as she did every time, Jenni would roll her eyes, torn between frustration and fondness. “Well, they had all better stay down here,” she would conclude the oft-performed argument. “No sneaking upstairs!” Their rented flat above the bookshop was small enough without adding to the clutter.
Still, she could hardly claim that Marc’s love of books was a secret. They had only met because he had given himself a bloody nose over a book. Bam! Walked right into a lamppost. Blood everywhere. She had happened to be walking behind him and played the role of Good Samaritan. It still amused her that he had been more upset over the few droplets of blood on the pages than anything else. Still, five years on, here they were. Too late to expect him to change now.
Besides, it worked. Both Marc and his eclectic selection of stock were well-liked by the local community. The till was never set alight with sales, but he did well enough that he could dedicate himself to the shop while Jenni focused on her own career.
Today was no different. Popping into the shop to say hello after work, Jenni caught sight of another set of books stacked by the till. There was no customer to claim them; it had to be more donations.
“Marc!”
He stepped out from behind the free-standing rotary spinner which displayed personalised bookmarks, a half-empty box nestled in the crook of his arm. “Hey, now, come on,” he met her eye with an embarrassed grin, knowing he was caught out. “Some of those are out of print! Difficult to find if someone needed them.”
“And who is going to need,” Jenni picked up the first book, eyeing the rather gruesome design on the front cover with a slight grimace, “‘Justice of a Werewolf’?”
“Someone who feels werewolves are woefully misrepresented in current culture?”
She rolled her eyes, shaking her head at the same time. He had a response for everything, even if that response was not always convincing. Sighing, she sifted through the pile with a more judicious eye than her dear husband, separating ‘sale worthy’ and ‘tip worthy’.
But the look of betrayal on Marc’s face twisted her gut. “My books!” he protested, dumping the box of bookmarks on the counter.
“Marc, come on. This one’s all grubby,” she tried to appease him, dodging away as he tried to rescue the ‘tip worthy’ pile. That he knew immediately which one was the ‘tip worthy’ pile proved a great deal! “And look, this one is torn…” She made to pick up a third one, but Marc already had his hands on it.
“This one has been signed!” he said accusingly, snatching it beyond her reach.
“What?” That had been a genuine mistake. She hadn’t noticed any of them had been signed.
“Look.” Cautiously, he held up the book and opened it to the inside page so she could see.
Jenni squinted as she peered at the swirling writing. “’To Sofie,’” she read aloud. “Oh.” Reclaiming the book from Marc, she ran her fingers lightly over the faded front cover. The author was a name she did not recognise: Anne Fermont. Yet she saw now that the wear and tear was, in fact, evidence of a book which had been well-loved…
No. She had to harden her heart! Do what her husband found so impossible.
“Tip,” she declared, refusing to be swayed by either her husband’s doe-eyes or the tugging of her own heart strings. She did love books, really. But if she didn’t intervene in this way, Marc would quite happily hoard so many that no one would be able to open the shop door.
“Wait!” Marc held up his hands up in entreaty. Anyone would have thought she was holding a live person hostage! “I’ll strike you a deal.”
“Oh for goodness…” Jenni blew out her cheeks, turning her eyes upward. This was what happened when Marc read too many crime thrillers without a break.
Yet she couldn’t deny that just dumping the books in the tip hurt her. So, steeling her resolve, she met his gaze and lifted an enquiring brow. “Your terms, sir?”
“The real problem isn’t specifically these books,” he waved his hand over the now scattered pile. “It’s that there are too many books,” he gestured to the shelves behind him to indicate the shop as a whole, “overall. Yes?”
That was accurate. Too accurate. Jenni narrowed her eyes, suspicious of this sudden lurch into logical argument. “Yes,” she conceded, drawing the word out.
“Well, the solution is simple, isn’t it?” He took an exaggeratedly slow step towards the books, as though any sudden movement might startle her into setting them alight where they lay. “I just have to sell them!”
Jenni pinched the bridge of her nose. “Marc,” she groaned. “You’re missing the point.”
“Fine, fine, I’ll guarantee to sell them within two months!”
She scoffed. “No deal.”
“One month?”
“No way.”
Harrumphing, he shot her a frustrated look. “How long then?”
She pursed her lips, considering the terms. “I think one week to sell them is more than generous.”
“One week!” he protested. “These books are like fine wines, Jenni! They should be allowed to age and—”
“They could always age in the tip,” she interjected.
He fumed to himself for a few moments. “Fine,” he eventually said, jaw clenched. He stuck out his hand. “Shake on it.”
“Hold on,” she eyed his hand warily. “We haven’t worked out the consequence if you don’t manage.” Inspiration struck her. Maybe she could use this to her advantage! “If you don’t sell these ten books, I get to choose a whole boot-worth to take to the tip!” There were definitely quite a number of books which had become long-term tenants instead of temporary lodgers. She would be able to pick them out by the layer of dust covering each of them them. “Agreed?”
“Only if you promise you won’t sabotage my efforts to sell the books!”
She let loose a scandalised gasp. “I would never!”
Impatiently, Marc wiggled his still-outstretched fingers. “Then shake.”
Without further hesitation, Jenni clasped her husband’s hand, both sealing the agreement with one firm shake.
A grin broke out across Marc’s face. “I’m going to enjoy this challenge,” he declared, rubbing his hands together gleefully, gathering as many of the books as he could in his arms.
“And I’m going to go and book a time slot at the tip!” Jenni called after him as he disappeared into the back of the shop.
That weekend, on her day off, Jenni was keeping Marc company in the shop. At least, that was what he claimed. In reality, she was manning the till while he flitted about, talking with customers and tidying shelves. He much preferred being out amongst the books than behind the front counter.
Yet it gave Jenni peace to take proper stock of the books she intended to take to the tip. Already, she had a page of her notepad filled with titles, though she was not quite bold enough to begin stacking them to one side. After all, it had been four days and Marc had succeeded in selling six of the requisite books. In truth, he had sold more than just those six books, but that was not their agreement.
Hence why he was all too pleased to be out in the shop. Three days to go. What worried her was that he was charming enough to manage it. Then what would happen?
Gnawing on her lip, Jenni placed her pen and notepad down. She hadn’t quite considered the consequence of losing the agreement until this moment. Just what would happen? She could only imagine the deluge of books which would flood onto the shelves. There was already too little shelf space!
In her growing agitation, she accidentally knocked her pen off the counter. Stooping down to retrieve it, she caught sight of the faded signed book sitting on the narrow shelf underneath the top of the counter. Curiosity got the better of her. She pulled it out to examine more closely, flicking it open to the signed page addressed to ‘Sofie’. Her heart squeezed again. It wasn’t the book’s fault that it was just one too many for the shelf. She ran her fingertips over the striking cover once more, silently trying to convey her apologies for advocating its relocation to the tip.
“Here.” Marc appeared with a mug of coffee.
Startled, Jenni dropped the book on the counter. As if Marc had not already seen her anyway.
He winked before nodding toward the book. “I haven’t seen this version of the cover before. It’s really something special, you know.”
Banishing her wavering resolve, Jenny blew across the top of her coffee. “Then you’ll have no problem finding a buyer, will you?”
Marc almost verged on smug. “Yes, yes. I’ve still got three days, remember?” His gaze fell to the book again. “But that one is special. It deserves just the right person.”
She rolled her eyes. “Anyone with the requisite amount of money is the right person, Marc.” Still, she couldn’t resist reaching out and giving the book a little pat. “Though I hope they enjoy you.”
“Should I be worried?” A small grin pulled at the corner of Marc’s mouth. “Here I thought I was the one most likely to talk to books.”
She flicked her hand, a blush colouring her cheeks. “You do talk to books! I hear you when you’re tidying up the shop.”
“Well, they have a habit of not staying where they should.”
“That’s the customers, dear; not the books.”
Laughing, Mark shook his head before picking up an opened box from behind the counter. “While we’re waiting for that perfect person, would you mind putting out these?”
Huffing a groan, Jenni peered in the box. Personalised bookmarks. “Are these the same ones you were putting out a few days ago?” she demanded incredulously.
“Yes, I got a bit distracted.” Jenni bit back her laughter, knowing that ‘bit distracted’ was code for ‘plotting how to save the books you want to throw away’. “But I was thinking that it might be a good promotion. A free bookmark with every purchase over a certain amount.”
“Not to be picky,” she began, and the words were punctuated by a snort from Marc, “but if someone is in a book shop, I don’t think they’re going to lack a bookmark. It’s like bringing coals to Newcastle.”
“If someone is in a bookshop,” he retorted without missing a beat, “they’re likely to have more books than bookmarks.”
Jenni laughed, well-aware of the truth of the matter. “Alright, alright,” she smiled up at him. “I suppose I better put these out or you’ll accuse me of trying to sabotage your big sell.”
“An excellent point!” Marc grinned, and Jenni gave him a light shove. Any excuse to get some unpaid labour from her!
Despite Jenni’s initial misgivings, the bookmark promotion proved quite popular. So much so that two days later, after her own work no less, Jenni found herself standing in front of the rotary spinner, restocking some of the most popular names. It was interesting to see the trends in names, at least to her.
So engrossed was she that Jenni hadn’t noticed the customers standing by the till. Fortunately, Marc stepped in and tallied up their sale, chatting with them all the while. It was only when she heard the phrase ‘complimentary bookmark’ that she perked up. The customers – a woman and her teenage daughter, Jenni saw from a quick sideways glance – must have spent the requisite amount.
The girl shook her head with a rueful sigh. “Those things never have my name.”
Marc grinned. “Hey, I’m Marc with a ‘c’. I know how you feel.” He gestured in the direction of Jenni, still standing by the bookmarks. “And she’s Jenni with an ‘i’.” He leant forward and added in a stage whisper, “she’s actually called Jennifer, but I dare you any book in this shop that you won’t have the nerve to call her that to her face!”
Mischief lit up the girl’s face. “Any book?” she confirmed, and Marc nodded.
Without further hesitation, the girl darted across to Jenni, beaming at her. “Hi! Marc,” she gestured over her shoulder in case there should be any doubt which Marc, “dared me to come over here and call you Jennifer to your face!”
“Oh, did he, now?” Jenni replied, pretending that she had not heard the whole exchange. She whirled around with her hands on her hips. “Marc Smith, you’re in trouble!”
The girl giggled. “He promised me any book in the book shop if I did.” She turned round and looked at Marc beseechingly. “You have to honour the dare, right?”
“Hey, I know the rules of playing dares,” Marc held up his hands. “Any book is yours, pending your mum’s approval.”
She let out a little squeal of delight and darted through the shop to where the Young Adult books were kept. Laughing at the energy of the girl, Jenni trailed after her, curious about her choices.
“What do you enjoy?” she asked.
“Oh, I’ll read anything,” the girl chattered, running her finger along the edge of the shelf as she scanned over titles. “My absolute favourite author doesn’t write anymore though.”
“That’s a shame. Who is it?”
“Anne Fermont.”
Jenni blinked. “The one who writes about heroes and dragons?”
“Yes!” the girl spun around, amazed and pleased in equal measure. “How did you know?”
“Just a lucky guess,” Jenni smiled, though her thoughts were whirring. “Come with me. I have a suggestion for the book you might want to choose.” Jenni made her way back to where Marc and the girl’s mother were exchanging pleasant chitchat. She leaned over and picked the signed book up from behind the counter, much to Marc’s obvious surprise.
Turning around, she held it up to the girl’s curious gaze. “How about this?”
Her eyes widened as her jaw dropped. “Wow, look at that cover!”
Mark smiled and nodded, handing the other purchases to her mother. “I know we’re not supposed to judge a book by its cover, but that one is a magnificent exception.”
“She always had interesting cover designs,” the girl continued, bouncing up and down on her tiptoes.
“It’s been signed by the author, too.”
“No!” Eyes wide, the girl reverentially opened the cover and gasped. “It really is! That’s her signature!” She stopped still with a frown. “Wait…” She looked up at her mother, turning the book so that she could read it. “That’s my name! The right spelling and everything!”
Marc and Jenni exchanged a bemused glance. “What?”
“Her name is Sofie,” her mum explained with a wry smile. “But with an ‘f’. My husband and I couldn’t agree between ‘Sophie’ with a ‘ph’ and Sofia with an ‘f’. So we settled on ‘Sofie’.”
Despite herself, Jenni let loose a small chuckle. “This book must have been waiting for you then. We’ve,” she ignored Marc’s pointed glare, “been trying to find the right person for it. I think it must be you.”
The girl hugged the book to her chest, practically vibrating with glee. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Trying not to laugh, her mother mouthed her own ‘thank you’ over the top of her head. The pair departed with cheery farewells.
“So,” Marc began, deliberately deadpan as he folded his arms across his chest. “You know what this means?”
Jenni sighed heavily. “Yes, I do.”
“That was the last book! Tomorrow was the deadline. I win!” He grinned, victorious.
“I think you need to revisit the terms of our agreement, sir. You were to sell,” Jenni lingered on the word, “all the books. Yet you chose to give that one way. So, in actuality, you did not sell all of them.”
Horror dawned over his expression at the technicality. “Oh, come on!” he spluttered. “That’s not fair! Anyway, you were the one who chose the book for her so actually, you sabo—” He trailed off as he caught Jenni beginning to giggle.
With a rueful chuckle, he shook his head. “You got me.”
“I did,” she acknowledged, leaning into him. She looked out onto the high street through the large shop window, watching as the mother and daughter headed down the high street. “Sofie was the right person, even if she didn’t technically buy it. That book is never going to leave her bookshelf.”
“I think you’re right,” Marc agreed. “Seriously though, does this mean no trip to the tip for a while?”
“No trip to the tip,” she echoed.
“Well, in that case…” He produced something from behind his back. “Here, for you.”
“What is it?” Jenni stared down at the gift. In her hands, she held a thin rectangular strip of paper which had ‘Jenni’ scrawled across the front. She burst out laughing.
“A personalised bookmark,” he explained, grinning bashfully. “Correct spelling and everything.”
Tipping up onto her tiptoes, she kissed his cheek. “I’ll treasure it always.” Her gaze drifted back to the retreating figures of Sofie and her mother. “As much as Sofie will treasure her newest book.”
C.A. Raine 