Jane Green - Bookends

‘Surprise,’ she says. ‘But you’ll see when we get there.’

‘Here we are,’ says Lucy, stopping in front of an empty shop and turning to look at me expectantly.

I look at what she’s looking at. An empty shop in between the organic deli and the shop that sells strange wooden carvings. A shop that you can’t see into because all the windows are obliterated by huge, multicoloured posters advertising bands, concerts, gigs.

Lucy’s pressed up against the glass, trying to see in through the tiny gaps where the posters don’t meet, and I join her, but the glass has been whitewashed underneath the posters and it’s impossible to see anything.

I’ve passed this shop many, many times before. It’s on the main drag, on West End Lane, opposite the bagel shop but before the Green. And I realize that although I’ve passed this spot many, many times, I have always seen the same emptiness, the same posters. I’ve just never registered it before now.

‘And we are here why?’ I ask.

‘Look! It’s empty!’ Lucy’s struggling to keep the excitement out of her voice.

‘Yes?’ I still haven’t the foggiest what she’s talking about.

‘Oh, Cath, darling. You’re being thick. This is the perfect place for my new business. Well, actually, hopefully, our new business.’

‘What business is this?’

‘Your bookshop and my coffee shop.’

I look at Lucy, at her beaming eyes, expectant face, and I am amazed that she has remembered my dream, and more amazed that she wants to do it with me.

‘I don’t believe you.’ I shake my head. ‘How on earth did you remember that? I must have told you years ago.’

She links her arm through mine as we stand next to one another, trying to see into the shop.

‘First of all, you go on about it far more than you think you do, and secondly that night, when we were talking about our dreams, I have never seen anyone as passionate as you, when you said this was the one thing you had always wanted to do.

‘I suppose I never forgot that, and the one thing that I love, the one thing that I’d love to work with – ’

‘Food!’ we both say at the same time, bursting into peals of laughter.

‘I know it’s funny,’ she says, ‘but it’s actually true. I thought I’d stay in illustration for ever, but I just don’t have the same commitment now that I’ve had Max. And even though it’s your idea, to have the café/bookshop, I know, and darling Cath, do not be insulted by this, I know you couldn’t cook a cake if your life depended on it.

‘And the thing is,’ she continues, barely pausing for breath, ‘it actually wouldn’t be that difficult, and Josh would help, and we’d only have to employ, say, two other people to make it work, and Cath, please say yes, because I think we could do it. I know we could do it.’

‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’ I stop and look at Lucy’s shining face with amazement, feeling nervous and excited, and not sure whether we could actually pull this off.

Because isn’t that the thing with fantasies? Fantasies are absolutely safe, as long as you never try to make them a reality. Whether you’re fantasizing about wife-swapping, or café/bookshops, it’s still a truism that they will always be safer when they are kept locked in your head.

But, as I look into Lucy’s eyes, behind the sparkle I can see steely determination, and God knows Lucy could do it. Out of all the people I know Lucy is the only one who could not only bake cookies from heaven, but would also charm everyone who stepped over the threshold, and there really wouldn’t be anything to be frightened of if Lucy were a partner.

‘Have I convinced you yet?’ Lucy grins.

‘God, Lucy.’ I shake my head. ‘It’s not as easy as that. There’s so much to think about. My flat, the mortgage, my job. I mean, Christ, could I just walk out? My savings, because this would be it…’ I’m so caught up in my world of problems I don’t even realize that Lucy is steering me to the other side of the road.

I walk beside her in a daze, and I know that even though I have no idea what it will cost, how we’d get it going, or how we’d even think about running it as a day-to-day business, it’s something I want to do.

I shake myself back into the present to find we’re now further down the road. ‘What are you doing now?’

‘Come on,’ she says, dragging me into an estate agent’s. ‘I found this site and I think it might be ideal, even though I haven’t seen the inside, so I thought it might help to convince you.’

The door closes behind us as a young man in a navy suit looks up from where he’s perched on the corner of a desk, sifting through a sheaf of papers.

‘Hi.’ He looks up, smiling broadly, putting the papers on to a desk and brushing a lock of mousy brown hair out of eyes that are surprisingly twinkly. ‘Can I help at all?’ His voice is deep, with just a hint of an accent that I can’t quite place. Definitely south of England, possibly Dorset or Wiltshire, but whatever it is he looks far too normal to be an estate agent.

I always imagine estate agents to be smart and slick, dressed in sharp suits with mobile phones surgically attached to their ears, and though this man is wearing a navy suit, he looks slightly wrong in it somehow, as if he’d be far more comfortable in a chunky woollen sweater and a pair of faded jeans.

I realize I’m staring and look away quickly, pretending to be absorbed in the grains of wood on the floorboards.

‘We’re looking for James,’ Lucy says, as the man stands up and holds out a hand.

‘Let me guess. You’re Lucy Portman.’ His laughter lines grow deeper, and I comprehend with a shock that this is a seriously attractive man.

‘James?’

‘None other.’ They shake hands, as I try to be as unobtrusive as possible. I glance up to see him looking at me with an eyebrow raised in a question.

‘Hi, I’m Cath, er, Catherine Warner,’ I mumble, reluctantly shaking his hand, because I’m really not very good at this business stuff, plus I’m suddenly feeling very awkward.

‘Nice to meet you, Cath,’ he says, looking directly into my eyes, as I look away and threaten to blush. He releases my hand and walks over to another desk, picking up a set of keys. ‘Shall we go?’

We cross the road again to the empty shop, me still in a state of shock because it feels as if Lucy has completely turned my life around in the space of an hour, and, as James fiddles with the keys in an attempt to unlock the door, he turns to us.

‘You know, the more I think about it the more I think it’s a brilliant idea,’ he says. ‘A café/bookshop. Just what this area needs, and wait until you see inside. The space you’re looking at is perfect.’

‘You don’t know of any others, do you?’ says Lucy, vaguely anxiously. ‘I’ve tried to find out, but I don’t think there are any.’

‘There is a bookshop, and there are plenty of cafés, but this area’s so young and buzzy, the combination’s bound to go down well. Plus,’ and he lowers his voice as he says this, ‘don’t quote me on this, but a lot of the places here are a bit shabby, or quite dark and poky. A bright, sunny café with the advantage of the bookshop is bound to be a hit.’

Now I know he’s only an estate agent, and I know he’s got no experience of running a café/bookshop, but because he’s a stranger, and because he has somehow validated this idea, I start to feel excited. In fact, by the time he’s actually picked out the two keys, out of the forty or so, that fit, I’m almost ready to start dancing round the shop with joy. The door creaks open and Lucy takes my hand, giving it a quick, reassuring squeeze, as we both gingerly step in.