Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Christmas Eve 6:25 p.m.

Finally! Finally, we’re on the way back to Adam’s house and this blasted day can be over and done with. Heading past Jerret and Hobbs Bookshop, I glance into the brightly lit window. It’s covered in Christmas decorations and I almost jump when I am faced with a massive cardboard cut-out of Adam’s face alongside small stacks of his latest book, part four of his Young Adult series The Newcomers. I wheel the chair around to face the shop window.

‘As if I’ve not had enough of you today, now I have to see you in my local bookshop too!’

‘I know, it’s embarrassing. Come, on let’s go,’ Adam replies quickly, not laughing along as I expected he would.

I point at the cardboard cut-out picture. ‘That’s the smile you were doing at the woman in the perfume shop.’ I tease again, but Adam doesn’t crack even the tiniest of smiles. And then I remember what Marcy said about his latest book tanking. Eek, and here I am stopping him right in front of the bookshop window so he can think more about his failures. Nice, Phoebe.

I take the break off the wheelchair and am just about to speed us away when a tall, elegant woman of around my age, half steps out of the bookshop.

‘Adam Westbury?’ she says, pulling the soft dark grey shawl she’s wearing more tightly around her shoulders. ‘I thought it was you!’ She flicks her eyes up to me and, clearly deeming me uninteresting, continues to speak to Adam. ‘I saw on Twitter about your skating mishap, you silly pup. Anyway, you simply must come in and sign the stock we have. There are rather a lot of copies left!’

There shouldn’t be a lot of copies left, should there? That doesn’t seem like a good thing. I look at Adam, his mouth is set in a grim line.

I clear my throat. ‘We actually have somewhere to be! Sorry!’

‘No, no, it’s alright, Phoebe!’ Adam says with a cheerfulness that, after being around him for the past couple of hours, I now suspect is a touch forced. ‘I can sign a few books very quickly, if you don’t mind?’ He looks up to me with an apologetic smile.

I’d really rather not but signing some books seems like a thing he should definitely do to encourage more sales if he’s not had any.

‘Marvellous!’ says the woman, opening the door wide so that we can get into the shop. ‘You have quite the entourage,’ she says, looking at the tree with a wrinkled nose and then at me with the same expression.

‘Phoebe Cook,’ I say, extending my hand once we’re inside the shop.

‘Fliss Mayhew,’ the woman says with a simpering smile. I give her my firmest handshake and feel not even a slight bit guilty when she winces. There are some people in life, who you can immediately tell are douchebags.

The shop is lovely, though. I love a book shop and this is a beauty – warm and roomy, with high ceilings piled with colourful books. There’s even a couple of those swingy wooden ladders so people can get to the top shelves!

I wheel Adam over to a display of his books at a table in the middle of the shop. Fliss busies over and hands him a pen.

Adam picks up the book and looks at the blurb for a little while with a sad smile.

‘It’s great that you have a whole display in here!’ I say, trying to be encouraging.

‘Oh, Marcy is an old friend of my mother’s. Nepotism at its finest,’ she giggles, waving a hand over the display. ‘At this time of year I rather expected the table would be empty by now, but these books seem to want to stay.’

She does another little laugh while Adam grimaces and starts to sign the stock with an exuberant signature. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘You really don’t have to keep the display up, if you have something else you think would sell better in this space.’

‘No, no it’s fine, of course!’ Fliss says. ‘Having some signed should help to shift them… Did the publishers sign you up for another deal?’

‘Not yet!’ Adam says, in that forced bright tone again. ‘But I’m writing a brand new series for adults and I’ve already had some interest from a few publishers.’

‘Oh good for you, Adam! I often wonder if the reading public are getting fatigued with all of this commercial literature, but it sounds as though you’ll be just fine!’ Fliss shrugs. ‘I’m actually writing a piece of poetic literary fiction about a beautiful woman who works in a bookshop and her noble horse, who is also her dearest friend.’

Ugh, that sounds like a shit book.

‘Great!’ Adam says, still scribbling over the books. ‘I wish you the best of luck with that. Do let me know if I can help in any way.’

‘Thanks! That’s so kind, but I’m not sure it will be your cup of tea. It’s sort of unique, you know? And very literary. Not like your books.’

She’s not outright saying it but you can tell she definitely looks down on the kind of thing Adam writes.

Snobs. Definitely riding high on the shitlist.

I clear my throat. ‘You know, I’m writing a piece of poetic literary fiction about a woman who works in a shop and who fancies her horse.’ I affect a very serious expression.

Fliss blinks at me, her mouth opening and closing like a guppy. Her cheeks turn red. Adam bursts into loud, deep laughter.

‘I do not ‘fancy’ Snowy!’ she hisses. ‘I think it’s time for you to leave.’

‘I’m finished anyway!’ Adam says, the cheeriness in his voice now sounding a little more genuine.

We quickly gather our things and leave the shop, as a red-faced Fliss scowls at us through the little window in the door.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, once we’re outside. ‘I couldn’t help myself. She seemed like such a snob.’

‘Oh she is. She’s the worst,’ Adam says. ‘I’m sorry you had to meet her.’

Shit. ‘Is she going to take that display down now, because of what I said about her horse?’

‘She definitely will. But it was absolutely worth it! Fancies her horse. Ha!!’

‘I’m sorry your new book isn’t doing so well,’ I say as we wheel around a group of office workers laughing and singing outside a bar.

‘Me too.’ Adam shrugs, the tips of his ears turning red. ‘It’s quite a fall from grace.’

‘Um… shall we grab a quick drink before I drop you off?’ I ask, feeling uncharacteristically sympathetic.

‘Fuck, yes.’