Chapter 5

Chapter Five

It was a winter's evening, and Quinn and Ivy found themselves in the Rose & Crown on Broad Street. With flagstone floors, brown beams, and a fire crackling in the fireplace, it oozed traditional British pub. They sat in a window seat on a cushioned bench where they could feel the warmth of the fire. A waiter handed them their third gin and tonic each, garnished with blackberries and an orange peel, and a pint of lemonade to Ivy, before heading back to the busy bar to take more orders.

Quinn, still sitting in his tie-dye trousers, much to Ivy's appreciation, stirred his g&t, the ice clinking against the glass.

‘Come on, smile for me,' Ivy pleaded. ‘It's not fair to see you so low.'

Quinn forced a smile, but inside he wanted to cry. This morning, he had woken up excited about the day ahead. He couldn't wait to mingle with friends, enjoy the winter literary event, and then go back to work the next day as the festival entered its last weekend. He'd been looking forward to the rush that would happen at his shop, something that came every festival season.

Instead, he found himself as flat as Ivy's lemonade.

‘I just keep replaying it in my mind.'

‘Oh, stop,' Ivy said. ‘It wasn't that bad!'

‘But it was!'

Quinn hadn't told Ivy about the graveyard because it was too humiliating, and the more he thought about it, the more he was sure it never happened. Weird things transpired in graveyards, and being compared to a parachute by a romance novelist was apparently one of them.

‘You know what I like to do in these situations? I like to break them down.' She stirred her gin and tonic. ‘So, let's do that. Some champagne spilled on you. It looked like you wet yourself, I'll admit. But that was, what, a minute of your day?'

‘And?'

‘So, the day has twenty-four hours in it, and you're allowing yourself to feel low over one minute of it?' Ivy asked. ‘Look around this room.'

Quinn did as he was told, memories of being in school and being told off by a teacher coming to him. His eyes drifted over the bar, where people gathered, waiting for orders. Every single table in the place was full, with people eating, drinking, socialising. He couldn't recall the last time he saw the Rose & Crown so busy. It was like summer in Hay again. Only a light snowfall had begun outside.

‘Notice anything?'

‘People.'

‘And not one of them looking at you or those trousers!' Ivy smiled. ‘See him? And her? And them? Well, they were in the talk. They saw what happened. Are they laughing about it? Are they talking about it? No, they're not. No one remembers it. So why do you?'

‘Because he saw it.' Quinn sighed. ‘Noah Sage!'

Ivy waved a hand, dismissing it straight away. ‘No. No, no. He complimented your trousers.'

‘Because he remembered what happened!'

‘I don't believe in coincidences, Quinn, but this time I do!' Ivy said. ‘He genuinely liked them, I can tell.'

‘How?'

He hadn't laughed in the graveyard.

‘Because you can tell when someone is genuine.' Ivy lifted her drink and took a sip. ‘Now, I've had my fair share of embarrassing moments, but you have to learn not to give a damn. Time spent on negative energy is time wasted.'

Quinn drank his gin and tonic. He nodded, leaning back in the booth. He couldn't tell her that Dougie had taken up another five minutes of his day. Since being in the pub, he had received a frenzy of texts, each one getting more aggressive, because not responding to a dick picture was enough to fracture his masculinity. ‘Fine. You're right. These gins are helping me forget.'

‘You are a drama queen, Quinn!'

‘Hey, you don't know that for certain.'

‘I'm an expert judge of character, remember?'

Quinn laughed. He enjoyed Ivy's company despite the commotion she caused at the event. It hadn't been her fault. She got excited, like everyone else. The girl wasted champagne, for Christ's sake. That was worse than what had happened to him! If anyone was to blame, it was Bloody Blair Beckett calling for the house lights to come on.

‘You're thinking about him, aren't you?'

For a moment, Quinn thought she meant Noah. But judging by the look of sympathy on her face, he knew she meant his father.

‘Always.'

‘I'm here whenever you need to talk.'

‘I know.'

But he would never talk to her. Not about his father. Not even about his mother and how she'd moved on, leaving Quinn behind to find out who he was without his dad around. He looked outside, wishing he would see the robin again, so that he would know everything was going to be okay.

The pub wound down after a busy night, and as they were leaving, their conversation turned to business.

‘I set up my cleaning company when I finished university,' Ivy explained as they walked away from the pub and tucked into fish and chips they got from the next-door takeaway. The snow was still falling, heavier now, and their footsteps left a trail behind them. ‘We've been going pretty strong ever since.'

‘What made you set it up?'

‘I wanted to be an architect, and I'm sure I could have been. I qualified. But I tried it and realised why give all my time to someone else, when I could be bettering myself?' Ivy said. ‘It hit me on a retreat I went to in Indonesia. I needed to look after myself, mentally, physically, emotionally, and energetically. So, I listened to my spirit, and I did something that I knew I could do but would allow me to live a balanced life.'

Quinn didn't know what type of retreat Ivy went on, and he didn't know how she could look after herself, but he nodded all the same, seeing how she lit up talking about her experience.

‘Sounds similar to why I opened the bookshop,' Quinn said as they walked up Lion Street, soft snow compacting under their boots. He could tell, as they stepped gingerly, that tomorrow the pavements and roads would be lethal. In the homes that they walked by, Christmas trees glowed. The butter market, where local traders traded all day, was now deserted, with twinkling lights wrapped around the iron gates. It was cold, but the gin they had consumed numbed the feeling.

Ivy smiled. ‘I'm so proud of my business, too. Even though people tell me I could do so much more. They seem to look down on me when I tell them I'm a cleaner.'

‘You're not a cleaner,' Quinn said. ‘You're an entrepreneur. A successful woman in a world dominated by men.'

‘Slay.' Ivy clicked her fingers. ‘I don't think I ever asked about why you opened your shop.'

‘Well, I went to university and did English literature because I always loved books,' Quinn said. ‘I wanted to be a writer. Still want to be a writer.'

‘Do you write?'

‘Yes.'

‘Then you're a writer.'

Quinn, feeling a warmth of validation from Ivy's words, took in the looming castle towering on the hill. Lights were on in the downstairs window, the shadows flickering as those inside walked by. The once derelict castle was now being renovated. A poster advertised the grand reopening on Christmas Eve.

They walked along Castle Street, where supermarkets, clothes shops, bakeries and banks met with more bookshops. The town might have been cosy, but it had all they needed. They stopped outside Kings & Queens, turning their backs on the castle.

‘And here it is.'

‘My favourite shop in town.' Ivy smiled.

Quinn fumbled to find the key for the shop. He swayed, and Ivy steadied him. Both hooted with laughter, forgetting they were outside, forgetting that they might wake people. Finally, the key sliding into the lock, he opened the door to his bookshop, his pride and joy.

In the darkness, he walked to his desk, pushing past the till to switch on a lamp. The dull yellow light illuminated the shop.

Four rows of bookshelves had long since replaced church pews and stretched all the way back to where the original altar remained. Stained-glass windows depicted Christian imagery, which now looked down over glass cabinets of crystals, books, and LGBTQ+ flags.

‘Just magic.' Ivy sighed, closing and locking the door behind her.

He let Ivy walk around the shop. Truth is, he needed something like tonight. He threw himself into his work so much that he neglected social life, and had been neglecting friendships and relationships with family. Maybe that was why his relationship with Dougie had failed. Tonight had given him the opportunity to relax and reflect on what was in front of him.

He rearranged his desk, which he had left messy the day before. Daniel Craig hadn't tidied the desk since the time he, Daniel, had tampered with his organised chaos and Quinn went all quiet. Quinn hadn't even needed to say anything. Daniel knew and never did it again. He wasn't a mean boss, but he couldn't say what he wanted out of fear of offending Daniel. After all, he'd only tried to be helpful.

Quinn wrapped receipts together and placed them in the accounts box, then stacked books he needed to price and put on the shelves. He moved his mouse, waking the computer from its sleep mode, and checked his emails, making note of stock enquiries and shipping updates. Behind him, in the bay window, snow billowed in a strong wind.

He could hear Ivy near the back of the shop, humming a Christmas song to herself.

His eyes drifted to a letter he had put to the side. His heart sank. That happy joy inside him extinguished. The blissful numbness left by the gin turned toward a heavy hangover.

Just ignore it and it will go away.

Reaching for the letter and turning it over in his hand, the seal already ripped, he knew he shouldn't read it again. It was better to ignore it. Deal with it tomorrow. That's what he kept telling himself.

But the alcohol had other thoughts.

Despite all his protests, he took the letter out, looking up to make sure that Ivy was nowhere in sight. He unfolded the letter and stared at it, tears spilling onto the paper.

The words final notice of eviction stared back at him, so cold and hollow.

He looked back at the shop in front of him which, even in the dim light, was still colourful and full of joy. He'd spent years crafting a space that could offer something more, something safe. A shop full of books that were selected to retail, new and rare, for both the academic and the casual reader. The arches of the still beautiful chapel, renovated with thought and precision to honour its history and bring it into the modern times.

He turned and observed the castle from his perfect view at his window seat.

He opened a drawer in his desk and dropped the letter inside, where a pile of similar letters was stacked. He closed it, taking a deep breath. ‘What the hell am I going to do?'