The Bookseller’s Daughter

MATTHEW was always surprised at the number of hardy souls who still ventured out to the tiny town of Hopewell as winter closed in.

They were the visitors who lingered, savouring the quieter atmosphere and the solidity of old stone buildings – his second-hand bookshop among them – which had become as much a part of the Peak District as the hills themselves.

Page turners, popular in summer, were spurned in favour of classics more suited for reflective reading by the fire, before customers headed off with their purchases and an air of satisfaction to Jan’s tearooms for hot drinks and home-made cake.

When Matthew was younger, the prospect of running a bookshop had seemed unlikely.

A high-flying career in London, marriage to the beautiful, half-french Claudette, and the birth of their daughter, Aimee, certainly suggested otherwise. Sadly, his stressful job had taken its toll on his personal life.

Their house of cards had come tumbling down and he and Claudette divorced.

It took a move to Derbyshire to heal him.

He would have loved Aimee to visit him, but she found the Peak District too cold and dreary for her tastes, preferring instead to pass the summer with her grandmother in France.

“Which makes it ironic that she wants to come now, in November,” he told Heather, comfortable in an old armchair by the mahogany desk that housed the shop’s computer between towers of books.

She regarded him solemnly.

“What exactly did her mother tell you when she phoned?”

“That Aimee’s dropped out of university, and they’re hardly speaking because Claudette disapproves and is at her wits’ end. Then I got a call from Aimee, asking if she can stay with me for a while, but not saying much else.

“Then again, she never does.” He smiled wryly.

“I must admit I sympathise with your ex-wife. Your daughter’s at a good university with excellent opportunities. The phrase ‘some people don’t know they’re born’ comes to mind.”

“People probably thought the same when I left my job and came here,” Matthew pointed out. “I’d always felt like a square peg in a round hole before then.

“If that’s the case with Aimee, she might be better off finding out now. Staying here might help her sort herself out, and at least Claudette will know she’s safe.”

“That’s true,” Heather agreed, then she hesitated. “You have told Aimee about me, haven’t you?” “Of course I have.” “I mean, really told her? Does she think I’m a relatively new part of your life, or something more?”

Aimee was at a crossroads in life, and Matthew was on hand to give some fatherly advice . . .

Matthew reached over and squeezed her hand.

“I think they’ll have guessed by now.”

Heather was indeed something more.

They had met a few months earlier when he’d helped Marcia, his friend, neighbour and one of his best customers, renew an old acquaintance who happened to be Heather’s father.

They had been childhood sweethearts before Marcia had left to go to music college then travel round Europe as a concert pianist, returning to her home town later in life.

Although the older couple’s long-ago romance was not rekindled, a renewed friendship between them was struck up, while fresh romance blossomed for Matthew and Heather.

She squeezed his hand back.

“You’ll be sprucing up the spare room, then?”

“That’s the plan. I hope Aimee likes it. She seemed to find the flat upstairs a bit outdated the few times she saw it.”

“Rubbish. It’s homely and comfortable.”

And so it was, Matthew reflected, with its window seat in the first-floor living-room, and the old but solid and well-equipped kitchen.

Then there were the two attic bedrooms with their views over the rooftops, and the small bathroom with a functioning, if temperamental, shower.

All the solid and beautifully old-fashioned furniture had been left by the previous owner, Peter, who had lived there for over 40 years, the first 33 with his wife, Rose.

He had apparently been very much a character, portly in build and fondly remembered by many of the customers.

With just under a week to get the spare room ready for his daughter’s arrival, there was no time to waste.

Jan from the tearooms donated one of the patchwork quilts she made as a hobby. Marcia donated a rag rug, and Heather provided some winter-flowering jasmine from her garden.

With a coat of paint and fresh varnish on the floor, the room positively glowed. Heather declared it magical.

“I always wanted an attic bedroom as a child. Even the wardrobe looks as if it should lead to Narnia.”

The spare room also had its own little bed and chest of drawers, almost as if waiting for someone to make it their own.

“Oh, it was waiting,” Marcia confirmed when she called round and Matthew updated her on their progress. “Peter and Rose wanted children, but it wasn’t to be. I think that’s why they put so much energy into the bookshop.

“After she died, Peter redoubled his efforts. This place was his life. He would be glad that someone’s using the room. I like to think of him resting easy, knowing the place is in good hands.

“It feels like the past residing with the present.” She looked knowingly at him. “How does Heather feel about your past coming into your present?”

Matthew let out a long breath.

“It’s hard to say. Being Heather, she seems to be taking it in her stride. We’ve decided to keep a low profile till things settle down.”

“Not too low, I hope? You have your own life to live, remember. You don’t want to jeopardise what you and Heather have between you.”

“I also want to do my best as a father. Aimee’s stepdad seems to know her better than I do these days. And he’s a hot-shot lawyer, to boot.”

“You do an excellent job here,” Marcia said sternly. “I suspect both he and Aimee’s mother are no wiser on how to help her than you are. No-one ever knows what nineteen-yearolds are thinking.”

“Heather reckons she’s throwing her opportunities away and doesn’t appreciate how lucky she is.”

“Could she have a point?” Marcia asked. “Young people don’t see things in the same way as they do when they’re older. This may surprise you, but when I was at music college I nearly threw in the towel.” Matthew was shocked. “But you loved what you did!” he exclaimed.

“That doesn’t mean the going wasn’t tough. Luckily, my mother told me that the world didn’t owe me anything, and if I gave up I could be in for some unpleasant surprises. The fact that one of my tutors virtually marched me to several concerts to see what I’d miss also helped.” Matthew chuckled. “You never fail to surprise me. I was the other way round,” he added more seriously. “I finished my studies and got the job I’d aimed for, only to find that it wasn’t right for me. How do I know that isn’t the case for Aimee?”

“You don’t. She has to make up her own mind.” Marcia stood up and prepared to leave. “Give her time. She’s coming here because that’s what she needs, even if she doesn’t realise it yet.”

Matthew’s first thought as he hugged his daughter, meeting her off the train at Chesterfield, was that she was too thin.

Neither spoke much on the drive. Bare trees fell away as the car reached higher ground, where the land seemed to stretch out, dry stone walls disappearing into the fading light.

After Aimee had freshened up and rested for a couple of hours in her room, they ate in the kitchen, where a casserole had been cooking gently in the Aga.

Classical music playing in the background made the atmosphere warm and comforting, as well as filling in the gaps in their conversation, with Matthew reluctant to press his daughter on recent events.

Although Aimee seemed to brighten a little, she was clearly tired, so he wasn’t entirely surprised when she yawned and announced she needed an early night.

She was still asleep when Matthew knocked gently on her door the next morning before bringing in a cup of coffee. He left the coffee by her bed and crept downstairs to open up the shop.

When he popped upstairs for a snack at lunchtime, she was sitting at the kitchen table with her laptop open. She looked up and gave a half smile that seemed somehow vulnerable.

Matthew gave what he hoped was a cheerful one in return. “Someone slept well.” “Yeah. Thanks for the coffee. I assume it was you who left it?”

“Either that or the ghost of the former owner. Fancy an omelette?”

If he could get her to eat some decent food while she was here, so much the better.

He told her about the shop’s past, while mixing the ingredients and melting butter in the frying-pan. Aimee nodded slowly. “I remember you mentioning him a while ago. That’s so sweet. This kitchen reminds me of being with Grandmaman, and helping her with her baking. She has lots of ancient equipment, too.”

“How is Therese?” Matthew’s mother-in-law was formidable yet kindhearted.

“Same as ever. I thought about staying with her, but it’s even colder there in winter than it is here.”

He tried not to feel deflated at clearly being his daughter’s second choice.

“I’m looking for a

“No-one ever knows what nineteen-year-olds are thinking”

waitressing job,” Aimee said as he brought their lunch to the table. “I’ve done waitressing in the past. There must be a few places around here.”

A bell rang in the shop as Matthew took this in.

“I’d better go down,” he said, grabbing a last mouthful. “Oh, the joy of running your own business.”

Aimee soon found part-time work in a nearby hotel.

It didn’t pay a lot, but enough for her to contribute towards food and other expenses, insisting when he tried to refuse.

It also meant that evenings were free for him to see Heather. Even the few days they hadn’t met up while Aimee settled in had seemed a lifetime. He hadn’t known he’d miss her so much.

“I’ve missed you, too,” Heather told him.

As the days went by, despite enjoying having his daughter around, Matthew couldn’t help wondering exactly when Aimee was going to talk properly with him and face up to making some decisions.

When she’d been there for a couple of weeks, he was surprised at the sight that met him in the kitchen on one of her days off. Mixing bowls were spread along the worktop, where a cloth-bound notebook lay open to reveal neat, looped handwriting.

“I was rummaging through the drawers when I came across Rose’s old recipe book,” she explained. “There are some brilliant recipes for traditional cakes with a clever twist.

“I’d forgotten how much I love baking. It’s so soothing, and it seems a shame not to use Rose’s equipment.” Aimee licked the spoon from one of the mixing bowls. “Is it OK if I make more?”

“Feel free. I don’t know how we’ll eat them all, though.”

He was pleased to notice she’d put on some weight and looked less pale.

“You can serve some in the shop.” She sat down at the table with him. “Hey, maybe I could start my own little business. I could sell some where I work, or even to the local tearoom.”

“Jan makes all her own cakes.”

“OK. I could set up my own place.”

Matthew shifted uncomfortably.

“In competition?” “Oh.”

The sight of her face falling and the way she looked as if she had the world on her shoulders reminded him of his own despondency, nearly 10 years before. It also brought back memories of the day he’d decided what to do, and it gave him an idea.

“I think it’s time we went for a proper Peak District walk together,” he said, taking another mouthful of cake.

The frost-rimed path rose steeply before emerging on to the flank of the hill.

Matthew and Aimee stopped to take in the austere, exposed landscape, their breath clouding in front of them. A little further on they came to a limestone outcrop.

“Let’s have a rest here,” he said, not adding that it was on this very spot that he had taken the decision to buy the bookshop.

Over the next few minutes, eating their sandwiches and some of Aimee’s lemon cake, they absorbed the tranquillity of the moorland.

As Matthew suspected it would, the scenery soon cast its spell.

Aimee turned to him. “What do you think I should do about university, Dad?”

When he answered, he spoke slowly, choosing his words with care.

“It depends on your reasons for staying or leaving. Just because a course of action is demanding doesn’t automatically make it wrong.

“On the other hand, sometimes it genuinely isn’t right for you.”

“What if you can’t decide which of those is the case?”

“Then you need to be wary before you burn any bridges.

“Look closely at the options if you want to change track, because it’s harder to get back on it if you change your mind.

“When I took on the bookshop,” he went on, “I’d done my homework and knew I could make a go of it. Even then it wasn’t easy.”

“Like my idea of making and selling cakes?”

“A bit. You have to be realistic. Maybe you could go on a catering course or a business course. If it was straightforward, everyone would be doing it.”

Some geese arriving for the winter flew over in a perfect V formation.

“At least they know where they’re going.” Aimee smiled.

A few days later, driving back over the hills after taking Aimee to catch the train to London, Matthew felt as if a weight had lifted from his shoulders.

After their walk, they had gone through her problems point by point. Her accommodation was unpleasant; her housemates were noisy, messy and difficult to get along with.

Her course was difficult, and she wasn’t sure she was up to it. Everyone else seemed much more confident than her.

That evening, they’d e-mailed her tutor, who e-mailed straight back, suggesting Aimee come in “for a proper talk”, and adding that many students had similar problems.

“Thanks, Dad,” Aimee had said when she’d stepped on to the train. “I’m still not sure what I want to do, but I can see a way forward now.”

“Whatever you decide, remember that both your mother and I will stand by you,” he replied. “The spare room is always ready if you need it, for short visits or long.” She smiled.

“That means a lot. I’ve come to love the Peak District, and that bookshop is special. It’s funny, but I could almost feel Rose watching over my shoulder as I followed her recipes.

“Speaking of Rose,” she added quickly as the guard blew his whistle, “I can’t help thinking she and Peter wish you weren’t on your own.

“I didn’t get to meet Heather properly this time, but from the way your face lights up when you talk about her . . .”

The automatic doors began to close. She blew a kiss as they both stepped back.

Her words stayed with him as he let himself into the shop and went upstairs to the empty flat. Something was different, as if the place felt the absence of more than one person.

Taking his phone out of his pocket, he scrolled to Heather’s number.

She answered almost immediately.

“Fancy coming round tonight for something to eat? We can watch that film on television you liked the look of,” he suggested. “I’d love to.” “That’s great.” He felt a surge of relief. “See you soon.”

After drawing the blinds in the bookshop, he stood still, taking in the pleasingly musty atmosphere of old books, and knew this was truly where he belonged.

He was just about to switch off the light when his gaze landed on a faded old photograph over the door, of Peter and Rose standing proudly together outside the shop.

It had been there when he’d taken over the business, and it had felt wrong to move it.

Their smiles seemed to be aimed directly at him.

He thought of Aimee’s words on the train.

After a few seconds, Matthew climbed the stairs with a happy sense that others’ wishes for the place to be filled with life might soon be achieved after all. ■