It all began when Maureen saw the ghost ship.
“I’m telling you now, I saw it with my own eyes, as clear as day.”
“But I thought you saw it at night,” said Connie, pedantically.
“Twilight, actually. The sun was setting right behind it, which is why I saw its spidery outline so clearly.”
“What’s all this?” Eleanor, who had been gathering books off the shelves to make up a customer’s order, now returned to the front of the bookshop to find her mother Connie chatting with their neighbour, Maureen.
Eleanor had been talked into giving Connie a part-time job and now her mother was half-heartedly tidying up greetings cards in between gossiping with her friend from Ye Olde Tea Shoppe across the high street. “Maureen’s been making rum babas again and I think the fumes have gone to her brain.”
Maureen, who had popped over to Eleanor’s shop for a break from her customers, folded her arms under her substantial bosom and huffed. “You can mock if you like, Connie, but I know what I saw and what I heard.”
“And what was that?”
“As I was telling your mother,” she said, turning towards Eleanor, “I was up on the moor taking Peanut for a walk when I heard this strange groaning sound.”
“You hadn’t trodden on the dog, had you?” Connie was really a cat person and thought her friend’s Chihuahua was especially ridiculous.
“Ignore her, Maureen,” said Eleanor, pulling up a chair and sitting beside her. “I want to know all about it.”
“I was walking towards the headland when I heard a sound like timbers creaking or branches rubbing together, except there aren’t any large trees along there, as you know.” Eleanor nodded in agreement. “The wind had come up and was blowing in off the sea, which isn’t unusual, but it was carrying this odd noise with it. Peanut had had a good scamper so we were heading back to the car, but there was something about the sound that made me stop and turn around.” Maureen was pleased to see both women leaning in, apparently gripped by her story. “So I looked across to the horizon and there she was – as plain as the nose on your mother’s face.”
“There’s no need for personal attacks.” Connie leant back now, looking cross.
“Sorry dear,” said Maureen, tartly. “It was the first comparison that came into my head.”
“Okay ladies. I don’t want any cat fights in my bookshop, thank you,” said Eleanor. “Go on with your story, Maureen.”
“There she was in the distance – a big wooden ship, just like the ones pirates have. And Johnny Depp.”
Connie waggled a bookmark at her friend. “And how precisely could you see what kind of ship she was, at night and with your cataracts?”
“I had them done after Christmas and now I can see perfectly well. Doubt me if you will, Connie, but I know what I saw, and whether you choose to believe me or not is entirely up to you.”
“What did your little dog do?” asked Eleanor.
“In what way?”
“Did she howl or anything? Aren’t animals supposed to react to ghostly presences? I’m sure Bella would run off and hide if there was anything scary around. You’re not much cop as a guard dog, are you?” Eleanor’s Welsh spaniel, Bella, had wandered over and rested her head on her owner’s lap.
Maureen’s brow furrowed in concentration as she thought back to the event. “Now, it’s funny you should say that, but Peanut did squeak a bit.”
“Conclusive proof,” said Connie, laughing. “If Peanut squeaked, it must have been a ghost ship.”
Maureen pursed her lips. “I don’t expect you to understand the ocean’s mysteries, being a Londoner. You don’t have the sea in your blood like I do.”
Connie tried not to smile. “No, mine’s full of Thames water,” she said, patting her friend on the shoulder.
“Thanks for coffee.” Maureen picked up her bag. “I’d best go back across the road and see how Anton is getting on with the cottage pies.”
As she stood by the shop window watching their neighbour cross the street to the teashop, Connie turned to Eleanor. “All that ‘sea in the blood’ stuff is nonsense, of course. She’s from the Midlands, which is as far from the sea as you can be in this country.”
“So she’s not local, then?”
“No!” Connie laughed. “I think she kissed a sailor once in Weston-super-Mare and her late husband was a Devon man. But now she has Anton in her life…”
“Mother, really! You make it sound like they’re up to no good when in fact he’s young enough to be her grandson.”
“Ever heard of cougars?”
Eleanor guffawed. “Yes, but I’m pretty sure Maureen is not about to pounce on Anton.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure. We may be ancient ladies but there’s life in us old girls yet, you know.” Connie winked and went to tidy up their coffee things.
“Spare me the gory details.”
Eleanor stood at the cash desk and looked around her empire. The bookshop was empty apart from a Belgian couple in matching beige anoraks examining the postcard rack and an older gent looking at historical biographies. In the past, Eleanor would have fretted when the shop was this quiet but, in the six years she’d owned The Reading Room, she’d become familiar with the rhythms of the week.
Monday mornings were always deathly quiet, but she knew the following day would be better and trade would pick up even more on Wednesday, when the farmers’ market was held in the town square. At the weekend, visitors came to Combemouth to walk along the prom, paddle in the sea and enjoy the town’s seaside charm. Plenty of them also made a point of visiting Eleanor’s shop to rummage through her enticing selection of books and pick up some postcards or a storybook to keep the kids quiet on the journey home.
While it was quiet, Eleanor decided to refresh the shop window. Easter had been and gone and the bunnies and plastic daffodils decorating the space were beginning to look tired. It was time for a change.
Smiling to herself, she dashed back and forth between the shelves, going from science fiction and self-help to crime and romance, seemingly picking up books at random. When she’d finished the arrangement, she asked Connie to join her on the pavement to admire her work.
“What do you reckon, Mum?”
Her mother pursed her lips. “It’s interesting, dear, but what’s the theme?”
“I’ll write out a title, then you’ll see.” Eleanor went into the office and found a blackboard and a piece of chalk. “This should do it,” she said, slotting the board into its stand and placing it in the window. On it she had written “I Can’t Remember the Title, But the Cover’s Blue”.
Connie chuckled. “That’s very clever and I think it’ll be helpful for those of us whose memories aren’t as sharp as they were.”
“That’s an excellent point,” said Eleanor, laughing. “Perhaps I’ll do a red display next time.”
Across the road, she could see Maureen and Anton giving her the thumbs up from the teashop, which now appeared to be full of shoppers eager for tea and a bun.
“We seem to have the Latvian vote.” Eleanor waved back, smiling with satisfaction at a job well done.
* * *
Anton had appeared in town some months before, having journeyed from Latvia via London and various music festivals where he’d had a great time until his money ran out.
Graham, who ran the hardware store a few doors down from the bookshop, had found Anton sleeping in his doorway one morning and was not best pleased. He asked the lad to move on, which he did during the day, but in the mornings when Graham came to open up the shop, there he’d be, curled up on the tiled floor in his thin sleeping bag, his boots and few belongings in a tatty carrier bag to one side.
They weren’t used to homeless people pitching up in Combemouth, so no one knew quite what to do. Being a civilised and friendly bunch, the locals talked to Anton, gave him warm clothes and bought him hot drinks and Cornish pasties from the bakery. But everyone knew that “something had to be done”, not least because a pale young man sitting on the pavement rather spoiled the jolly effect of Graham’s brightly coloured plastic windmills. Eventually, Eleanor called the police who gave Anton a lift into the closest big town, where there was a shelter for the homeless.
After a week, Anton was back in Graham’s doorway saying the shelter was full of “druggies and alkies” who shouted all night and he was too frightened to stay. Could he perhaps sleep in the doorway again in return for helping out in the shop? And so Graham reluctantly let him work there. He also lent Anton a tent and allowed him to camp out in the tiny garden at the back of the premises. At the end of a fortnight, the tent was abandoned and Anton was kipping in the back room and making himself useful in the hardware store. The only problem was that Graham couldn’t afford paid help and Anton needed to earn some sort of living.
A meeting was held at the community centre where the shopkeepers decided to share out Anton amongst themselves – everyone needed help for half a day or a day here or there. So, the young man ended up working in the high street shops and sleeping at Graham’s place in return for a few hours spent cutting up roofing felt and selling bin bags. It was a solution that suited everyone, not least Maureen who was happy to have a smart young man’s help in the teashop.