My gran, so wise.
‘How often have you been married?’ Roxy pipes up.
‘Nine times, and if my beloveds hadn’t met their grizzly ends prematurely then who knows what the future would have held?’
‘They died?’ Roxy asks, eyes twinkling with what … awe?
‘Yes. Tragically.’
‘Allof them?’
‘Well, Konstantine is still of this world.’
‘There’s still time,’ Roxy says laughing.
Gran cocks her head and stares at her, as if only just now realising there’s a stranger in our midst. ‘I like the cut of your jib.’
Roxy holds out a hand to shake. ‘Thanks, I like yours too. I’m Roxy. Bookworm, sweet-romance reader, desperate to find love, specifically with a guy I’m not distantly related to.’
Gran takes her hand. ‘Floretta, book nymph, spicy romance reader, desperate to make this place a success.’
I smile. Roxy is one ofus. I love the way true bookworms support their local bookshops, knowing how sacrosanct they are. How important their survival is. Gran and Roxy are going to get along just fine.
Chapter 9
Gran and I are in the outdoor area of Bibliotherapy on Thursday morning, adding finishing touches to make it a comfortable space for customers to read and enjoy the sea view. Gran’s stacked a table with second-hand tomes whose pages flutter in the breeze as if waving. I find a book titled:How to Raise Happy Sheep. I smile, sensing this is the kind of book Donkey Man will enjoy. I put it aside, ready for his visit later in the day.
‘Weren’t we lucky getting all these book babies so cheap?’ She gazes at them lovingly as if they truly are as special as newborn babies.
‘Cheap? You mean free!’ An expat stopped by and donated her collection of books because she’d fallen in love with an Italian man and was off to livela dolce vitain Umbria.
Gran fans herself with one of the books. ‘Sort of free. I gave her some money for them. It didn’t seem fair otherwise. And now look, we’ve got a whole new outdoor area that will appeal to customers.’
It’s just like Gran to do that so the expat had at least a nominal amount to start her new book collection in Umbria. ‘We need a name for this area,’ I say. ‘To distinguish between inside and outside and new and second-hand books.’ We do have a small table inside with second-hand books but they’re mainly guidebooks and memoirs about Greece.
Gran taps her chin, thinking pose 101. ‘Muses?’
‘Ooh I like it.’
‘Named for the Greek goddesses of literature. While I love all of our shiny new books, I do love these weather-beaten, dusty tomes, the vanilla perfume of old book scent.’
I pick up a book and sniff it. The aroma of time, yellowed parchment, inky words and wandering minds. ‘Muses is the perfect name, to sit out here with a well-loved novel and read andmuse.’
‘I’ll ask Zorba to make me a sign. He’s handy like that.’
Gran helps me string up a hammock under the shade of two cypress trees. Sun loungers sit awaiting readers to soak up the view.
Who wouldn’t want to relax here and read all day with the gentle sound of waves lapping in the distance, salty air on your skin? I open a few beach umbrellas for those who want to hide their bodies from the bite of the Santorini sun.
‘Darling, there’s a box behind the counter with some other pretties I purchased. Can you get it for me?’
I go back inside and relish the cool before hefting the box back outside onto the table near Gran. I open it to reveal a bunch of luxe cushions.
‘They’re for the sun loungers,’ she says. ‘Flax linen – only the best for our book lovers.’
‘They’re gorgeous, Gran.’ I run a palm over the expensive material. Gran really does have outstanding taste in décor.
Her cheeks colour. ‘In hindsight I should have paid the rent first, but I got caught up in the thrill of this renovation.’ She sits on the edge of a sun lounger and continues to fan her face with a book while she reflects on it all. ‘My whole life I’ve always been on the move, one project after another, one husband to follow the next. Going back and forth from my Brooklyn base when I had a pang of homesickness and a need to reconnect with you all. This time feels …finalsomehow. As if I’ve found the place I’m going to settle in for as many years as I’ve got left. All practicalities slipped my mind. If it’s my last hurrah, I want it to be beautiful. I want to leave a literary legacy – a wonderland for fiction fanatics, book sniffers, those who judge a book by its cover, plot-twist afficionados. People like us, Evie.’
