Clearing it all out first, she hustled, taking everything down from the walls and dragged a battered display unit, lovely as it was, over towards the desk area. Having a proper shuffle-around, she bruised her shin on the edge of a table and once the space was bare, stood back and had a look at what she had to work with. Wrestling with that sinking feeling that she’d bitten off more than she could chew, she half-wished she hadn’t started because she’d created a right old mess. The little corner for sure had charm, buckets of the stuff in fact, she just needed to optimise it, somehow.
After giving the area a really good vacuum and cleaning the window, she went out to the lean-to beside the kitchen wherea pile of bits and bobs, mostly from Maggie, Susannah and Annabelle’s interior shopping habits, was lodged messily in the corner. Pulling out a thick wool muted stripe green and cream rug, Annabelle had found in an antique shop, she nodded. It could work and well. Taking it back to the corner as soon as it went down, she loved it. Faffing a bit, she spread and smoothed it out with her foot and then by getting down on all fours. Fabulous, the little corner immediately improved.
Next came a new-old armchair that Maggie had decided she didn’t like. It had taken up residence in Daisy’s lean-to, waiting for the right spot. Low and wide and upholstered in faded moss-green velvet with a bit of a sagging cushion, Daisy had taken the donation gratefully and then left it precisely where it was doing nothing. Heaving that out and through the kitchen, huffing and puffing as she did so, Daisy slid and shoved it across the bookshop floor and hoped for the best. Pushing it back against the wall, she tilted it slightly so it faced the window and the room and the little angle made all the difference.
A small round table followed, one of her mum’s old bedside tables she’d painted in chalk white and lightly distressed, which was now showing time and age and not in a trendy way, more a this-has-been-used-for-years sort of way. She placed it to the right of the chair and added one of her favourite lamps on top; tall, with a cream linen shade and a ceramic base in soft blue and worn in places. The switch was temperamental, but the light it gave off was soft and golden.
Stacking three wooden crates she’d rescued from Uncle Dennis’s storeroom to the left of the chair, she filled them with seasonal reads and popular titles. On the top crate, she placed a folded wool throw in caramel and cream checks and a vintage Penguin mug, also from Dennis, for effect. Above, she strung a line of fairy lights in copper wire, hung a few old postcards and quotes with tiny wooden pegs and plonked a vase of driedhydrangeas on the windowsill beside a small wooden box of bookmarks she’d made from old book pages and ribbon.
After making a cup of tea, she sat down in the armchair, looked out at the laneway and shook her head. Despite the nice light over the gorgeous rug, it still wasn’t quite wow enough. Nice, pretty, in fact, and definitely comfy, but also missing something. For the life of her Daisy couldn’t think what.
Looking out at a darkening sky, she balanced her phone on the windowsill and scrolled aimlessly through Facebook Marketplace seeing if anything would take her fancy. She wasn’t looking for anything in particular and didn’t know what she wanted or might find. Just a little window-shopping for a bookshop, really, and the odd hope of finding something unusual that was also a bargain.
Scrolling, she nearly jumped when an image hit her screen. There it was; just what she’d had in her mind but hadn’t quite been able to articulate.
Vintage wooden library trolley, busted wheel. FREE. Pretty Beach (Old Town)
The photo was a bit grainy, but even in the blur, she could make out the curved edge of a lovely handle and three long shelves, each with a slight lip at the end. The trolley was painted a faded sort of moss green, like someone had once tried to match a Farrow & Ball shade and pulled it off quite nicely. One of the wheels was visibly crooked and the top shelf had a few marks, but that only made it more perfect.
She clicked on the listing and sent a message.
Daisy:Hello! Is this still available, please? Thx.
By way of a little ding on her phone, a reply came about fifteen minutes later, while Daisy was halfway through loading the dishwasher.
Sue:Yes, it is! I’ve had it forever. It was in the old school library originally, I think. You’re welcome to come and have a look. We’re in the Old Town, behind the church hall.
Daisy dried her hands on a tea towel and fired off a reply.
Daisy:Yes, please, I’d love to! When are you available? I have to do school pick up over that side so…
Sue:I’m here all afternoon…
Half an hour later, with her navy Barbour jacket over jeans and a floral shirt, Daisy headed over towards the Old Town. Having grown up in the Old Town, Daisy knew the back roads, little alleyways and shortcuts and loved the houses. Some of the streets and pavements were cobbled streets and uneven. There were tall Victorian villas, old brick cottages with white-painted sash windows and iron boot scrapers still fixed to the stone steps. Front doors in every shade of muted pastel and the odd brave cornflower blue. Window boxes overflowed with trailing ivy and dusty pink flowers and huge old trees towered here and there.
Passing the church with the crooked bell tower and a noticeboard full of handwritten flyers, Daisy followed a short, narrow lane behind the church hall and wished as soon as she was down the end that she’d left her car out by the church car park. The lane was dappled with fallen leaves, lined with tall hedges and Daisy could faintly smell woodsmoke in the air.
Sue’s house was the second in from the end, a sweet terraced cottage with a wide stone step and a cat watching from the front window. The front garden was a riot of late autumn colour, a last few scraggly roses, and a huge old tree with burnt-orange leaves that reminded Daisy of walking home from school. She knocked and waited, then heard the sound of a latch lifting.
Sue, a woman in her late seventies wearing a fleece gilet and gardening gloves, opened the door. Daisy was surprised not to recognise her. ‘Daisy? Come in, love. It’s just through here.’
The cottage smelled of beeswax and ginger biscuits, and Daisy followed her through the narrow hallway to a little back room that had clearly once been a dining room and now seemed to serve as both office and storage space.
There, against the wall, stood the trolley, which made Daisy gasp because it was even better in person than the images. Sturdy despite its wobbly wheel, the wood was scratched and the paint flaking was just right. There was still an old label stuck to the side that said Fiction Y–Z, and Daisy thought her heart might burst. She could see it in her shop and in her stories as if it had been meant to be.
She crouched down and gave it a little nudge to test the wheel. ‘Ooh! It’s gorgeous! Absolutely perfect for what I had in mind.’
‘Oh, I’m glad. Everyone said I should chuck it years ago, but I always thought it had a bit of character.’
‘I’ve got just the spot for it. I own the bookshop - do you know it? I’m doing up a reading corner.’ Daisy pushed down a horrible feeling that her little bookshop was being threatened by the likes of GayesBooks.
Sue clapped her hands lightly. ‘Yes, I do! Well, that’s marvellous. I can’t think of a better second life for it.’
Daisy smiled and hugged herself. The trolley was perfect and it wasn’t the only thing that felt as if it had a second life.
After struggling with the trolley, Daisy was reminded of when Miles had helped her with the chairs when she’d first beenopening the shop. Once inside, she wheeled it into place on top of the striped rug, gave it a really thorough clean, and started to fill it with paperbacks, seasonal picks, a basket of bookmarks and an old enamel jug filled with dried flowers.
By the time she’d finished, it looked like it had always been there and just right for the corner. It was old, shabby, useful, and something she hadn’t known she’d been looking for until she found it. Stepping back, she looked at it having its second life appearing as if it was beaming and settling in nicely. A little bit like her but without the life problems of muggings and swooping corporations.
