‘Be careful. It’s potent.’
Darby laughed. ‘Oh, I’ll be fine.’
Miles pointed to the main area of the shop where lines of chairs were laid out near the wingback chairs. Candles flickered from the floor-to-ceiling shelves and cosy jazz music played. ‘Take a seat anywhere you like. We’ll be starting soon.’
The room had been transformed and was more sitting room than retail space. Folding chairs had been arranged in a rough semicircle facing a small table where a woman with silver hair and an expensive-looking scarf was arranging papers and checking a microphone.
A few minutes later, Darby was sitting chatting to Maggie, Daisy, the shop owner’s sister, as she sipped her mulled wine. Not long after that, from the front, Daisy tapped on a microphone. 'Good evening, everyone. Thank you so much for coming out on such a cold night. A warm welcome to Margaret, an author local to us all. What a turnout. We have the lovely Lotta with us this evening, who will be interviewing. Without further ado, I’ll let you listen…’
The audience settled as Lotta started to ask questions and Darby tried not to stare at a man to her right, who had pulled out a typed-out list of serious literary notes. The author adjusted her microphone, smiled and launched into what was clearly a well-practised, overly rehearsed presentation. On and on she went; about her writing process, the inspiration she drew from villagelife, and the way that small communities could harbour the sort of secrets and conflicts that made for compelling books. Darby did not find the author in any way entertaining. Talk about full of herself and, man, did she love the sound of her own voice. Maggie, next to her, stifled a yawn.
It had to be said that Darby was bored within, oh, about two minutes, but she tried not to be. The book, something about a werewolf from a small English coastal town travelling and falling in love on Mars, wasn't really up her street. Each to their own.
Just as she was staring at the author, trying to ascertain quite how one cooks up a story about a werewolf from a small town who could also travel to the planet Mars and she was thinking that she would most certainly need another glass of mulled wine to get though the rest of the launch, someone quietly slid in two rows in front of her and sat down next to Suntanned Pete. Darby immediately sat up a little bit straighter. Her evening had just improved immensely. Archie had snuck in late and had taken a spot in the audience. Things can only get better.
'The thing about small towns is that everyone knows everything about everyone else, but they all pretend they don't. And that combination of intimacy and denial creates exactly the sort of tension that writers dream about. Someone can keep a secret for thirty years, and everyone in the village will know what it is.’ Margaret, the author, spoke as if that fact had taken her a lot of sincere research time.
Darby tried not to roll her eyes.Keep a secret like flying to Mars? Yeah, sure.
The audience, however, by the low muttering noises of agreement and knowing chuckles, suggested most of them had personal experience with the sort of dynamics Margaret was describing.
'Of course, these days, villages are complicated by the internet. Social media means that village secrets can becomeglobal news overnight, and local drama can suddenly have an audience of thousands. It adds an interesting layer to contemporary modern writing. The way that technology can both reveal and conceal information, often simultaneously, is staggering.'
Darby shifted in her seat, acutely aware that her kitchen table confession had gone around the world quite quickly. The boredom continued for another twenty minutes, with Margaret reading a brief excerpt from her latest novel and then Lotta opening the floor for questions. It was clear that everyone else in the audience was a lot more generous than Darby. Someone asked about plot development and the man next to her questioned the character’s motivation.
'How do you develop your characters? Do you base them on real people, or do they come from your imagination?'
The questions continued until Darby was hallucinating about making a run for it. Or standing getting another four glasses of mulled wine and just so happening to find herself next to Archie as she drank her drinks. As if time was crawling by, eventually Lotta wrapped it up.
'Thank you all so much for coming. I hope you'll consider picking up one of my books.'
Not a chance, get me out of here PDQ.
As Darby shuffled out of the row, chatting to Maggie, and they made their way towards the drinks, Suntanned Pete came from the other direction, and Archie was right behind him. He clocked her right away and smiled. ‘Oh, hi.’
Darby smiled. He’d irritated her by bluntly ending the text conversation, but that all went out the window as she swooned. ‘Hi. Nice to see you. Did you enjoy that?’
Archie widened his eyes just enough to let on that he was thinking the same as Darby. ‘Yeah.’
Suntanned Pete smiled. ‘Oh, you know each other? Shall I get us all a wine?’
‘I’d love one, thanks, Pete.’ Darby nodded.
'We've run into each other a few times. I’m working on a house in the Old Town.’
Pete smiled and passed Darby and Archie glasses of mulled wine. ‘Right.’
Archie glanced around the bookshop as the crowd began to thin. 'Well, that was certainly something.'
'Something is one word for it,' Darby was unable to keep the amusement out of her voice. 'I have to admit, werewolves on Mars don’t float my boat. Not really my cup of tea.'
'No?' Archie widened his eyes. 'And here I was thinking you looked like someone who'd be right into interplanetary lycanthropy.'
Darby laughed. 'I didn’t even know what that word meant before this evening.'
Around them, the bookshop hummed with conversation and Darby realised that she was full-on flirting. Her head was to the side, her stomach sucked in, her right leg was at a strange angle and she was doing a smile which hadn't made an appearance on her face in about ten years, if not more. Candles flickered on shelves, someone had opened one of the tall windows to let in a bit of air and the scent of mulled wine and books made everything feel a little bit dreamy, spaced-out, floaty, very lovely. She could also smell Archie’s aftershave; it reminded her of good soap, ironed shirts, well-formed muscles.
'So, what do you actually read? When you're not attending lectures about space werewolves, I mean.'
