“You’ll be okay in the shop on your own will you?” Verna asked for the fifth time that day.
Emily looked up from her newly acquired book. “Sure. I unlock the door at nine. Lock it again at six. Someone wants a book, I sell it to them. It’s not difficult.”
“And Chip and Walter’s food in the cupboard by the kitchen door,” she repeated. It was rather redundant information. Even if Emily forgot where the food was, the two Alsatians would be all too happy to guide her to it.
“And you’ll take them out for a walk each evening. Not too late, mind, ’cause it’s not safe for a young woman out on her own these days. Not that it ever was.”
She realized that Emily too engrossed in skyclad foolery to listen to her. “I said, not too late. Don’t get your head stuck in that there book and forget to walk them before it gets dark.”
“No, Mrs Baldwin,” Emily said in a voice that suggested she processed only enough of what had just been said to give a binary answer.
“Hmm,” said Verna. That girl was a worry, especially on her own. Heaven knows what she’d come back to, but she hadn’t had a holiday in three years and she couldn’t really afford to shut the shop completely during her absence.
Just then the bell rang and a customer entered. It was young Neville Blackley from down the road – a nice local boy and a total Sci-Fi nerd. He’d been a frequent visitor to the shop ever since he was ten. His visits had dropped off a bit after he’d gone to university, but had returned more frequently in the last few months after he graduated. Verna had a pretty good idea about why.
“Hiya, Mrs Baldwin. Sorry, are you still open?”
“Always, for you Neville flower, only you’ll have to be quick. I’m off on my hols in a mo, so no extended browsing sessions please.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “I know what I want.” He went straight-over to their new book section and pulled out a deluxe edition of the Lord of the Rings. It was an enormous tome that combined all three books into one, with colour illustrations every few pages and came in its own protective box with a gold embossed version of the One Ring on each side. It was the most expensive thing in the shop that wasn’t an encyclopaedia set. He brought it over to the counter.
“Hi,” he said to Emily, looking her up and down nervously.
Emily looked at him blankly and rang the purchase up. Neville, rather than pay straight away, hovered. To an expert in basic human interaction, that is to say anyone apart from Emily, the hovering spoke Wheel of Time sized volumes.
“Will that be all today?” she asked.
“Err, sure yes.” He reached in his trouser pocket and pulled out a debit card.
“It’s a lovely book, isn’t it?” she said as she processed the payment. Verna had trained her to say exactly that and only that for any purchase over thirty pounds, rather than risk losing any more sales, and this book was significantly more than thirty pounds. Verna knew damn well that Tolkien was Emily’s favourite author of all time. She spent more time in the Shire than she did in t’Shire and so on this one occasion, it would have been okay for her to have gone a little off-script. Verna decided to play Cilla Black.
“Emily’s a big fan. Does her own painting of scenes from Middle-Earth, don’t you dear? I’ve seen them they’re rather good. You should bring them in one day for Neville to have a look”
Rather good was an understatement. Her latest work had been an enormous spectacular oil painting of Lothlorien that was clearly done by someone with a steady hand, a keen eye and absolutely nothing to do on a Friday night except to draw elf after elf after elf. Hundreds of the buggers there on that canvas. It must have taken her months. If you examined it carefully, you could tell which ones she’d draw first by how good the ears were.
“Oh, I don’t like to move them,” said Emily neutrally. Not even the compliment had caused her to blush. Verna briefly considered suggesting she invite Neville up to her bedroom, but she knew when she was beating a dead Rohirrim.
“So, what is it you think that makes Lord of the Rings still better than all the fantasy written afterwards?” asked Nevile, in a desperate attempt to kickstart a conversation.
“I dunno really,” said Emily. “The imagery. The world-building, maybe. I like the fact the Tolkien didn’t waste any time on pointless romantic sub-plots. I hate those.”
“Errm,” said Neville, in the kind of voice that knows that the only thing that would be more humiliating than uttering the next sentence would be to leave without saying anything. “A few of us were going to get together to watch the new Lord of the Rings televisions series. You know, the one on Amazon. I mean, it’ll probably be terrible, but if it is, at least we’ll have someone to complain about it to. So, I was wondering…”
He trailed off, as if looking for a reaction. Emily simply said, “Yes?”
“I mean, if you’d like to join us? Maybe?” he said.
“I’m sorry. I don’t watch television,” she said. For most girls, that would have been a nasty, fake way to turn a fella down, but Verna knew for a fact that she really didn’t watch T.V. and was just stating a fact.
“Oh, okay. I mean, you saw the movies, right? This is the same kind of thing, only just in episode format.”
“Oh, I didn’t watch the movies. Why would I watch someone else’s vision of them, when I’ve already got my own vision in my own head. And besides, I heard it has a skateboarding elf in it.”
“Well,” said Neville, “That’s really only a couple of seconds out of nearly ten hours. Most of it is really quite good…er, I would have said.”
Neville trailed off. Emily had picked up her book and was thumbing through it to try and find her place. “Err, well anyway, thanks for the book.”
“No, thank you, Neville love,” said Verna in order to maintain the warm customer relations that she prided her establishment on. Neville was a good customer and at this rate he might never be able to step into a bookshop again without therapy. “If you drop by week after next, I might have some new old Philip K. Dicks for you. Shop up in Huddersfield said they were overstocked and wanted to send some my way.”
“Yeah, maybe” said Neville, still obviously dreaming of more than electric sheep.
Verna held the door open for him, and as she did she saw a car pull up. “Oh, right, my lift’s here. I’ll be out in a second, duck. Just saying my goodbyes. Yeah, Ta. Oh, bye, Neville. Don’t forget, mind, week after next once I’m back from me holidays.”
“You never mentioned any new Dicks,” said Emily as Verna let the door swing to.
“Why would I? You wouldn’t be interested. Besides, there aren’t any, but I wanted that poor fella to actually come back and have another go after I’d given you a good wallop right on side of your thick head.”
“What do you mean?” said Emily. Verna looked at her trying to work out if she really didn’t know.
“What I mean, young lady, is that there is a nice lad — a gentleman even, you could even say, give him a few more years – good education, good job, nice to his mam too. If you want to know how a fella will treat a lady, always look at how he treats his mother – that’s what my old nan used to say and she were right and all. He’s well-spoken too, for all that means round here — and he’s taken a right proper shine to you and there’s you acting all like butter wouldn’t melt. You could do a lot worse and, I dare say, not a fair sight better.”