‘Thank you, Rebecca. What do you think, Gracie?’
Gracie pursed her lips, looking mutinous. ‘As long as it’s not another soppy woman being subjugated by a man with issues.’
A smile twitched at the corners of Estelle’s mouth. ‘I’m sure there’ll be more to it than that, if we look deeply enough. Reggie, does Lady Chatterley suit you?’
‘That’s fine … whatever you want. As I say, I’m largely here in an observational capacity, so …’ he trailed off.
‘Well I’m glad we’re all in agreement,’ beamed Estelle. ‘So the next meeting will be in two weeks’ time, and the book we’ll be discussing is Lady Chatterley’s Lover. Make sure you come armed with plenty of thoughts and opinions, and I’ll see you all in a fortnight.’
As everyone filed out of the door and Estelle locked up behind them, she couldn’t keep the smile from her face, a warm glow of satisfaction stealing over her. Tonight had been a success! There had been discussion and debate, whilst the meeting itself had been lively and friendly. And she’d made a small profit.
She could hardly wait to get stuck into Lady Chatterley’s Lover. Estelle had enjoyed Ten Sweet Lessons immensely, half-thrilled and half-terrified by the sensations it had stirred within her – sensations she’d thought were long gone, and had doubted she might never experience again. And now the group was moving on to one of the most famous pieces of erotic literature ever written, one renowned for its explicit love scenes and scandalous use of language. She couldn’t wait to see what the next meeting would bring!
8
‘Keyes … Marian Keyes …’ Gracie murmured under her breath as she paced round the library, trying to locate the right home for the copy of Rachel’s Holiday she was carrying.
Found it! She thought triumphantly, checking the reference number on the spine and slotting it in between Cathy Kelly and Sophie Kinsella.
She returned to the trolley she was pushing and picked out The Take by Martina Cole.
‘How are you getting on with those returns, Gracie?’ asked Simon, her manager.
‘Almost done,’ she told him cheerily, as she whizzed past him to the Crime and Thriller section, where she found one of the library’s regular patrons browsing the shelves. ‘Hello, Mr Harris.’
‘Hello, Gracie,’ replied the elderly gentleman. ‘Lovely day, isn’t it?’
‘It is indeed,’ she said happily. The sun was shining, the warm yellow light streaming in through the wide library windows. It was one of those glorious spring days when it felt like winter might finally be in retreat, and you started to believe that summer was on its way back.
‘Tell me, do you have the new Harlan Coben?’ Mr Harris enquired.
Gracie frowned. ‘That’s only just been released, so it might be another few days until we get it in. Would you like me to reserve it for you when it arrives?’
‘If you could, I’d very much appreciate it.’
‘No problem,’ Gracie beamed, making a mental note to do just that when she returned to the front desk. ‘In the meantime, have you read Long Dark Road by Alex Hayter? He’s a new author, very similar to Harlan Coben. I think you might enjoy it.’
Mr Harris took the novel from her and examined it, turning it over to read the back cover. ‘Thank you, Gracie. I like the look of this. Yes, I’ll definitely give it a whirl.’
‘We aim to please,’ Gracie grinned, as she set off once again.
Gracie had worked in Clifton library for almost five years now, and although she’d initially seen it as a stop-gap after university – something to tide her over until she got a ‘real’ job – she enjoyed it so much that she’d long since abandoned any ideas of moving on. Gracie loved the calm, steady pace of the library, the regular customers that she’d got to know, and the sense of being at the heart of the community, of organising speaker meetings and book readings with local authors. Unlike many of her friends who’d left Bristol to go to university and never returned, seduced by the bright lights of London or Manchester or Edinburgh, Gracie was content with her lot in life. Born and raised in Bristol, and now living in Clifton with her mother, as long as she had enough money to go out with her friends on a Saturday night, and treat herself to some new clothes now and again, she was quite satisfied.
At twenty-seven years old, she thought it might be nice to have a regular boyfriend, but a series of unsuccessful dates and a love of feminist literature had left her feeling that it wasn’t a necessity. Women didn’t even need men nowadays, after all – babies could be created in a test tube! Her own father had left when she was a toddler and was in and out of her life sporadically, occasionally remembering her birthday, or sending a card at Christmas. By and large, he was a waste of space. Gracie had grown up believing that men couldn’t be relied upon, and her mother, Maggie, had reinforced that view. Maggie had never remarried, and had impressed upon her only daughter the importance of self-reliance and financial independence from men. As such, Gracie had developed strong opinions that she wasn’t afraid to share, and had extremely high standards when it came to finding a boyfriend.
‘Ooh, that’s a lovely outfit, Gracie,’ she heard a voice say, as she passed through Contemporary Fiction.
‘Thank you, Mrs Jaworski,’ Gracie replied, as she turned and saw the small, Polish-born pensioner looking her up and down.
Gracie was wearing a fitted black pencil skirt, with a tight white blouse and oversized red belt, teamed with red patent kitten heels and seamed stockings. Her dark hair was loose, with a red silk handkerchief looped underneath and knotted on top.
‘You always look so nicely turned out,’ Mrs Jaworski was saying. ‘So many young people today just don’t make an effort, and the girls these days are always wearing jeans or trousers. It’s nice to see someone dressing like a lady for once.’
Gracie smiled to herself, wondering whether to engage Mrs Jaworski in a debate about a woman’s right to choose what she wanted to wear, and how it was only in the last century that it had become acceptable for women to even wear trousers in this patriarchal society. On reflection, she decided not to. ‘What are you reading today?’ she asked instead.
‘I’m looking for something different,’ Mrs Jaworski replied, her tone serious. ‘Tell me, have you read this Ten Sweet Lessons that everybody’s talking about?’
‘Yes, I have,’ Gracie nodded.
‘And what did you think?’
Gracie pulled a face. ‘I didn’t really like it, and I’m not sure it would be your kind of thing either. Maybe you should just stick with a nice Josephine Cox.’
‘I might be old, but there’s life in me yet,’ Mrs Jaworski chuckled. ‘I’d like to see what all the talk is about. It’s supposed to be very naughty, isn’t it?’
‘Very,’ Gracie emphasised. ‘It’s all handcuffs and candle wax. It doesn’t leave much to the imagination, let me tell you!’
Mrs Jaworkski’s eyebrows lifted so high they almost disappeared into her wiry grey hair.
‘Fascinating. Do you have it in stock?’
Gracie laughed, as she skimmed the shelves and found the last remaining copy. ‘Now don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ she teased, as she handed it over. ‘Is there anything else I can help you with today?’
‘Not now, thank you. I’ll carry on looking, and come to the desk when I’ve chosen everything.’
‘No problem. Just let me know.’
Gracie returned the last couple of books to their homes and made her