Wish You Were Her(5)
Jonah said nothing. He moved swiftly away, leaving Simon to the computer, and began sorting the books from their latest delivery onto his trolley. His brain categorized them by cover and genre, his hands moving with a quickness that only years of practice and a touch of brilliance could achieve. He sorted through the boxes of new books, and started wheeling his trolley to the appropriate shelves.
Simon glanced up from his scrolling to peer over at his friend. “You okay?”
Jonah moved to the next box of books. “Fine. Never better.”
Simon’s brow furrowed but he did not question his friend’s strange shift in mood. “Want me to do the morning emails?”
“No,” Jonah said quickly. “I’ll do that.”
“Thank God,” Simon said with a relieved exhale. “I’m going to start on the window.”
They swapped positions, Jonah moving to stand by the old monitor while Simon wheeled the trolley over to one of the shop windows so he could begin constructing a new display. Jonah went to close the internet search but paused, staring once again at the images of Allegra Brooks.
He closed the search and opened the shopfloor email. He instantly spotted a reply, one he had been hoping to find, so he saved it as a reward for getting through his professional obligations. He replied to people about pre-orders, author events and the upcoming festival and once they were all cleared, he finally opened the one he had been waiting for.
[email protected]
to: [email protected]
Subject: Twitter Recovery
Dear ex-Twitter addict,
Please accept my apologies, I did not intend to bring up a sore subject. I hope your recovery is going well. I’m so envious, however, because I have to do social media for work and I loathe it. I understand your need to cut yourself off from the rubbernecking. Are you in a group? A program?
In all seriousness, social media is addictive and makes people way sadder than they realize and so I’m glad you’re free. Feel bad for the rest of us.
Yours,
A friend from out of town
“Why are you smiling? Is someone asking where to find something on Amazon again?”
“I’m not smiling,” Jonah said, answering Simon with a forced expression of neutrality. He moved the email to a folder he knew Simon would never check—the handover notes—and started drafting a response.
[email protected]
to: [email protected]
RE: Twitter Recovery
Dearest friend from out of town,
Still mysterious, but slightly less so now that I know you work in social media. What a career. I’m secretly thrilled to work for a man who hates the internet, it makes my recovery so much easier. What does your job entail? Do you get lots of trolls? I once tweeted from the bookshop account that audiobooks are valid and absolutely the same as reading a physical book and a man in his sixties threatened to come to the store and hit me over the head with a copy of his novel.
I’m not part of a group but I am enjoying these emails. They’re tiding me over, so I won’t dive into social media looking for human connection.
So, it would be really awkward at this stage if you turn around and tell me you have millions of dollars to give me, I just need to send you a fee to cover the wire transfer.
I’m usually a pretty disgruntled bookseller but if there is anything else I can do for you, I’m at your disposal.
Yours,
Jonah felt the urge to sign his name. He had been enjoying this email exchange since its random arrival in his life. Everybody knew everybody in Lake Pristine and so it was pleasant to have a little contact with the outside world.
“Jonah?”
Jonah smacked “send” out of sheer panic of being perceived, as George poked his head out of the backroom door and called over to him. The email disappeared into the ether without a moniker.
Chapter Three
Allegra’s mother, Roxanne, came to collect her daughter from the airport and, as the eighteen-year-old slipped into the front passenger seat of the old Vauxhall, her mother became slightly tearful.
“Ma, don’t,” Allegra said, her voice full of incredulity.
“Well, I’m sorry,” her mother replied, laughing. “This is the first time I’ve seen you properly in months.”
“I saw you at the Bystanders screening.”
“For five minutes, Ally.”
“I know, I’m sorry. It’s been busy.”
“Well, anyhow,” her mother sniffed as they hit the long, runway-like road that would lead them to Lake Pristine, “I get to boast about you at the office but it’s not exactly the same as seeing you.”
“It’s been a wild year.”
“You’re just everywhere,” her mother said, glancing at her daughter with a touch of worry. “I watch one episode of the show and then you’re every recommended video on my phone. Your press tour was … a lot, Ally.”
“Well, I’m done with the show now,” Allegra reminded her. The relief and satisfaction was very evident in her tone. “Unless they find a way to un-drown my character.”
“Your dad hated that scene.”
Allegra was surprised. She didn’t know that he had been watching the show. “It was a mess to film.”
She had become hypothermic. The director had been told he was only allowed to film in the cold water for fifteen-minute intervals, but he had been annoyed at the “suppression of his art.” So, Allegra, despite her protests, had been sent into the cold water for long stretches.