Page 39 of The Breakup Bookshop

‘No, I was planning to… anyway, never mind, what are youdoinghere?’

‘I’m fixing it,’ he says. ‘I practised the mural on a large canvas at home before I started, so I thought we could use that for the launch, until I can redo it. I’ve just fixed it to the space.’

I look up at the wall behind him. The blotchy mural is completely hidden behind the large canvas.

‘It looks great. Better than great. Amazing. But, Rory, you came here in the middle of the night to do this?’ I ask, my voice catching for a moment. ‘For me?’

‘For my reputation. I couldn’t have Richard J. What’shis-face thinking I can’t paint.’

I’m completely disorientated. I’ve had so little sleep, between all my embarrassing naked dreams and waking up suddenly to an intruder in my shop.

‘So, wait a minute, you thought it would be a good idea to break into the bookshop and scare the shit out of me, just so Richard J. didn’t think you’d gone too far with abstract art?’

‘It’s not abstract art. It looked like a rainbow had thrown up on your wall.’

‘I thought you were breaking in to kill me!’

‘That’s a touch dramatic, no?’

He stands back to size up his work.

‘I don’t know whether to thank you or smack you over the head with the ironing board.’

‘It looks better,’ Rory says. ‘Not as good as the original, but it’ll do for now. Right, I’m heading home. I’ll see you when you’re better dressed.’

I look down at my pyjamas. ‘I was actually going to wear these to the launch…’

‘Lock the door behind me, just in case.’

I roll my eyes. ‘I locked it earlier. How did you even get in?’

‘Tricks of the trade.’

‘The murderer trade?’

‘I own a DIY shop. You don’t think I know how to pick a lock? Good night, Ava.’

‘Good night, Rory,’ I say. ‘And thank you.’

He raises a hand into the air and wanders off into the night.

14

‘Bloody hell, Ava, I hardly recognized you there,’ Fiona grins as she carries the first of the catering trays through the front door of the bookshop. ‘You scrub up well, lass.’

I rush over to help her with the heavy trays of wraps, sandwiches and finger food. My make-up is done, hair curled, and I’ve finally settled on my outfit choice: a mid-length, floaty, pink and black number that I pulled from my London wardrobe. I plan to be barefoot until the event officially starts, but I have my heels ready to go.

‘You’re used to seeing me at my worst, Fiona: scraped-back hair, no make-up and, worst of all, before the caffeine that you supply me with to help me function like a human being. Wow, this food all looks amazing!’

‘We can lay it all out and then I’ll need to nip away and get my glad rags on! I can’t be late for the most exciting thing to happen to this village in months! A brand-new bookshopandRichard J. Walker in Ullapool, who’d have thought it?’

‘Are you a crime fiction fan, Fiona? Or just a Richard fan?’

Fiona’s laughter echoes around the bookshop. ‘God, no! I’m not… Well, let’s say he’s not my type. I know someone who loves his books, though. Devoured them, actually. A friend. A former friend.’

‘Former?’

Maybe Fiona and I have more in common than I realized.