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  “He will meet himself coming back one day.” said George, taking up his broom for the final brush of the day. Alf’s visits were whirlwinds of activity, but he was a nice enough man. I just wondered what it was he did. Perhaps one day i would get around to asking him. If he had the time that is.

  So they were our regulars. The rest of our trade varied tremendously. There were a number of familiar faces of course, though most we were merely on nodding terms with. There were also the single enquiries: normally people looking for a particular book or wanting to order a certain thing. The second of these was not an option any more sadly, but we had a brisk trade of a lunchtime when the high street such as it was was busy and lots of people were about.

  The high street was really a bit of a misnomer; there were few shops really. The pub was a central part of the village of course, and there were a few newsagents and gift shops. Mister Barrington's gardening store at the end of the street was always popular too, even though his opening hours did seem to be very erratic. When he was open though he did good business, and he was always referring customers to us for gardening books and the like. It was that kind of village really. Everyone tried to look out for each other, but I could not help but feel on the more depressing quiet days that the independent bookshop’s days in general were numbered, ours especially so.

  I had a great deal of sympathy with Stevie's “no coffee under any circumstances!” viewpoint, for I abhorred it myself, but I could see no other way forward. Sadly, the decision seemed to have been taken out of our hands, for it looked very likely that even if Stevie did relent there was no money in the kitty any more to set up a coffee shop in the bookshop even if we had wanted one. Which we did not. The horse had, as they say, well and truly bolted. It was curious really, for we did not have a business plan as such but we all knew what had to be done and we just got on with it. It was a happy place to work, and I in particular found I was almost in heaven being surrounded by books all day every day. All we had to do now was to start to make some money and everything would be fine. If only it was that easy, of course.

  The next day I decided to try a small experiment. Typically, I roamed the sales floor, helping where required and Ginnie manned the till. I had tried to get across to her to try and up sell other goods but she just did not seem to get the hang of it. Whether that was because she simply did not understand what I meant or that she was embarrassed to try and sell something more to a customer who approached the till in the first place I did not know. I however had no such qualms.

  “Ginnie.” I said as we took our coats off, “I will man the till and the wrapping of the purchases from now on and you can cover the floor. I think it is time for you to spread your wings.”

  “Okay Ruth.” she said. “It will make for a nice change anyway.”

  Ginnie just smiled as per usual, though by that evening I knew that we had both warmed to our new roles rather well. Ginnie seemed to have a new found confidence about her, and I had increased every sale by I worked out forty percent. Some of the additional items I managed to push were just Knick knacks; bookmarks and so on. But every sale counted, and quite often there was much more profit in the miscellaneous goods than there was in the books themselves. It was a relatively easy thing to do as well. We were a traditional bookshop and in some ways quite old fashioned. Every customer’s purchases were placed into one of our bags and as I was placing the customer’s hand wrapped book or hopefully books into one of our carriers I would enquire if they needed a bookmark, or stamps and so on. Invariably they did. All round it seemed to work out quite well. Even if Ginnie got stuck then I was hardly rushed off my feet and so was fully able to help if required.

  “New regime?” asked Stevie as we locked up that evening, raising an eyebrow.

  “Just thought I would try and do a little bit of a sales push.” I smiled.

  “Keep it up.” she smiled, and so the next day we continued. It did not make a radical difference. After all, there was only so much sales pushing you could do if the store was empty most of the time, but we did maximise our takings for each customer. The regulars of course we left to it. Sally made her usual morning trip to warm herself and Joe popped in at lunchtime to flirt with Ginnie, Chris arriving just after school warning George that the oil on the door hinges was definitely not working. As usual Chris hung around the science fiction and fantasy shelves for a while, eventually turning up at the counter with a copy of “The Hobbit” held in his hand.

  “Not read it already?” I asked with surprise. I thought all children were brought up with the hobbit, though judging by the look on Chris’s face he had not read it. I had of course seen him looking at it many times over the last month. The edition he had picked was a reprint, but it had the original Tolkien illustrations in it and it therefore had the look of a work of art. Accordingly it was expensive. I knew he wanted this book more than anything because every day he went straight to it, no doubt to check that it was still there.

  It always was of course, for every day when he left I took it from the shelf and put it under the till. Just before he came in of a night I put it back. I never forgot, and I knew that one day that he would have enough money to buy it. Today was obviously that day.

  “No.” he said, reaching inside his school jacket and producing his pennies and pound notes he placed them on the counter and so he paid for the book.

  “Well you are in for a treat.” I winked, and he gave me that half smile that seemed to indicate that he was a little embarrassed to be holding a conversation with someone of my age, but was prepared to put up with it as long as I sold him the occasional book or two. “It is a very special book. It will fire your imagination I think.”

  “Thanks.” he said, and he was gone.

  The rest of the day finished as usual, though Alf did not put in an appearance, though that was not unusual. Not really. Alf came and went as he saw fit and it was difficult, if not impossible to discern a pattern to his irregular hurried appearances.

  Several days passed. It was a Thursday I recall. Just before lunch. I was tidying up the till area as a rather well dressed lady I had never seen before strolled into the shop, a wry smile on her face as she let the brass bell ring itself into silence once the new customer’s arrival was announced. She stood looking around for a while and we all just left her to it really. We did not know every customer by name or appearance after all, and so she wandered up and down the aisle before approaching the till with one of the recently published potboilers that we seem to see all too much of these days.

  “Nice shop.” she said as she handed me the book, smiling.

  “Thank you.” I said. “We like to think of ourselves as a friendly traditional independent bookstore really.”

  “Yes indeed.” said the woman, holding out her hand. “Margaret.” she introduced herself as. “I am Christopher’s mother.”

  “Christopher?” I enquired, and she gave a small laugh.

  “You probably know him as Chris.” she said, and seeing the puzzled look on my face continued, “He told me about this bookshop and after I had seen the note I just had to visit. It was all very charming.”

  “Ah.” I said, the penny dropping finally, “Chris. Likes science fiction and fantasy novels. I was pleased to see that he bought the hobbit the other day. Much better than all of that American nonsense.”

  “They do rather tend to over-write, don’t they?” she said and I smiled, pleased to find out who the lady was. It just seemed a bit odd to have a son recommend to his mother a bookstore to the extent that she felt the need to visit it.

  I wrapped the book up and placed it in a carrier bag that had the name of our store emblazoned on the side of it and having sold her a couple of bookmarks and taken her payment we were more or less on the brink of parting when I remembered something that she had said did not make any sense.

  “You mentioned a note?” I asked, smiling and Margaret looked rather excited.

  “Yes. I thought it was really v
ery charming. It made me smile and certainly made Christopher's day. It really is quite clever of you.”

  “I see.” I said, desperately trying not to look like I did not know what she was talking about, even if that was the case.

  “The note?” I said and Margaret smiled, taking the bag from me as she did so.

  “Inside the book.” she said.

  “Oh.” I managed. “What did it say precisely?”

  “Oh you know what it said.” she smiled, heading towards the door and no doubt some lunch somewhere, “Very clever. Ask Christopher to show you if you have forgotten.”

  “I will.” I called after her but she was already gone.

  “What was she on about - a note?” asked Ginnie, appearing from behind the mystery and thrillers as if she belonged there.

  “No idea.” I said, thinking hard. “Though whatever it was it encouraged her to come in and have a look around.”

  “And she bought something too.” said George, swishing past with his brush.

  “That she did.” I said, and decided to ask Chris when he came in to see if I could run my eyes over the note and whatever it said.

  The afternoon dragged. There were fewer customers than usual, and Ginnie was moping about the place bereft as even Joe had stayed away at lunchtime. Slowly four o’clock approached and shortly after the hour had turned in came Chris, grinning at the door hinges as he entered, catching George with a beaming smile and heading for the science fiction and fantasy section. I let him mull about in there for a good fifteen minutes or so and when he was on his way out I stopped him.

  “Chris!” I called to him and he almost stopped in his tracks. “Your mother was in earlier.”

  Chris turned a colour of red that I think was quite possibly right off any colour chart I had ever seen. He looked as if he was about to spontaneously combust.

  “I said it was good in here.” he stuttered quietly. “You know. With the note and everything. She said she would come and see for herself and perhaps buy something. I know there never seem to be many people in here you see.”

  I smiled at him and his quiet way of letting us know that he knew we were in trouble as a business but I did not comment...

  “Have you go the note with you?” I smiled and his face lit up.

  “Sure.” he said, approaching the till and shouldering his school rucksack which he let slip off his shoulder and he began opening the bag on the floor. I just saw the corner of the Hobbit book he had bought the other day in his bag. I was surprised just how dog eared it was already!

  As I watched he opened the book and pulled out a slim piece of what looked like good quality paper. It was bookmark shaped; tall and thin and on it I could just see handwritten words along one side of it. He pulled it carefully out of the book and passed it to me. Slowly I began to read.

  Dear new owner of this book

  What an excellent choice you have made!

  This is a masterpiece well worth every second that you

  will spend reading it. I envy you setting out on this

  journey for the first time!

  This is a gentle, fanciful tale and you must spend time

  on it and use your imagination.

  It starts slowly but builds to a marvelous conclusion

  that I am sure you will enjoy tremendously.

  Enjoy the magic that this book holds

  and savour it too, for you will remember

  the first time that you read it

  (and you will read it many,

  many times - trust me on that)

  for the rest of your days.

  Yours,

  The Bookworm.

  I placed the bookmark sized note back down on the checkout desk and smiled.

  “Great idea really.” smiled Chris. I was forced to agree.

  “Do you mind if I take a photocopy?” I asked and Chris was fine with it. I took it into the office and made several copies before returning the original to Chris who was waiting patiently by the till, rucksack still open.

  “Thanks.” he said as I handed him the note back and he stowed it back inside the book and began to close his bag.

  “So is it a good book?” I asked and he smiled.

  “Yes.” he said, “It is just as the note said. You need to give it time to start with as it seems like it is a kid’s story.”

  I frowned at the thought of Chris thinking at his age that things were too young for him, but I seem to remember that I had done the same the first time that I had read it.

  “Well the story continues in The Lord of the Rings you know.” I said. “Big book. Very big book indeed. Three books in fact.”

  “Well I must reserve myself a copy.” smiled Chris as he made his way to the door, smiling as he opened it. “Perhaps there will be a note in that one too.” he said.

  “Well you never know.” I said.

  “Cool.” he said. “I can’t wait.” and with that he was gone

  I picked the photocopy up from the desk and read it again. It really was very cute and also a great idea. But there was only one problem. As a shop we did not have a policy of putting notes inside books that we sold.

  “I have never seen it before in my life.” said Ginnie a little while later as I showed it to her and George,

  “Me neither.” said George. “Nice touch though.”

  “It is.” I said and Stevie came across from the office to see what all the fuss was. I explained and showed her the paper and she frowned as she read it.

  “Let me get this straight. Chris’s mother came in to look at the shop on the back of seeing this?”

  “Correct.” I said. “She said it was a nice touch.”

  “It is.” said Stevie. “It is indeed.” She looked thoughtful. “Put a copy on the shop notice board. Maybe it will stir up a bit of interest.”

  “But who wrote it and put it in the book?” asked George and we all looked at him blankly.

  “No idea.” said Ginnie. “Though I do remember when I borrowed a copy of Lord of the Rings from the library when I was his age or thereabouts someone had sellotaped a drawing they had made of Gollum to the inside cover.”

  “Was it any good?” asked George, scratching his head.

  “So-so.” said Ginnie. “I think the library saw it and thought it was kind of cute and so decided to leave it there.”

  “Some books are like that.” I said, pinning one of the photocopies onto the noticeboard. “The book fires the reader's imagination to the extent that they feel they have to contribute to the story itself.”

  “I wonder who the Bookworm is though?”

  George however seemed to have lost interest and re-commenced brushing the floor while I and Ginnie began to close up shop. It would be several days before any of us had cause to think about the mysterious note again.

  ***

  “Another poor week.” said Stevie as we sipped our wine in the pub during our usual post week moratorium. “Hobbit book sales are up though.”

  “Are they?” I asked. I had not noticed.

  “Yes.” she said. “Well. Let’s not get too excited. We sold three copies.”

  “Ah.” I said glumly.

  “Hey! Don’t knock it!” said Stevie, the eternal optimist. “It is three more than the week before.”

  “Well I think we can put that blip down to the Bookworm whoever he - or she - is.” said Stevie.

  “Here’s to the bookworm then.” I said, raising my glass and we clinked glasses.

  The next week was as slow as normal, though Margaret, Chris’s mum, did pop in once again and purchase another book. Unusually I saw her leafing through it before she bought it. I was used to people reading the front or the back, or sometimes a random passage from inside the book, but leafing through it was unusual. She caught me glancing at her curiously and looking equally embarrassed she more or less rushed to the till and bought the book, leaving as quickly as she could.

  “She was looking for a note.” I said out loud as Ginn
ie went past, a stack of books in her arms.

  “Eh?” she asked and so I explained.

  “She was checking to see if there was a note inside the book. The note Chris had was bookmark shaped but it was not very long. It wouldn’t stick out of the book unless you left it so.”

  “Well there was only that one note wasn’t there?” she said and I nodded. “Well then. Silly woman. It’s what a book says that’s important. Not a note left in it.”

  “It was sort of cute though.” shouted Stevie through from the office.

  “Well as long as they stick to fanciful books.” said George, eyeing up the door hinges as if oil and polish was imminent. “Heaven only knows what kind of note you would find inside that Fifty Shades of Grey book.”

  We all laughed at this. George had been in a state of almost complete apoplexy since we had taken that particular title, though at the end of the day we were just a bookshop.

  “We do not dictate taste, George.” I had said at the time.

  “But we can guide it.” George had replied, which I thought was quaint - almost as quaint as the note inside the Hobbit was now.

  The day after Ginnie arrived in a rush, clattering through the shop door at eight forty-five like a banshee. This was odd behaviour for Ginnie. She religiously arrived at eight fifty-five without deviation.

  “We’re trending!” she said without taking off her coat.

  “We’re what?” I asked. I hadn’t got a clue what she was on about.

  “Well.” she said. “I put the note on my Facebook page. I took a picture of it with my camera.” She noticed the look i was giving her but carried on anyway. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I just thought it was cool. So I put it on my Facebook.”

  The world of Facebook was a mystery to me however. I knew all about it without ever actively wanting to participate. It was the social media equivalent of a swimming race as far as I was concerned. I knew what it was, I was quite happy for other people to do it, but I did not actually want to take part myself.

  “Well if it’s on my Facebook then it's on twitter too.” said Ginnie. “hashtag cutenote.” This really was a step too far for me.