Bill swore as he lifted the bonnet of his white van. Three times in the past week, the engine refused to start.

“Bloody ex son in law promised to fix the problem,” he muttered into the haze of rain. He shivered under the gloomy layers of grey that hung above him.

And to cap it all, he barely made enough money at today’s Car Boot – not even enough for his Sunday roast lunch.

He swore again and thought about heading to the local pub. He needed a half pint of his favourite dark ale and he could worry about the van after that.

Marjorie, his wife died five years before. Without her he didn’t know what to do with himself or his time.

A planner in the best of ways, Marjorie organised their lives with her constant to do lists. Days out, adventurous holidays, exotic cooking and baking-and he, the willing taster.

And she loved to dance. Every Friday night after dinner, she would take him in her arms, as they danced around the kitchen to the sound of Elvis Presley.  Her favourite song, ‘Are you, lonesome tonight.’

Well he felt bloody lonely and he on his own, every night for the last five years.

To add to Bill’s heartache, her spirit still ran through the house. He would hear her voice echo through the walls at all times of the day and night.

The love of his life. “Where are you now, when I need you most,” he shook his fist at the slate black clouds.

Following her burial and the fuss his family made over her will, he lost interest in life.  

‘Let himself go,’ his long dead mother would have said.

One morning, standing in the bathroom, in front of the mirror, he took a scissors to his thick curls. Then with a razor he shaved his hair right off.

Prominent pools of dark brown eyes, without a hint of sparkle stared straight back at him, along with a shiny bald head.

When his daughters bothered to pop in, clean up a bit, make him a watery cup of tea or heat up some nasty oven ready meal, they shook their heads, shocked by his appearance.

“Dad have you seen the sight of yourself. You need to get a grip. You can’t go on living like this and we’re far too busy to nurse you as if you’re some doddery old man. For god’s sake dad, you’re only sixty-two and we miss our mum too.

She’d not be best pleased with the old baggy jeans, crumpled check shirt and dirty trainers you wear these days.” They spoke in unison.

And she would not be best pleased to see the cheap food you buy me, he thought, but decided not to bother mentioning that fact.

One evening, around dinner time, he heard a sharp rap on the windowpane in the living room. Bill remained in his chair and waited. The knock came again only this time – louder.

He walked out to the hall, undid the lock and chain, and opened the front door. His ex-son in law stood on the steps armed with a few cans of beer and a devious look about him. But then he always had a look of up to no good, Bill thought. Reluctantly, he let him in.

Wayne with his second hand, car business, suggested Bill ought to buy one of his vans. He’d give him a good deal and that way he could clear the house of his wife’s belongings- sell them at a local car boot or market stall, Wayne said.

 But Bill felt unsure. His wayward daughters probably put Wayne up to this idea. And he had to ask, could he bare to part with Marjorie’s beloved clothes?

A long silence spread out between Wayne and himself as they continued to sip their beer.

Eventually, Bill spoke. “No, out of respect for Majorie, I’ll not be selling her clothes anytime soon.”

He continued to watch the days and nights and the world pass him by. What’s the point of having all this time without the woman I loved? he asked.

Worthless, empty days, he almost drowned in the loneliness.

His only company, the television and the ancient cockatoo. “Majorie, Majorie, where’s Marjorie?” Lucy would squawk.

After a few months, he bought a van from Wayne and following a few false starts, he seemed to get the hang of selling and haggling.

He looked forward to driving from village to village, showing up at a market or car boot with his van load of stuff.

It kept him occupied and he usually made a profit that is, until today.

“A downright wash out, is what it was,” he spoke aloud.

He got to know a few of the other stall holders, and sometimes a woman by the name of Kate would set up her stall alongside his.

“Hi, my name is Kate. You don’t remember me, do you?” she smiled at Bill.

She seemed a kind soul and often stayed back after the car boot finished, and she helped him pack up and reload the white van.

 She drove a sturdy green jeep with two sheep dogs, who followed her everywhere.

“Does Kate O’Gorman ring a bell?” she asked one day.

Bill shrugged.

“Surely you remember the little girl with the mousy brown hair and pigtails who sat beside you in primary school?”

When Kate shared a flask of soup or a sandwich with Bill,

the story of how they once knew each other unravelled.

“You, and your friends teased or ignored me.” Kate told him. “Then aged eleven my parents took me away. We moved up north.”

Kate recounted how moving to that part of the UK had served her well. Still only slip of a girl, she had met and married her husband.

“He was an antique dealer and I became one too.”

Bill normally not one for chat, spoke out one day. 

“Would you look at me, he said. “All that swagger and confidence long gone- And you with your good looks, seems you’ve turned into a right elegant swan. Perhaps it’s time to find out who the real Bill Brown is.  But you know Kate, I believe I’ve forgotten.”

Six months passed since their reunion and on this Sunday, Kate appeared at his side. She saw his face twitch in anger and the rigidness of his body.

“Hey, Bill having a bit of trouble with the van I see.”

She pulled out her mobile and pressed a few buttons. 

“Stuart love, is there any chance you could drive across to the market on the green?

My friend here, Bill has a dodgy van that won’t start. She waited for the reply.

“Ah you’re the best.”

She closed the phone and turned to Bill.

“There now, Stuart will be along in a minute.” 

She spoke in a soothing fashion. 

“Why don’t you come back to mine for a bit of lunch? I’ve a meaty casserole simmering since early morning and Stuart, my son, knows where we are,” she offered.

“I can promise good wholesome food, your old school chum’s company, and there might be a pint of the dark stuff on offer too.”

“You see Bill, I know what it’s like to have lost a great love, and the not knowing what to do with the silent empty space.”

Bill banged the bonnet of the van down hard. 

“Well, someone is watching out for me after all.”

And with that he threw his hands up in the air and did a little dance.  The rain gently withdrew and patches of the palest of blue skies appeared.

“Kate me darlin, this is the best offer I ‘ve had in five years. Lead on.”

They jumped into Kate’s jeep, laughing all the way back to her house, where a casserole and a pint of the dark stuff awaited him.

One year Later

Bill and Kate sat in the window seat in a crowded café. He drank a latte and she an americano.

For some weeks now, he’d been avoiding contact with her, even stopped showing up at the car boot sales.

Silently he sat and recalled the day Kate posed her questions to him.

Out of the blue as they walked along their favourite stretch of the riverbank, she’d unexpectedly stopped and turned to him.

“Where do you see our relationship heading? What would you like to happen to us?”

To Bill they were perfectly reasonable questions, but he could not find it in himself to answer there and then.

He knew he liked Kate and enjoyed her company. They seemed to have found a rhythm over the last year, and their easy friendship helped renew his confidence.

But some nights as he lay in bed, a nagging guilt kept him awake.

When his two daughters realised there might be a woman on the scene, raised voices ensued. He’d come to terms with the girls being difficult at the best of times, spoilt by their mother, squabbling with each other, and greedy for attention.

“We’re glad you’re happier and look better than we’ve seen you in years. But, if there’s a woman sniffing around, we hope you’re not thinking of moving her into our family home? We don’t want her waltzing in to get her feet under the table. Our dear mother spent years creating this home and we have to consider our inheritance?” They almost spat the words out.

Bill felt ill prepared for their voraciousness, and the arguments continued.

The family rift widened, and with great sadness, he realised, he’d never felt a bond with the girls, not even on the day they were born.

Added to this, he’d allowed them to manipulate him over the years with their constant demands for money.

They had started to drop by the house unexpectedly- on the pretext of caring about his welfare. One such visit riled Bill beyond his wits.

“It’s none of your bloody business, who I bring into my home. You’ve chosen your life and now I’m choosing mine. If that means selling these bricks and mortar, starting over with a kind lady friend, so be it. Now shove off and leave me in peace.” An exasperated Bill felt his face redden.

He knew Marjorie would cry tears of sorrow that her passing had not made the family a tighter unit. Instead, resentment lingered, and long sobering silences followed.

After five years of living on his own, Bill still found it hard to make personal decisions. But he’d be damned if he’d allow the terrible twins (as he called them), to try and control whatever life he had left.

The best option, he had decided, would be to stay away from Kate. And he couldn’t face further jibes from the stall holders.

‘Car Boot Sales, where love stories begin,’ they’d already teased.

Now sitting opposite each other, sipping their coffees in the café, Kate spoke first.

“I asked for us to meet today, to hear if you’ve given any thought to my questions? Have you made any decision, and do we have a future together?”

She reached for his hand and placed it in hers.

She repeated to Bill how she’d come to terms with her husband’s passing.  “I loved Jeff with most of my heart and my only son Stuart, is all grown up and happy. The only responsibility I am left with, are the two dogs.

I am ready to start over and I want to make plans. If that includes you, all the better, but I refuse to die wondering,” Kate laughed.

After some moments Bill spoke. “Thanks for your patience, but can you give me a little more time?”

Kate removed her hand gently from his, finished her coffee, and stood up. “Of course, but don’t take too long, for time is precious.” She kissed him on the cheek, leaving him to ponder some more.

He sat surrounded by the chitter chatter of customers, the barista machine hissing, and in the background, he could hear The Style Council ‘You’re the Best Thing,’ playing. 

More guilt inveigled his space. If he decided to start a new life with Kate, would it count as a betrayal against Marjorie? The woman he’d been married to for more than thirty years.

Could he bare to leave her, decayed, buried under clay and dirt?

A Week Later  

Bill walked through the squeaky iron gates and along the cobbled path to the graveyard.

In one hand he carried Lucy’s cage and made his way to Marjorie’s tombstone. Kneeling on the damp grass, he placed the cage on the ground. It surprised him at how quiet the bird seemed these days. He removed the dead leaves that had gathered since he’d last visited and raked at the soil. A single red rose still bloomed in a pot. He ran his fingers over the gold inscription set against the black granite.

He’d been skipping the weekly trips and usual chats with Marjorie. Instead, he’d spent days making notes, writing; a plea for her blessing, he supposed.

Standing now, courage at his side, he read aloud, hoping for a sign, Marjorie would understand. When he’d finished reading the letter, he knew for sure he could not, must not lose Kate. The time had come to go forward with his life.

He kissed the cold slab of the gravestone, picked up a silent Lucy in her cage, and slowly walked away.

Two Years Later

Kate and Bill hung the last of the streamers and balloons from the ceiling in the centre of the tea shop.

The pastry chef busied herself in the kitchen while the aroma of sweet spices and baking wafted out to the courtyard. Pretty set tables with brightly painted café chairs, and a large banner displaying the logo of books and teapots stretched across the top of the glass fronted stone buildings. One of the staff had constructed a small stage platform and set up the sound system, for the mayor who would make a speech later.

It had been Kate’s idea to honour Bill’s hard work over the last two years. Now a respected authority on the art of restoring books, he had already rescued hundreds from being pulped, thrown away or even burnt.

Bill who did not enjoy fuss, felt any glory of success should be Kate’s.

She managed to persuade him to agree to an event, but he had one condition.

“I will go along with your plans, as long as it is without fanfare.” Bill said.

Kate promised that she would organise a low-key celebration

Maeve, who lived nearby, and had become one of Bill’s biggest fans, in her usual ebullient style, informed the local papers, radio stations and anyone else she thought could possibly promote this gathering.

Kate pleaded on Bill’s behalf, but a determined Maeve had already turned it into what would be a bit of a bash.

Bill, in his workshop, felt apprehensive. He turned to check the clock, hanging on one of the white walls, and realised in one hour, he and Kate would celebrate a second birthday in business, and their first ‘Book Restoring Day’ event.

He walked into the café and went to Kate, kissed her hand, and disappeared into the kitchen to make them a soothing pot of tea.

“Hey Kate, where’s your Bill. Got him another book to make new again.” Maeve stood in the empty courtyard and waved a book as thick as Kane and Abel in her direction. She made her way through the open doors to the tearoom and pushed past the narrow spaces in between the tables. On reaching the service area, she threw the heavy book down hard onto the marble countertop. The book bounced, and the staff’s’ tip cup fell over, smashing onto the terracotta floor. Coins, notes and broken pieces of pottery scattered everywhere.

Wearing voluminous layers of yellow and green, Maeve clumsily got down on her hands and knees and muttered words of apology.

Bill on hearing the sound of crashing china, appeared with a mop, a brush and a bucket.

Kate’s two sheep dogs, Benjy and Jennie, awoke from their sleep, stretched and looked around, as if to ask what is that rumpus? Lucy, the cockatoo in her blue cage in another corner, squawked, “Oh, silly Maeve, silly Maeve.”

Kate walked over to Maeve. “There’s no harm done, and no need to clear up. Bill is here.  What about a mug of our signature tea and a freshly, baked cheese scone?”

An embarrassed Maeve nodded.

Kate helped the perspiring woman to standing and guided her to sit at one of the white wicker chairs in the centre of the room.

The tearoom and book restoring business seemed such a natural project for Bill and Kate to develop, after they found the two stone white-washed cottages. Neglected buildings that sat near a public promenade by the seafront.

After months of form filling, attending meetings with council bodies, the powers that be gave Kate and Bill the go ahead. They signed a contract with a ten-year lease, allowing them to open two businesses’ that would serve the local town and community.

A perfect pairing, both Kate and Bill agreed. She would run a tea and book swap shop and Bill, would expand his   hobby. The one he’d kept secret for nearly thirty years.

At his former home, Bill had a man-shed at the bottom of his garden. He taught himself the delicate and intricate skill of restoring books and stored these paper treasures. 

After Marjorie passed, on sleepless nights, he would go to his shed and lose himself in the process of restoring old books.

For the last two years, flushed with enthusiasm, feeling motivated like never before, this hobby had evolved, bringing him success, working from a rectangular table and surrounded by the tools of his new trade. The glass doors he built allowed the perfect light to stream through with views out to the ocean, seagulls, fishermen and their boats.

Word quickly spread about the older couple who had renovated the stone buildings.

‘The Restoring Book and Tea Room – step inside, make a friend, swap or restore a book, and enjoy some chat…’  the boards and signs read.

In the tea shop, white painted bookshelves lined the walls and Kate, an avid reader, filled them with hers and her son’s favourite novels.

The concept seemed to appeal. Locals, cyclist groups, families with children, dogs, along with the gushy Maeve, soon flocked to the tearoom and workshop. Bill and Kate built a real community hub, for restoring books, book swaps, reading, obligatory chit-chat over a cuppa, and eating delicious home bakes.

The postman delivered heaps of books in packages and Bill would often find a sackful, left outside his workshop.

Many enclosed letters and cheques, book owners desperate, requesting him to make good their books.

He spent hours, sorting out hinges, rebinding, re-sticking, and repairing page after page that had been over-exposed to light, oxidation or even mould

This expertise with old raggedy and yellowing loose paged books, and making them new again, had given him a celebrity tag.

The night before this unique event, over a candlelight dinner in the tearoom, Bill presented Kate with a little box. Inside lay a ring on a velvet cushion.

“It’s a commitment ring,” Bill told her.

“Just showing that I care. Okay?”

Bill reached over, removed the ring from the box and placed it on Kate’s right finger.

“Well I never, Bill Brown. I didn’t think you had it in you- a piece of jewellery, and it fits perfectly,” Kate exclaimed. 

“But, how did you know sapphires and diamonds are my favourite?” Her voice quivered with emotion.

Bill tapped the side of his nose and smiled.

“Life couldn’t be better and it’s all thanks to you darlin girl. We make a good team, you and I. There’s no going back, you have it in stone. now” Bill hugged her tightly.

                  ***********************

The clock struck twelve midday. They heard the sound of the official car as it parked.

Bill watched Kate walk to the centre of the tearoom. He took her hand in his.

Stepping out to the courtyard, the stones of Kate’s ring caught in the shimmering sunlight. They smiled at each other, ready to greet the mayor, mayoress, and loyal customers.

With a deep intake of sea air, he thought, life is filled with possibilities. He had found his passion and true love again.

                  ****************