The Little Book Café: Emma’s Story. Georgia Hill

not?’ Emma bridled. Leona’s smug university-educated face and her jibes over her lack of education swam into her vision. ‘I love books and reading. Otherwise, why would I be here, at the book club?’

      ‘But evening classes? Is that really for you? It’ll be classic stuff, not Winston Graham.’

      ‘Oi Patrick, who was the only book group member who actually finished Wuthering Heights?’

      ‘Point taken.’ His blue eyes twinkled. He saluted her with his wine glass. ‘And didn’t you not only finish the book but defend our Mr Heathcliff with an informed passion, I seem to recall. I really shouldn’t be such a literary snob. It’s a bad habit.’

      ‘No, you shouldn’t.’ Emma grinned at him smugly, enjoying how his Irish accent slipped out occasionally. ‘Or I’ll make you sit next to Marti Cavendish at the next meeting.’

      Patrick laughed in horror. ‘Don’t you be doing that! But evening classes? Is that really your thing?’

      Emma shrugged. ‘Look,’ she began, ‘I love my job and I love living in Berecombe, but sometimes it gets a bit boring round here. Especially out of season. I just want the old grey cells rattled a bit.’

      ‘I can appreciate that. It’s just …’ He paused. ‘Aw, how can I say this without insulting you further? Joel is quite highbrow. I love the man dearly but, if I’m honest, he’s the last person I would have expected to teach these outreach programmes. Don’t get me wrong,’ he added hastily, ‘I think they’re a great idea, so I do. Anything that gets people reading and appreciating literature has my vote. I’m just not sure he’ll be able to make it accessible enough. I wouldn’t want you to be put off your studies right at the beginning and I certainly wouldn’t want you to waste your money.’

      ‘I hadn’t thought about the cost. Me and Ollie are trying to save for a place of our own, so money’s a bit tight,’ Emma said gloomily. ‘And I suppose this Joel bloke will be used to brainy undergrads. I messed about so much at school that college was never on the cards for me. Maybe I’ll give it a miss.’ Her face fell.

      Patrick looked at her intently. ‘And now I’m sorry. Maybe I’ve put you off?’ He chewed his lip, obviously thinking. ‘You know, I think I’ve underestimated you, Emma. You’re probably exactly the sort of person these courses are designed for.’ He grinned. ‘And, do you know, I’d quite like to see you take Joel on.’

      Emma preened a little. ‘Always up for a challenge, me.’

      ‘Well, isn’t that good. You know, Joel can get a bit esoteric sometimes. It would do him good to step out of his ivory tower for once. He tends to live in a pretty rarefied plane of existence most of the time.’

      ‘Who are you calling rarefied?’ A deep voice sounded behind them. Neither had seen the man come into the bookshop.

      Patrick laughed. ‘Speak of the devil and he shall appear.’ He turned to Emma. ‘This is the man himself, so it is. Emma Tizzard, may I introduce you to my old mucker, Joel Dillon.’

      Emma blinked. The man in front of them was tall; as tall as Tash’s new boyfriend Kit. But, in contrast to Kit, he was lean and elegant. Sun-streaked brown hair flopped overlong onto the collar of his linen jacket. He smiled and the edges of his eyes crinkled in a very sexy Hugh Grant sort of a way.

      Clasping Emma’s hand, Joel stared into her eyes. ‘I can now quite see the appeal of your little book group, Patrick. Hello, Emma Tizzard. You appear to have stepped straight out from a Hardy novel. What wonderful hair. It’s alight.’ He dropped her hand and Emma felt as if the sun had suddenly gone in. ‘I’m early for our meal,’ he said to Patrick. ‘So I thought I’d drop in and see where I’m to be teaching.’

      ‘I’ll get you a glass of wine,’ Patrick said. ‘And then we can get off to have something to eat. I’ll leave you in the capable hands of Emma here. She’s interested in doing your course but I’m not entirely sure you’ll be man enough for her.’ Patrick’s eyes flashed with humour.

      Joel turned his laser gaze back to her. ‘Now there’s a challenge,’ he said, softly. ‘How could I resist? Tell me why you want to learn great things, Emma.’

      Emma stared up at him, feeling hot. He was looking at her as if she was the most captivating thing he’d ever seen. No one, not even Ollie, had ever looked at her with such fascination. His interest was incredibly exciting. Maybe this was someone who could actually encourage her to use her brain? Aware that Joel was waiting for her answer, she tried to put into words what she wanted. And failed. ‘I’ve looked at evening classes before but they’re all in Exeter or Bridport,’ she stuttered, aware she sounded trite. ‘Too far away. To have them here in Berecombe would be majorly cool.’ That wasn’t the real reason and she could see Joel didn’t believe it. She took a deep breath. ‘Look, like a lot of kids, I cocked up at school. Didn’t concentrate. Couldn’t wait to leave. Never thought of A levels or anything. Wanted some cash in my pocket, I suppose.’

      Joel edged nearer. ‘And you spent too long daydreaming and staring out of the window, I’ll wager. Too imaginative. Bored with some very boring teaching.’

      Emma blushed. How did he know?

      He smiled. ‘It happens so often. Agile minds let down by an unimpressive education system which treats its gentle charges as nothing more than sausages in a machine.’

      Emma wasn’t entirely sure what he meant but nodded vigorously. She could listen to his voice forever. It was smooth and cultured, with a sophisticated drawl.

      He waved a hand. ‘Sausage in. Pricked. Baked. Tested. Tested some more. Sent out into the world unsatisfied and dulled by the tedium of it all.’

      ‘I like sausages,’ Emma breathed and, to her horror, realized she’d said it out loud.

      Joel roared with laughter. ‘Patrick is right. You are perfect for me. And you will be a challenge. One I need.’

      ‘I need a challenge too. I want to find out if I’m up to it.’

      ‘And you want to be excited, I can tell.’ He put his head on one side. ‘And great literature can do that.’ He clapped his hands together in a way that should have been effeminate but just came across as enthusiastic. ‘Oh, Emma Tizzard, I can show you so much. Teach you so much. There are so many riches I can lead you to discover.’

      It was all getting a bit heady. ‘So you’ll teach the course here, in the bookshop?’ she asked, in an attempt to bring the conversation down to a more normal level.

      Joel spread his arms wide. ‘Where better? I think the idea is to hold them where the optimum number can attend. As you say, not everyone is capable of getting to Exeter.’ He paused and then went on importantly, ‘Should you want to, attendance can count towards a foundation course and then a degree. But we can talk more about that. I can bring some information to the first class. Do you think you’re up to it, Emma? And more saliently, do you think you’re up to me?’ He raised one eyebrow.

      Emma felt her face begin to burn with possibilities. ‘I don’t have any A levels and I haven’t really done anything like this before.’

      ‘But you read?’

      Emma nodded.

      ‘And love books? The worlds they offer? The escape from the tedium of everyday life?

      He understood. Somehow, he knew that was why she disappeared into reading. Books were a way out. A way of forgetting the dragging fear over her father’s job. The way her mother was worrying herself thin. The dull suburban life they led. She gazed up at him, enraptured. She’d never met anyone quite like him before.

      ‘I need you, Emma with the flaming hair. I need you on my course.’ He took her hand and looked mournful. ‘Say yes or I shall leave here a bitterly disappointed man.’

      ‘Yes,’ Emma said, her eyes shining. ‘Yes!’

      Joel