Shop 4/ 1 Dawson St Strathalbyn SA 5255 0438847329 tbkstrathalbyn@gmail.com Tuesdays to Saturdays 10am to 4pm

Tag: Lee Child

Ma’am

The Book Keeper2 Comments on Ma’am

Two gentlemen at the front window of the shop:

‘Don’t rush me.’

‘What about that there?’

‘No, don’t rush me. I’m not one for reading. But what do you think of this fellow?’

These gentlemen, obviously friends, were outside and leaning over the sill display. The lucky “fellow” was Lee Child. They came in, and one of them picked up the book and brought it to me. They adjusted their masks trying to speak clearly.

‘Lovely day, Ma’am.’

It is.

‘Can you look after this for a bit?’

I can.

I looked up later and saw them in Cooking. Silent, both reading standing up, hats held under an elbow, breathing quietly, as you do. Later again, one of them in the chair, the other leaning against the shelf, still reading, still reading.

They finished eventually and returned to the counter with The Book of Sauces.

‘This is wonderful. Will you put these through?’

I will.

The man who paid handed the Lee Child to his friend.

‘Here. Happy birthday. Didn’t get time to wrap it.’

‘Wrap it. You better wrap it for me.’

But he was already reading it as they left. No time for wrapping.

They said, ‘Thank you Ma’am, much obliged. A lovely day.’

It is.

Murdered by a gopher

The Book Keeper2 Comments on Murdered by a gopher

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There are two men outside the front windows of the shop. They have stopped, are leaning over to read the titles of the books.

Now, I have read that… but what on earth was it about?

He swings his bag at the window and the Lee Child book that sits with its chin on the window, facing the rain.

Don’t know what’s wrong with me head, must be the rain.

His friend looks through the window, at Nelson Mandela: Conversations with Myself. He says, look at that one, that’d be good. Yeah, the rain.

Go in?

Yeah, why not.

But they don’t. They turn instead and look toward the bakery; their wives are out and approaching fast. But suddenly all four of them are pressed uncomfortably into my doorway, needing to let a gopher drive through and one of the men says that the footpaths are damn stingy in this town.

His wife has recovered, she asks if they’ve had a look at the nice little bookshop and he says they’ll have a go at some morning tea first, better get it down before the bloody gophers murder them all.