The sound of people shouting downstairs wakes me from a pleasant dream. I was walking down a peaceful beach at sunset, my shoes in one hand, scuffing through the shallow water. Ok, so it wasn't very original, but I enjoyed it. Rolling over with a groan I check the clock. Great it's already past seven, I'm going to be late again. Slowly I drag myself out of bed, catching a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror on the back of my door as I do so. The sight does nothing to cheer me up. I look like I've lost a fight with a hedge, my long ash-blonde hair is sticking wildly up in tangled knots, my large, grey eyes are swollen with dark, bruise-like shadows under them, there is a gaping hole in the old leggings I was sleeping in and my faded, oversized t-shirt has slipped to reveal one bony shoulder. Well, don't I just look stunning.
Crossly I bang out of the room and stomp into the tiny bathroom opposite. Somebody has left the window open and the draft is freezing. In record time I shower, clean my teeth and am back in my bedroom, shivering slightly from the cold water. Our shower doesn't have hot water, only icy and occasionally if you are really lucky in winter it can even manage lukewarm.
As I search through my little chest of drawers for something halfway decent to wear I can hear the rain drumming rhythmically against the window, occasionally drowned out by the sound of my mother shouting downstairs. Maybe Éponine has just told her about her plans to move out now that she has saved enough money to be able to afford it. Or maybe somebody just forgot to put the milk away. You can never tell what will upset my mother. I can tell her I have failed an exam and she will take it perfectly calmly and then another day I forget to buy some bread and she explodes. Some people are just hard to live with and she is definitely one of them.
At last I manage to find a dark green jumper that actually fits and doesn't look too ratty and a pair of jeans that don't have holes in the knees. I pull them on as fast as I possibly can. Then I tug on a pair of itchy, woolly socks, rummage under the bed for my scuffed trainers and tie my hair back in a knot. I go to the mirror and look critically at myself. Much better than before, but still not exactly what I would call pretty.
Time to go and try to get out of the house without being yelled at. I creep from the room trying to be as quiet as I can. On the landing I avoid the creaky floorboard outside my parents' room and make my way silently down the narrow stairs. The kitchen door is open and I can see my father's back where he is sat at the kitchen table having breakfast. My mother is slamming around the room pretending to tidy, even though it's obvious she is only using it as an excuse to make as much noise as possible. They are so absorbed in whatever they are arguing about that they don't notice me as I dash past them and slip out of the front door.
I let out a sigh of relief as the door falls shut behind me and practically skip off down the road. I'm free for a few hours at least, free from the constant strife and upset at home. A broad smile creeps across my face as I cross the street and I can't help myself waving at the ghastly, old lady who lives opposite us. She gives me a sour look and vanishes into her house, slamming the door behind her. Even this can't damped my mood however and I hurry on past her cheerfully humming to myself as I walk.
It's a Saturday, my favourite day of the week, and I am on my way to work, a small second-hand bookshop just round the corner from our house. I've only recently been allowed to get a Saturday job and it's still something of a novelty. It makes me feel very grown up and responsible. Granted it's not exactly the best paid of jobs, but I enjoy it and it means I can buy things for myself if I want to. Plus you get to meet some quite interesting people.
Turning the corner I look fondly up at the tall, narrow building that holds the bookshop. It is made of red brick and has a faded, blue wooden sign hanging over the door and two small windows crammed full of books on red silk cushions. When I open the door a little old-fashioned bell chimes happily and I am greeted by the smell of old paper and wet dog. There is nothing neat or organised about the interior. The shelves lining the walls are so full that the books have spilled over onto several small, rickety tables, unhelpfully positioned in the middle of the tiny room. Opposite the door there is a counter with an old cash register on it and a wicker dog basket beside it. Buttons, the shop owner's chocolate Labrador, is curled up in his bed fast asleep and behind the counter Amy, my very blonde co-worker, is reading a celebrity magazine and doesn't even bother to look up when I come in.
"Good morning," I mutter grudgingly. We have never liked each other, so it's no surprise when she ignores me completely. Over her shoulder I can see she is avidly reading an article about some actress's new diet. I roll my eyes and help myself to one of the books off a nearby table. This is another benefit to working here. As they are all second-hand books anyway our boss lets us read them if there are no customers in the shop. At home there are hardly any books at all so this is a real treat for me. I have enjoyed reading since I was very small and a teacher gave me a copy of 'Alice's Adventures In Wonderland' as a prize for writing the best short story in my class.
Today's book is a torn, dog-eared copy of 'And Then There Were None' by Agatha Christie. It's not a book I've ever read before even though I'm a big fan of the author, I even splashed out and bought myself two or three of her books once, so it should be good. Happily I settle myself on the floor beside Buttons, who wags his tail sleepily at me, and begin to read.
For the next few hours there is nothing to disturb me apart from an old man who comes in to ask for directions to the nearest post office and Amy talking loudly on her phone to her boyfriend, who I gather is called Brad, but as I'm used to tuning out her voice it doesn't bother me too much. No customers come in at all, which is unusual as we have several regulars who buy books almost every week. Not that I really notice, I'm far too gripped by my book to care.
It's almost lunchtime and the rain has picked up to a steady downpour when the bell above the shop door clatters noisily and a young man dashes inside. Hastily I jump to my feet and replace the book on the table beside me. Buttons leaps out of his basket and bounds across the room throwing himself into the strangers arms. I'm about to apologise, but far from looking upset the young man crouches down and strokes the Labrador letting him lick his face and talking to him about the foul weather. I can't help smiling as I watch them.
"You talk to him," Amy hisses suddenly from behind me, "I'm busy." I glance round at her and bite back an angry retort. She has moved on to painting her nails a vile shade of bright pink, not exactly what I would count as busy. "And anyway," she continues in a low voice, "I'm going out for lunch with my boyfriend any minute." It's official, I actually loath her. She always takes ages for lunch and I just know I'm not going to have time to get any food. Would it have killed her to at least ask me if that was ok? Scowling I turn my back on her again. I suppose it at least means that she'll be gone for a while though. There's always a silver lining.
The young man is still fussing over the dog. Standing at a polite distance I study him with interest. He has very blue eyes, pale skin and scruffy hair, that even though it has been darkened by the rain it is still obviously a light colour when dry. I wouldn't exactly say he was tall but he's definitely not small either. Even though it's raining outside he is not wearing a coat, only an oversized cream sweater that's so big he's had to roll the sleeves back several times to be able to use his hands, a faded pair of jeans with a hole in one knee, battered trainers and odd socks. What I really notice about him though is his warm, genuine smile. It makes me want to smile too despite my annoyance.
"What were you reading?", he asks me, glancing up with a grin. Damn, I thought I'd put the book down before he saw it. That doesn't exactly make me look professional, does it? To my embarrassment I can feel myself blushing. He looks back down at Buttons and pretends not to notice though. Behind me I hear Amy give an unpleasant little snort of laughter. I don't know what she finds so funny, she is no better than me, painting her nails. At least I was doing something more intelligent.
I pick the paperback I was reading up and hold it out to the young man. "'And Then There Were None' by Agatha Christie. It's very good. Have you read it?"
He takes it and glances down at the front cover then shakes his head. "I've read 'The Thirteen Problems' though," he offers after an awkward pause where I'm struggling to think of anything to say. He gives the book back to me and I notice his fingers are stained with dark ink as if he's been writing with an old-fashioned pen. Clearly he's the creative type. Somehow I get the feeling I'm going to like him.
"I've read that too," I say enthusiastically, "It's one of my favourite books. I bought it a few weeks ago and read the whole thing in one afternoon." Suddenly I realise how scruffy I look, covered in dirt off the floor and dog hair. Subtly I try my best to dust off my jeans and pluck the fur out of my sweater.
He straightens up and Buttons retreats back into his basket still wagging his tail. Absent-mindedly the young man picks up a hardback and turns it over in his hands. "Do you read a lot then?", he asks me. He sounds genuinely interested, not like he's just being polite.
Before I can answer I am interrupted by the bell above the door clattering again. Amy's boyfriend is stood in the doorway wearing immaculate jeans, a very tight t-shirt and a leather jacket. He couldn't look more different from the man I'm talking to and I know which one I prefer. I shudder as Amy rushes across the room, throws herself dramatically into his arms and starts kissing him. I wouldn't mind but I know she's only doing it to try and make me jealous because she knows I'm single. Beside me my companion has turned away and is pretending he can't see them.
When they have eventually left the shop and the door has fallen shut behind them he turns back to me. "You were about to say?"
For a second I can't actually remember what he asked me. To my utter mortification I find myself going red again. Why can't I just talk to him like a normal person? Why do I have to keep making myself look so stupid? "I...erm...", I stammer suddenly very awkward and then I remember what the question was. "I love books but I don't really have any at home so I only get a chance to read when I'm here." I shrug as if it doesn't really matter even though not being able to afford as many books as I would like is a sore point. After all nobody likes to admit that they're not very well-off.
As if the stranger senses the fact that I don't want to talk about it he changes the subject. "The rain seems to have picked up," he comments going over to peer out of the window at the thick curtain of water that almost blocks the buildings on the other side of the street from view. "I like rain. It looks so beautiful and it makes everything smell so nice and alive." He has a dreamy look in his eye as he says this and I get the feeling he'd rather be outside than stuck indoors. It makes me wonder why he is still here talking to me. He hasn't even bought anything.
"Were you looking for anything in particular?" I gesture at the crowded shelves around me. Despite it's chaotic appearance the shop is actually organised into sections like any other bookshop, Romance, Horror, Crime etcetera. Just as nobody has ever bothered to label them customers have to be pointed in the right direction otherwise they'd never find what they were looking for.
He shakes his head and wanders away from me to read the titles of the nearest books. "No, nothing in particular." Taking down a thick hardback he flips it open, holds it up and inhales the scent of old paper. It seems rather strange to me. We've never had a customer who sniffed the books before.
"I'll let you get on then." I retreat back behind the counter and perch myself on the high, wooden stool watching the young man as he moves around the shop. He really does seem to be picking books up at random. They have nothing in common at all, not even the subject or the author. Some are fiction, some are non-fiction, some hardbacks, some paperbacks. He replaces them all very carefully on the shelves when he's finished looking at them. After a while I begin to wonder if the young man just has nowhere else to go. He seems to have totally lost track of the time.
Eventually he approaches me holding just two books. As I scan the stickers on the back of them I check the titles to see what he's bought. One is a very old book on the identification of wild flowers and the other is 'And Then There Were None' by Agatha Christie. He gives me another of his adorable grins when he sees me looking at the second book. "It's for you," he announces happily, "Hardly anyone really appreciates books any more. It's so nice to find somebody who actually likes reading." When I open my mouth to argue he presses it firmly into my hand. "Really, take it. It's a gift."
Before I can say anything else he's picked up his other book, tucked it under his jumper and is already stood by the door to the shop. "It was a pleasure meeting you. I hope we see each other again sometime." He sounds like he really means it too.
"I hope so too," I mange to say and feel myself blushing for the third time that day. Suddenly I realise I don't want him to go, I want him to stay here and talk to me some more. "I'm Azelma, by the way," I call as he turns to open the door.
"Jehan." With that he pulls open the door and steps out into the torrential rain, leaving me stood staring after him, clutching my new book to my chest.