DOCTOR WHO/A C HIXSON
THE BOOK SHOP
When the snow began to fall, it fell so densely that it covered London like an old cotton shroud. Every building, every road was obscured beneath its blanketing silence.
People hugged themselves to keep warm, wrapping their coats more tightly around them. The bleak white sky seemed to lower over them as they went home from work, planting a heavy ceiling on their daily lives.
Abigail was just about to shut the bookshop, when the sound of the bell ringing above the door signified a customer. She sighed with annoyance as she looked up from behind the counter and studied the young man walking cheerfully towards her.
He had a fresh interesting face, about mid-thirtyish and he was wearing a brown suit with pale blue pinstripes, a shirt and tie, white sports shoes, and a long faun overcoat, that was covered with slowly thawing snowflakes.
"I've come to pay," he said cheerfully.
Abigail looked at the man puzzled. "Where's the previous owner? Don't tell me he sold the shop as well?"
"Afraid so," the stranger's smile had not diminished.
"But that's ten times now," she exclaimed. "In forty-three years your company I've had ten different owner's. Not that I'm complaining, the money you people pay affords me a very comfortable lifestyle. There isn't much call for specialist books nowadays, not now you can download any information you require off the Internet."
The stranger listened patiently, still smiling and with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. It was if he had all the time in the world. Which was what he did have. Time was always on his side.
"I know," he said suddenly," but we've all really appreciated everything you've done for the shop over the years."
"That's another thing couldn't somebody change the name from The Sidrat Bookshop. Who came up with that?"
"The original owner's granddaughter," the stranger replied. "Lovely girl, married a freedom fighter."
"God!" Abigail said excitedly. "How thrilling! Whereabouts' was this?"
The stranger's eye had glazed over with emotional memories and then he seemed to jolt himself out of his trance.
"What? Oh, a long way away." He delved into a pocket of his coat and produced an envelope stuffed with cash. "There you go, I think this should cover things."
Abigail took it. She never checked it. It was always more than enough, whoever it was paying.
"Is it okay if I could go through to the back. I want to check, just like the others."
Abigail frowned. "You owner's always know exactly where it is?"
"Call it intuition," the stranger replied. "May I?" He gestured to the back of the shop, his expression suddenly very serious.
Abigail nodded and the man disappeared to the travel section of the bookshop. As soon as was out of sight, she placed the envelope in the till and started to prepare to lock up the shop for when he was gone.
She walked through the maze of shelves replacing books that had been moved, but her mind wandered back over the 43 years since she had been asked to manage the shop by a grumpy rather unpleasant old man who had an air about him of haughty mystery, yet the promise of something magical.
Ten owners', all different, but strangely familiar. The second owner had turned up in a shabby black frock coat, grubby shirt and bow tie, a pair of gaudily checked trousers and narrow suede boots had a personality like an eccentric favourite uncle. The third a flamboyant adventurer. The fourth had, until now, been her favourite. Wildly intelligent, charismatic, joyful and madder than a March hare. The fifth came across as a stiff-upper lip public schoolboy. Noble, occasionally unsure and certainly vulnerable. The sixth was the one she liked the least. Annoyingly pompous, with a garish bright outfit that caused her stomach to churn just thinking about it. The seventh had a clownish facade but Abigail felt there was something sinisterly manipulative about him. The eighth was the quietest and the ninth had been like an excitable science nerd with a strong northern accent.
This latest one, she had to admit even at her age, had sex appeal and oodles and oodles of charm and just as she was deciding whether she liked him the best, he reappeared through the doorway that led to the back of the shop.
"Well, everything is in order as always," he said almost relieved.
Abigail returned a smile. "Good. Will you be calling again soon?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps, or I might sell it like the others. I'll see how the time goes"
"It is slightly unsettling," she said. "I've been doing this for 43 years now. I am due to retire soon."
The stranger looked surprised. "I'd like you to stay for a little while longer. If you don't mind? Until I or my successor finds a suitable replacement."
"Very well," Abigail acknowledged happily. She wasn't really ready to retire. She had no family, only a cat. The shop was what kept her going.
His cheerful persona suddenly went up a notch. "Well, must be off. Be seeing you."
And then he was gone. Out into the blizzard and out of Abigail's life.
Almost immediately she locked the door and then went to the back of the shop to inspect the section the stranger had visited.
It was always very dusty here. She had strict instructions from all the ownersnot to touch anything in this part of the shop. She checked the shelves and like the nine previous occasions, the only book that had been removed and opened was a leather bound edition of The History of Time Travel by Doctor John Smith.
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