We Two Are One

Blue Visits

The afternoon was at Dempsey's Books was busy. The Christmas trade was starting to warm up. People came searching for presents for those they loved or those relatives they hardly saw apart from at Christmas—either way there was a good chance they would buy something the present receiver would feign delight over on Christmas morning and return it for a refund before New Year.

It was a living. He rememebered the man with the paper face and tried to forget him and every now and again, he did. Coffee helped and a book about Flemish Art.

Then just after three, when the daylight was fading, getting ready to hand Whitby over to the night shift, the door opened and as he looked up, there stood Blue.

"Blue!" he said.

"How do, Os?" She looked perfectly normal—normally beautiful.

He stuttered. "Great. Thank you. I mean, how are you?"

"I'm good. Decent."

"So to what do I owe this..."

"Honour?" she finished for him.

He made a noise like a fish. "Yerp." He shrugged, then regretted it in case she thought he was off-hand. Smiled and muttered, "S'pose."

She looked around the shop. "Lots of books here."

"Yeah."

"Bookshop, I suppose."

"Yes. Perspicacious of you." He laughed, but his laugh didn't convince even him. His lips were dry. He didn't know what to say. "Busy?" he decided finally was as good an option as any.

Blue said, "Not so much. The thing about tattoos is that people want them for Christmas, but they don't want the clingfilm on their arms on actual Christmas, so business tails off as we get closer then picks up in January."

"Oh, right. I suppose we're the same then." Then he thought that was not true. There were about six browsers in. There was even a man approaching the counter tentatively with a lovely hardback edition of M R James's ghost stories but who hung back as if he didn't want to interrupt this tryst between the bookshop owner and this rather exotic, but fetching, young woman.

Oswald saw him. "Sorry, sir. Can I?"

The man nodded.

"Lovely edition," Oswald said.

The man nodded again, still didn't speak, paid by card, didn't say thank you or smile and, left.

Blue studied Oswald. "Are you okay?"

He hoped she wasn't going to offer to call an ambulance. "Yes, of course. Why?"

"Just you're being weird."

He rubbed his eyes. "No. I feel..."

"Nevermind. Rude of me."

"Anyway, do you want to buy a book?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Oh."

"I came to see if you're going to the Arch and Abbey tonight."

He sat bolt upright. Blood flushed his cheeks. "Ah, well. I could."

"Great. I just wanted to pick your brains."

"My brains?"

"Not like a zombie."

"Oh no, ha ha!"

"Just you strike me as an educated man. I bet you know stuff."

He gave a loose shrug. "Erm."

"So about seven? Give you chance to feed the cat. You might even have time for a pot noodle."

"Ha ha." Without thinking, he said, "How do you know I have a pot noodle lined up for tea?" Then he thought how stupid a thing that was to say.

"I'm psychic, remember."

"Oh, yes. Did he smile knowingly here, or would that be rude? Did she believe it, or was she being ironic. He didn't know what to say so he blinked and moved his lips.

"Yeah. Really," she said.

"Oh."

She gave a little wave. "See you later then, Os."

He couldn't help but watch her leaving his shop. Then at the door, she turned and said loud enough so that anyone in the shop could hear like she didn't care about their opinions or potential judgements, "Os, do you meditate?"

"Erm, no."

"Give it a try. It's very grounding."

"Okay."

"What's your number?"

He gave her his phone number and she typed a message. His phone chimed, happy to receive a message from Midnight Blue. He wasn't sure about that name, but he'd probably forgive her anything, even thinking she was psychic. I mean she probably wasn't the woman for him: too alternative, too New Agey. But he liked how she smiled and she kind of made gentle fun of him which he liked too.

Her message said: Rupert, give him a ring.

She gave Rupert's number and an address on Church Street.

When he looked up she was gone and a woman bought a copy of Women Who Run With Wolves and How To Survive a Loveless Marriage. She looked sad. As she paid she said, 'There must be a cheat code to this game.'

'Sorry, game?'

'Life. There must be a hack, don't you think?'