Read Online The Bookshop on the Corner by Jenny Colgan - Free Book Online

understood. “What do you mean?”
    â€œWell, you’re trying to satisfy the needs of all your consumer base, yes?”
    â€œUh, yes?” said Nina, conscious that she was on unsteady ground.
    â€œSo what do you propose for the nonreaders?”
    â€œWell, we have children’s story time twice a week—I’d love to make that three times; it’s so nice for the mums to have a place to get together and chat. And I know our children’s literature section backward and forward, so I’ve always got something to recommend to those who are a bit more reluctant—there are loads more terrific books coming along for boys, who we all know are a little hard to persuade . . . Plus we have adult literacy classes at the town hall, and we’re always directing people there; if you can improve literacy, you’re doing the best thing you can.”
    â€œNo, no, you’re not hearing me: what do you propose for the
non
readers? Not the people who
can’t
read. Your adult clientele who simply don’t
like
to read?”
    Nina paused. She could hear the heavy traffic going aroundthe roundabout outside. A garbage truck was reversing with a loud beeping sound. There was a huge crash as it emptied one of the bottle recycling bins from around the back of the library.
    â€œUm,” she said finally, blushing furiously under the gaze of the four interviewers, one of whom—Cathy Neeson, of course—was already checking her phone for the name of the next person. “I could recommend to them a REALLY good book . . .”
    The pink-lipsticked lady looked disappointed rather than angry. “I don’t think you’re seeing what we’re getting at, at all.”
    Nina couldn’t disagree. She absolutely didn’t.

    â€œYou should have talked about interfaces!” hissed Griffin, as they hid around the corner sipping their consolatory frappuccinos, a justifiable extravagance under the circumstances.
    Outside, it was raining, a heavy, joyless spring shower that rendered the city colorless and made the cars splash and thunder through the streets, catching passers-by with sprays of water. People were looking furious, their brows as heavy as the low clouds above. Birmingham was not at its loveliest.
    The coffee shop was absolutely heaving with shopping bags and damp coats and strollers and people wearing big earphones and glowering at other people trying to share their table or getting in their way and young kids sharing muffins and sniggering and abusing each other verbally. She and Griffin were sitting at a crumb-strewn table next to the restrooms, beside a lawyer and his client deep in the throes of discussing her imminent divorce. It was hard not to listen in, but Nina felt she had enough problems of her own right now.
    â€œWhat kind of interfaces?” she said. The interview had not gone much farther after that question.
    â€œIt doesn’t matter: computer, or peer to peer, or integrated confluence,” hissed Griffin. “They really don’t care as long as you use a buzzword that they can tick off on their sheet. And if they tick off enough, then it’s like bingo and you win your old job back, except at a reduced salary.”
    He took a suck of his frappuccino and looked glum.
    â€œGod, I should just tell them all to piss off. Illiterate paper pushers.”
    â€œWhy don’t you?” said Nina suddenly, interested. People had given her enough advice; she might as well pass it on. “You’re smart. You’ve got a degree. You’re not tied down. You could do anything. You could travel the world. Write a novel. Go teach English in China. Hang out on a surfers’ beach in California. I mean, you’re not old, you’re not married. The world’s your oyster. Why not tell them to stuff it, if you hate it all so much?”
    â€œI still might do all of those things,” said Griffin sullenly. “I won’t be