The Little Venice Bookshop by Rebecca Raisin

Author:Rebecca Raisin [Raisin, Rebecca]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2022-11-17T12:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

A few days later, I’ve smudged the bookshop, garnering only a slight eyebrow raise from Giancarlo. Does he remember my mom being obsessed with smudging? If only he had a more readable face. Already, the atmosphere feels cleansed, fresh with promise.

Oscar arrives late again, so I feel duty-bound to report this to Giancarlo. ‘Oh look at the time!’ I make a show of looking at a watch on my wrist – that I don’t wear. ‘The afternoon shift is here!’

Oscar rolls his eyes and takes his jacket off, hanging it over the stool behind the counter. Dante meows and jumps into his arms. The traitor! So much for him being suspicious of every newcomer.

‘He must like me!’ Oscar grins and draws the attention of Giancarlo who throws a smile Oscar’s way. The fact his cats seem to like Oscar gets his attention, and not that he’s woefully late again. It looks like Giancarlo is playing favourites already!

‘He’s starved of affection, more likely,’ I say.

‘You think?’ Dante basks under his touch. We’re going to have words later, and I’ll explain to Dante about learning the ability to spot fake friends. Another cat lopes lazily over and winds itself around Oscar’s legs. ‘Alighieri! Hey little fella!’ Oscar says.

‘Cats are marvellous communicators and I think you’ll find they’re showing you who’s boss and not vying for your attention.’

‘Is that so?’ Oscar says in a voice that implies I’m incorrect.

A third cat appears, as wide as it is long. Oscar bends, with Dante still in his arms, Alighieri at his feet and pats it. ‘Moby!’

‘Dick!’ I finish.

‘Excuse me?’ Oscar says, frowning.

‘The name is Moby Dick.’

‘Right. Moby Dick, makes sense due to the sheer size, I guess. But I’m not into fat shaming; maybe he’s just big-boned. Could be a thyroid issue. Perhaps he eats his feelings, and there’s nothing wrong with that.’ Oscar scratches Moby Dick’s ears.

‘Are you finished?’ I ask. He thinks he’s some kind of animal whisperer.

‘Well …’

‘Moby Dick is an old Italian cat who sneaks food from Giancarlo at every opportunity, so it’s not a thyroid issue. It’s a consumption issue that is well earned considering the life poor old Moby Dick had before Giancarlo rescued him.’

Oscar ignores me as more cats come running. ‘It must be my pheromones.’ He laughs as a few fickle felines approach him. I’ve never seen anything like it. Cats are great judges of character, so I try not to hold it against them. Oscar does seem to be the golden boy for some inexplicable reason. Perhaps they feel sorry for him, with his bedraggled appearance as if he fell straight out of bed and made his way here. Do they sense something about him?

‘Yes,’ I agree. ‘You’re like one of those hundred-year-old cat people.’

He snubs the jibe and says, ‘Our Instagram post of Dostoyevsky cat blew up last night. It went semi viral.’

‘What? Let me see!’ Somehow Oscar managed to catch a picture of Dostoyevsky leaping from one bookshelf to the other, like some

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