The Book Ninja Read online

  After all, tomorrow is another date.

  Scarlett O’ xx

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  Leave a comment (6)

  Cat in the Hat > I love you.

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  No offence but … > Be honest and open, like the mature adults we are. A–D seem a little juvenile to me.

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  Stephen Prince > @Nooffencebut … You are the definition of a buzzkill.

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  No offence but … > @StephenPrince, you are the definition of a rude human being. Mind your own business.

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  Cat in the Hat > @StephenPrince & @Nooffencebut … loving your banter.

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  Love sick > Love your work, Scarlett O’! It’s like you’ve read my mind.

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  —6—

  Mila 18 by Leon Uris

  Belgrave train line towards Flinders Street

  ‘Finally, somebody I can talk to!’ Frankie pounced on the gangly boy who walked through the door.

  ‘Cool your jets, Rose. Desperate much?’ Seb tried to act coy, but the slight curl to his lip suggested that he was only too happy to be greeted with such enthusiasm. At the first sign of attention from Frankie, Seb’s cheeks always turned beetroot red.

  ‘Oh, Seb. Seb! Thank God you’re here. You will not believe what just happened!’ Frankie practically shrieked as she pulled Seb towards her, grasping him by the shoulders.

  ‘Rose,’ Seb said sternly, half-heartedly brushing Frankie away, ‘new releases first. Then adult stuff.’

  With bright red hair and a peppering of freckles, Seb was a regular at The Little Brunswick Street Bookshop. He would make sure to make an appearance most days after school, always dressed in a pale blue school uniform that was two sizes too big for his gangly body. Seb had somehow managed to rope his seventeen-year-old self into being one of Frankie’s key confidants. In exchange for advance copies of new-release books (preferably in the realms of political satire), Seb humoured Frankie and dished up a surprising variety of helpful tips on How To Not Self-Sabotage. Frankie did occasionally feel embarrassed that her second-best friend had only recently hit puberty, but she accepted that finding somebody else who would listen to her rants and provide reassurance and advice for the measly price of heavily discounted books and occasional sugary bribes, was a distinct impossibility.

  Frankie pulled Seb behind the counter and pushed him onto a chair. As he helped himself to what remained of the M&Ms, Frankie fished through the books stacked along the back wall.

  ‘Holds, holds, holds,’ Frankie narrated, as she flipped through the shelf. ‘Ah-ha! Here you go, Seb. The very latest to hit Brunswick.’ Frankie held the pile in front of her, bowing her head theatrically.

  Seb took a moment to sift through the books, slowly, running his fingers down the blurbs and flicking through the first few pages. Without looking up, he stashed one in his school bag and the other two straight back into Frankie’s open hands.

  ‘Pop it on the tab, darl.’ Seb grinned, crossing his legs. ‘Now, what can I do for you?’

  ‘First, we’ve talked about you calling me “darl”. Second, pass the M&Ms.’

  Seb handed her the chocolate and watched as she nervously popped two in her mouth. ‘Out with it, Rose.’

  ‘Okay, so I told you about the guy who came into the store the other day. Beautiful biceps, terrible taste in books?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, the handsome man-child. The nose pash. New Moon? What an amateur.’

  ‘So, I was on the train just now and guess who I sat down opposite?’

  Seb sniggered. ‘Let me guess, he was eating a Happy Meal and playing with the latest-release Shopkin?’

  ‘Focus, Sebastian!’ Frankie said with a frown, clicking her fingers under Seb’s nose. She pulled up a chair close to him and leaned in conspiratorially. ‘Well, he was reading The Hunger Games, but that’s hardly the point. So, there I was, sitting right opposite him and suddenly ticket inspectors jump aboard. I’d left my ticket in my gym bag at home and was completely—’

  ‘Woah, woah, woah,’ Seb interrupted, ‘hold it right there, Rose. You go to the gym?’

  ‘Seb, I don’t have all day. Some of us have work to do and rent to pay! Where was I? Train. Ticket inspector. Gym bag.’ Frankie squeezed her eyes shut, tapping her forehead. ‘Right! So, I didn’t have my ticket on me, which Edward Cullen somehow cottoned on to. And before I know it, he’s got me in a headlock and is kissing me! Kissing me in the middle of the carriage! I mean, strip me naked in public, who does that?’

  At that, the front door chimed. Frankie and Seb swiftly turned their heads as an older lady, sporting a blossom-pink skirt suit and matching pillbox hat, ambled into the shop. ‘Good day you two,’ she said with a slight tilt of her head. ‘How was the rest of Graeme Simsion’s book reading the other week? I’m sorry I had to dash off. I had my granddaughter’s play. She was the star you know? She played … now what’s the name …’

  ‘She played Yente in Fiddler on the Roof. You told us last time, Rosa.’ Frankie smiled, wanting only to return to her conversation with Seb.

  ‘Oh yes, yes my dear. Now, where might I find the cooking section, love? You’ve rearranged the place again!’ Frankie gently pointed her in the right direction, and Rosa, ever so slowly, made her way through the store.

  ‘Kissed you? In the carriage? Why?’ Seb whispered.

  ‘I don’t know. Distract the inspectors? Make them feel too uncomfortable to ask for our tickets? Penchant for getting it on in public? Oh and he was so smooth. It was just like another day at the office for him! But I, on the other hand, am not used to such dalliances. I was so dumbstruck I barely said goodbye, let alone got his number before getting off the train.’

  ‘So, what’s the problem, Frankie? It’s about time you got a little nookie. We all know this drought of yours can’t last forever. You’re wound up tighter than Nick Carraway’s mantelpiece clock!’ Seb said with bravado, to cover the smirk that had appeared as soon as Frankie said she never got his number.

  Frankie placed her palms on her cheeks in exasperation and felt them redden as she let her mind wander back to the moment on the train. His lips had been so warm, so inviting, his touch surprisingly gentle. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had made her insides flutter and heart beat just a little bit quicker.

  ‘Snap out of it, Rose! Don’t tell me you actually fancy him,’ Seb said, prodding Frankie awkwardly with his index finger.

  ‘Huh! Fancy him? He’s hardly boyfriend material. I mean, what a flirt! Not to mention his total lack of maturity; he doesn’t even bother with age-appropriate reading material. Not that I even care, I’ll probably never see him again anyway.’ Sometimes Frankie hated it when Seb pointed out the obvious; it made her even more determined to stick to her narrative. She would simply opt for casual nonchalance and denial of feelings.

  Rosa shuffled towards the counter and pushed a thick recipe book towards Frankie. ‘Just this one today, deary.’

  ‘Wonderful! You’ve got yourself a good one here,’ Frankie said as she scanned, swiped and bagged the book.

  ‘You know dear,’ Rosa bent forward, ‘it does sound awfully romantic!’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Frankie said, startled.

  ‘The kiss! On a train! I mean, you kids these days, so spontaneous. And …’ She paused, smiling wickedly, ‘… sexy! What I would give to have a fine gentleman sweep me off my feet with a little over-the-shirt action.’ She winked, collected her package and scuffled out the door. Frankie and Seb looked at each other and burst out laughing.

  ‘Well, well, well, what do we have here?’ As if out of nowhere, Cat appeared, holding a cup of an unidentifiable green substance and a hard-boiled egg. Cat looked from Frankie to Seb and back again, narrowing her eyes. Cat, always a little possessive of Frankie, did not appreciate anybody moving in on her best-friend territory.

  Staring Seb down, Cat took a long, dramatic sip of her drink. ‘Don’t you hav
e a spelling bee to attend, Sebastian?’

  Needing no more hints, Seb grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. ‘Rose, it’s been a pleasure.’ He nodded in Frankie’s direction. ‘And try not to read too much into it. He sounds like he could be the spicy Shura to your Tatiana.’ He casually strolled to the door. ‘Later, preggo,’ he called back with a dismissive wave of his hand.

  ‘Frankie, what on earth is Puberty Blues talking about?’

  With a sigh, Frankie filled Cat in on The Train Kiss, sparing no detail. The two were huddled together, letting out the occasional whoop and ‘He did what?’, when the door to the back office creaked open.

  ‘Cat, are you here?’ Claud strode through the store and unceremoniously dropped a big bouquet of knitted red roses on the table. He had just come from his job at the law firm and was now going to sneak in some invoicing for the bookstore in the afternoon.

  ‘Who are these for?’ Cat stood up, pieces of eggshell falling to the floor.

  ‘For you, silly.’ Claud pecked her cheek. ‘Happy anniversary.’

  ‘Oh, of course. Happy anniversary!’ Cat stretched across the counter and gave her husband another rushed kiss.

  Claud’s beautifully chiselled face contorted, as if he had just been shot. ‘You forgot, didn’t you?’

  ‘Of course not, honey.’ Cat grinned, obviously lying. She held back an eye-roll at her husband’s overreaction.

  Frankie eyed off Cat and Claud, trying to tap into her best-friend intuition. She knew that Claud was sensitive, but was he overreacting because he suspected something about Jin Soo? Seeing her staring at him, Claud gave Frankie one of his signature ‘fingers up’ (the two always put up their index fingers to signify everything is great, ever since their heated discussion about how thumbs are overrated). She smiled, satisfied that Claud was being his usual self, and slipped quietly away as Cat and Claud pored over paperwork. She grabbed a stack of review cards written by herself and Cat and meandered over to the Bestsellers section at the front of the store. As she married up the reviews with the books, she found her mind wandering to the place it went most often: Ads.

  They were on their way to Tasmania for a friend’s uber-bohemian winery wedding. They’d been together for about eight months; that time in a relationship where they were no longer crippled by the unease of the unknown and were heading straight for honeymoon cove. They were in love and even the most mundane task, like consuming plane food while crammed next to a man with surprisingly pungent body odour, was an exotic adventure.

  ‘We’ll have two cups of your finest red, please!’ Ads exclaimed, planting a kiss on Frankie’s cheek.

  They huddled together, munching on their cheese and crackers and downing the acidic wine. Frankie adored this side of Ads: spontaneous, affectionate and utterly uninhibited. There was no cafe too cool or plane too cramped to prevent Ads from being Ads.

  ‘You know I love you, Frankie Rose.’ Holding her face tenderly, he kissed her. Even with cheese breath, he was so damn sexy.

  ‘Frankie, Frankie, Frankie! Anybody there?’ Cat shook her best friend until she jumped out of her daydream. Cat smiled, gave Frankie a pat on the back and went to plop herself down on the plush armchair in the kids’ corner, returning to Lily and the Octopus.

  Frankie left her friend to be soothed by the words of Steven Rowley and returned to her post at the front of the store. As she went to respond to the day’s emails, Frankie felt the familiar vibration of her phone in her back pocket. Without hesitating, she whipped it out and saw a fresh email waiting for her. A wave of excitement rushed over her.

  My first response!

  —7—

  From: Ashley Woodhouse

  To: Scarlett O’

  Subject: I found your book, Miss O’

  * * *

  Wow. I always thought that my favourite romance would be between Gatsby and Daisy, but something about Anne Elliot and Captain Wentworth’s reunion after years apart – well, it just swept me off my feet. Thank you for introducing me to Persuasion, Scarlett. It appears that we share a love of great books.

  I must admit, I was almost not going to send this email. For all I know, you could be an axe murderer. But then I thought, an axe murderer who loves Jane Austen? Well, that seems all right. So, here I am, emailing a stranger for a date after finding their book on a train.

  I should probably tell you a few things about myself. I moved here from Oxford, UK, three weeks ago to start a new job. I have no friends in Australia (yet) except for a Scottish Terrier named Beatrice who spent two weeks in quarantine to move here. She’s not adjusting well. She misses the cold and my mother – both things I’m happier keeping my distance from. If you’d like to be my first human friend in Melbourne, you’d better get in quick. I’ve signed up to start volunteering at Lifeline next week, and I was given the guarantee to ‘make friends for life’, on the form.

  So, if I haven’t scared you off, what do you say to a drink this Friday night? Say 6pm at 1806? (I just googled ‘cool cocktail bars in Melbourne’. Such a tourist!)

  Yours,

  Ashley Woodhouse

  Principal Architect

  JFC Architects

  PS: I don’t mind if you’re an axe murderer. But if you’re not a dog person I might have to cancel.

  From: Scarlett O’

  To: Ashley Woodhouse

  Subject: Re: I found your book, Miss O’

  * * *

  Dear Ashley Woodhouse, Principal Architect of JFC Architects,

  I’m so glad I could introduce you to the magic that is Persuasion. I’d love to go for a drink with you Friday evening at 1806. Google has good taste.

  I must tell you that my name is actually Frankie Rose. Scarlett O’ is a pseudonym from Gone with the Wind, to protect my identity from said axe murderers. (Just for the record, I’m not one of those either.)

  Beatrice sounds lovely. I grew up with three dachshunds called Sausage, Bratwurst and Frankfurt, and I am very much a dog person.

  See you on Friday.

  Frankie x

  From: Ashley Woodhouse

  To: Scarlett O’

  Subject: Re: Re: I found your book, Miss O’

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  See you then, Frankie x

  PS: Sausage, Bratwurst and Frankfurt. That’s hilarious.

  From: Scarlett O’

  To: Catherine Cooper

  Subject: FWD: Re: Re: I found your book, Miss O’

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  I HAVE A DATE WITH AN ARCHITECT/VOLUNTEER/DOG LOVER/AUSTEN AFICIONADO WITH A BRITISH ACCENT!!!

  —8—

  The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne

  Route 86 tram to Bundoora RMIT via Smith Street

  She couldn’t push The Train Kiss from her mind. The more Frankie thought about her romantic run-in on the train, the madder she felt at herself for not getting Edward Cullen’s number. For not even getting his name.

  The front door jingled, and Cat and Frankie mechanically looked up to see Seb beaming as he strutted towards them. His flaming red hair swayed and his green eyes gleamed at Frankie as if to say, Please forget our eleven-year age gap, the fact that I still have pimples and can’t grow a beard … and be mine!

  ‘Proletarian literature!’ Frankie and Cat both shouted, Frankie beating Cat by a mere second.

  Cat groaned. ‘Sebastian, you ruin everything,’ she muttered grumpily, aggressively tearing open her wallet and handing a five-dollar note to Frankie.

  Seb approached the front counter and bared his metal braces. ‘What’s cooking, good looking?’ he said, wiggling his eyebrows at Frankie.

  ‘Seb! What are you doing here? Aren’t you meant to be at school?’ Frankie leaned over the front counter to pinch his cheeks.

  ‘I’m skipping,’ he shrugged, playing cool.

  Frankie and Cat rolled their eyes.

  ‘Plus, I heard Putu was coming in today.’ Seb grinned. Putu, Frankie’s mother, had what Frankie thought was a very inappropriate relati
onship with Seb. What had started with an innocent Words with Friends game was now a full-blown texting relationship. Frankie was biased, though. After all, she blamed her mother – and her father – for being so hopeless at love. They epitomised everything that shouldn’t work in a marriage. Her mother, Putu, was outrageously loud and inappropriate. Her father, Rudolph, was reserved, deeply thoughtful and completely overshadowed by his wife. And then there was her conception story, which her mother loved to tell anyone who would listen.

  ‘It was thirty years ago, back when I was still called Elizabeth. Before I changed my name to Putu after visiting that Balinese ashram in ’89,’ Putu always started, jumping at any opportunity to mention her two-week life-altering Eat, Pray, Love experience.

  ‘I was in search of an adventure. Wasn’t I just mad back then, Rudolph?’ Putu would gush, twirling her Navajo Ghost Bead necklace around her fingers. Rudolph would simply nod; he was a man of few words.

  ‘So, there I was, standing in the middle of Flinders Street station and I decided – on a whim – that my adventure should be to make a baby with the first man I laid eyes on!’ Putu would continue, bolstered by her audience’s shocked expression. ‘And then, boom! Who should I spot? Frankie’s father pottering about at the ticket office! Wasn’t that right, Rudy?’ Without missing a beat, she would power on. ‘We hopped aboard the first train to Frankston and, as soon as we zoomed through a tunnel, we conceived beautiful Frankie, right there and then! That’s how we came up with her name: Frankston. I’ve always been a little before my time, you know. Beat that Posh Spice to the punch. Brooklyn Beckham, what kind of a name is that?’ she would always end with a flourish.

  Just like that, the bookstore door chimed again, and there, as if on cue, stood Putu, wearing a purple cape and carrying the aroma of incense with her.