The Book Coven

It was the beginning of October and the oak-scented breeze was already carrying a distinct chill which caused Saffron’s stray hairs to tickle her ears as she idled down the streets of Glasgow in search of some yet unknown comfort. She had been outside no more than five seconds before the breeze became wind and created an orchestra around her. It adopted a pile of rusty leaves which flew up and whistled as they circled her head, creating a panoramic surround-sound effect before they rolled and skidded on cafe tables and cascaded silently down to find their home on the pavements again. This was pleasantly dizzying for Saffron, and as she was ambushed by Autumn, she breathed it into her whole body, the scents carried on the wind fading from fresh coffee to cinnamon to pine which travelled through her nose to her fingertips. Her makeshift fringe began to defy gravity, revealing a pale forehead which had not seen sun in months. The faint sound of jazz keys tinkered in and out of her space, wavering in volume to match the changing force of the gail and joined occasionally by a trill of wind chimes above. The last of the swallows chirped farewell before the gusts would whisk them back to the other end of the Earth to enjoy their never-ending summer. 

In the midst of this moment, the wind hushed back to a breeze and Saffron’s dense scarf quickly became too stuffy for the now stiller air. She unravelled it, folded it thrice and tucked it neatly into her hessian bag. Her fringe lay back in two parts down her forehead and temples, the stage curtains which concluded the show. It was time to go inside somewhere, she elected. This was the first day off work in two weeks, and she was finally free to amble into any warm nook with an ‘Open’ sign on its door. Saffron slowed her pace, realising that her shoes now had a host of damp leaves imprinted into the soles. She shook them off and gently grazed the remains on the roots of the nearest erupting tree, one of many which lined the pavement. Something whispered, niggled, at the nape of her neck. The breeze had one last offering for her, one which would change the course of her day entirely.

It started with silence, then progressed to white noise from the trees shedding its coat above her head, and transcended rapidly into the gleeful giggles of a child. A baby. Saffron twisted her neck and peered down to see a plush white pushchair with the happiest infant she had ever seen nestled inside. This must be the most comfortable human in the world, Saffron thought, and she felt a strange flicker of grief at the thought that this perfect orb would ever turn into an adult with taxes and exes. How wonderful it was that every day for this baby was a day off, oblivious to the concept of a day off and even any notion of the difference between lucidity and slumber. Existence was all just a moment-by-moment haven of demand and receive, constant care and attention, all while being cocooned in cotton and protected under a private little roof. Please, Saffron found herself thinking, don’t let this child grow up. 

The baby was smiling ear to ear and looking directly into Saffron’s soul. She grinned back automatically, filled with warmth and transfixed at the way her face seemed to glow. An image of the sunshine baby from The Teletubbies came to mind. She hadn’t thought of that show in years, and now an acute flurry of nostalgia had been unlocked in an instant. The baby began to giggle hysterically, causing the mother to look away from her book and witness the interaction, laughing along in surprise. Saffron had never felt such joy from looking at a baby before. She would otherwise have walked past indifferently and always bent down to pet dogs before she ever clocked the presence of, say, a newborn being passed tentatively around a table.

“She really likes you!” The mother exclaimed. Saffron bent down to take a closer look and waved at the baby, causing her to squeal. She thought it slightly strange that this woman was sitting outside in this less-than-summery weather to drink her coffee. It was overcast and lately the temperature had been changing drastically every twenty minutes or so. Nevertheless, the woman looked peaceful and cosy, and had a trusting air about her; the sense that this is exactly where she needed to be and would probably be sequestering there for a couple of hours more. 

Giving one last wave goodbye, Saffron pulled her vision from the cherub before her and focussed for the first time on the place itself. It had dark orange and maroon lettering reading The Book Coven, reminiscent of a christingle, and the window frames and door were painted midnight black. There were ivory cats painted intricately on the letter box and a witch knocker. It appeared to be a bookshop café, a relatively recent phenomenon which Saffron noticed had been taking Glasgow by storm. They had been popping up and disappearing like whack-a-moles, many closing within the same year of opening. This one was certainly brand new. Or maybe, it occurred to Saffron, she had just never paid attention.

Upon approaching, Saffron became aware of the hubbub of ceramic clinks and chatter and she realised that this place was the source of the soft jazz she had heard earlier. A bell rung above her head when she pushed forward the heavy creaking door. As she shut it behind her, the sound of the gail drew into a vacuum like a genie wailing reluctantly back into his lamp. What remained in this enclosure was the toasty embrace of a crackling fire in the corner, the woody scent of old books piled as high as the ceilings and a hearty greeting from a member of staff at the counter. 

“Hi! How are you today?” The lady asked, her eyes sparkling with genuine interest. Her voice was gentle and had a healing quality.

“I’m not bad, thank you! I’ve never noticed this place before. I seem to be the only one”, Saffron remarked, cringing slightly as she noticed the cafe area up a small set of carpeted stairs by the counter. It looked full to the brim, with families wandering around awkwardly in search of free seats. Waiters dressed in their own vibrant clothes sidled up and down the rows between tables, riffing and chatting with customers with an ease which impressed Saffron, given what must have been the busiest day of the week. Despite this, Saffron was led up into a corner which would fit her perfectly, and provide ideal views over the dark oak bannisters to the shop below, the rest of the cafe and a small window looking out upon the street. It was beginning to get dark already, but this was surely the effect of the ominous dark clouds moving in from the West. It was still early afternoon.

Saffron overheard a waiter generously listing his favourite recent reads to an older gentleman, who responded with a grateful grin and shuffled down the steps down to the bookshop area. Her gaze followed the man as he picked out every single recommendation the waiter had given him and took them to the counter, where his selections were wrapped up in brown paper. Flushed and elated, he put on his coat and hat and stepped out into what was now morphing into a tempest. This made Saffron especially grateful to be cosy indoors. She ordered a bergamot tea and absorbed in awe the details of this genius emporium. There was an amber chandelier made from glass hanging from the ceiling, which gave the illusion of levitating in mid air. It astounded her that humans were capable of creating such an establishment with the right soft lighting, the right volume of music so that people could be heard, the most characterful decor and the highest quantity of books that could possibly fit into a room. The cafe’s walls were lined with shelves so densely packed that they might as well have substituted bricks. Saffron considered picking one up to read, but today she felt a calling to simply sit, relax her shoulders, lean back into the cushioned backrest and observe the spectacle around her.

Saffron did not know how much time had passed when she realised the dregs of her tea were cold and a numbness started growing from the base of her back. She blinked and nodded slightly, realising that her body had become so still that she was on the cusp of falling asleep. Feeling slightly silly, she looked around to see if anyone was watching her, but to her relief, everyone looked preoccupied with their own narratives. According to her watch, only half an hour had passed. The faces around her were more or less the same and it hadn’t got much darker outside. A light spattering of rain tapped on the little window nearby. Saffron picked herself up, stretched her limbs a little and decided to take a tour of the shop below. 

There were endless ginnels and annexes, attics and basements— many more rooms than she had thought upon first glance. She resolved to come back another day to browse each room in more detail, a thought that never usually bore fruits, but this felt different. She could have spent the rest of her days here. Saffron revelled at the thought. Her eyes rested on the section of children’s books and toys, bursting with life and colour and carefully organised. A soft scarecrow toy with a scarlet woollen scarf demanded her attention. She hadn’t seen anything like it. It was handmade with cashmere and cotton. Before Saffron had computed what she was doing, the toy was in her hands, then clasped to her warm chest. An image overcame her. Extending the scarecrow back in mid air to face her, she decided that, morally and divinely, it should belong to the baby she had seen outside earlier. 

With a sense of newfound confidence, she made her way back to the counter to join the gentle lady who had greeted her upon her entrance. Wrapping the figure in the brown paper, she made pleasant small-talk in velvety tones, and in response, Saffron gave bountiful compliments about the chandelier and the coffee and the wide variety of books available. It was a charming experience, that was sure, but Saffron hoped the lady would hurry just a little, so that she might be able to catch the baby and her mother outside. In the time that the gift was being sealed, the sobering thought occurred that it was unlikely. 

As soon as the exchange was complete, Saffron hurried outside. There was a pronounced frostiness to the air but it seemed to have stopped raging. She looked down, to the side and all around. They were indeed gone. She ventured further past the seating to gain a wider view of the street. Maybe they had just left a moment ago and could be caught up with if Saffron ran. Yes, there they were, just about to turn down another street! All of a sudden, after a sustained episode of delirium, she felt senseless. These people didn’t know her from Eve, and she didn’t know them. It was frankly odd behaviour to buy a gift for a child that smiled at you but once. It would have been even more bizarre to run after them, hollering like a banshee just to give it to them…and then what? Is this really what she had chosen to do with her day off?

Perspiration condensed on her forehead as the chill of the air reacted with the heat she had collected inside. Saffron wiped it with the back of her hand, pushed the hair out of her eyes and her vision sharpened to properly examine the package she was holding as she took a deep breath. The paper was smooth and still warm from the lady’s hands. She moved her thumb back and forth to notice that the white tape was delicately decorated with tiny textured pumpkins, chandeliers, clementines and broomsticks. Custom-made. She stole another upwards glance at The Book Coven's sign and through the glass at its bustling microclimate, the last image being the embers rising above the fireplace. Saffron set off back home in the opposite direction to the mother and baby who were now out of sight, and started to gently unwrap the paper. Her mouth smirked a little at one corner as she slid out her new acquaintance and swaddled him in the knitted bed of her scarf which still lay invitingly in her bag.