She was still in a group chat with them, though Ellie had been the last one still in Cardiff after they parted ways after university. They’d seen each other more in their early twenties, but there hadn’t even been a notification in the group chat in a while.
Ellie would send her friends a message later to let them know she’d moved back home and was trying something different, again.
Sylvia’s sigh brought Ellie back. “I do wish I’d got to read Edmund’s final book. It’s a shame it should be destroyed, though I suppose the message was for the people who were supposed to read it. But, golly, except for James… they’re all dead, so... the lesson might as well be lost.”
Ellie shook her head, feeling a sudden surge of conviction. “Edmund’s Last Draft will always stand as a monument, warning the people around here against that kind of blind greed. If we keep talking about it and passing that story on, history can become legend, and that can live forever.”
“Like a memorial bench.”
Ellie smiled. “Exactly.”
Sylvia beamed at her, looping their arms together as they picked up their pace. “So, are you going to tell me what’s going on with you and that handsome teacher or do I have to perform a citizen’s arrest on you for withholding vital information?”
Ellie managed to dodge Sylvia’s probing question about Daniel with a well-timed distraction, pointing out a particularly vibrant flower in a nearby garden. Sylvia got so distracted by the flower that she hurried over, and before Ellie knew it, she was assisting Sylvia in ‘liberating’ cuttings from the unfortunate person’s garden Ellie had picked at random.
“Oh, these Eight Maids A-Milking will go beautifully next to my hydrangeas when they come in next spring!”
“Where do you live, anyhow?”
Sylvia winked, pulling a section of the flower away to tuck it into Ellie’s chequered shirt buttonhole. She patted it and said, “You’ll see. Now would you look at the time? I’m supposed to be meeting Zara for dinner at The Old Bell. She’s going to tell me all about these shot put techniques of hers.” Ellie raised her eyebrows, genuinely surprised Zara had agreed given her warning of Sylvia when they first met. “Before I go, you simply must promise to join us for breakfast at The Giggling Goat tomorrow. On me, this time. Zara and Willow will be there, and Amber too. Oh, and the rest, of course!”
“The rest?”
Sylvia laughed, a sound filled with warmth and mischief. “Oh, darling, there’s an entire street to meet! You didn’t think that was all? You’ve only just scratched the surface of Meadowfield.”
As Sylvia hurried off towards The Old Bell, Ellie found herself both intrigued and slightly overwhelmed by the prospect of meeting ‘the rest’ of the village. But she was here now, and it grew clearer day by day that her return had a few more surprises in store for her.
After completing her lap of the village with Duchess, Ellie returned to her mother’s cottage. As she unhooked the dog’s lead, Duchess bolted upstairs, followed by her mother’s startled scream and the sound of splashing water.
From the kitchen window, Ellie caught sight of Daniel in the garden next door, hanging his grandmother’s wet clothes on the line. Leaving the kitchen, Ellie joined him at the wall. He’d changed into his pyjamas, the silk buttoned shirt bearing a striking resemblance to his daytime shirt, minus the bow tie. For the first time, she noticed how long his neck was.
“Elusive Ellie,” he greeted with a smile.
Ellie tilted her head, amused. “Am I elusive?”
“No,” he admitted, “but I haven’t seen you around all day.”
“Well, here I am,” she replied, gesturing to herself, “and the sun hasn’t finished setting yet.” She noticed a faint blush creeping across Daniel’s cheeks and added, “You know, you have my number if you want to get in touch.”
“I didn’t want to bombard you during your victory lap.”
“Well, I couldn’t have done it if you didn’t help me over the wall.”
“I still can’t believe you scaled that wall,” Daniel said, shaking his head. “And I can’t believe I helped you.”
“Me neither, on both counts. That was very irresponsible of you.” They shared a soft laugh. “I can’t believe a lot of what’s happened this week, to be honest, but the local histories are already being cemented.”
Daniel nodded, then hesitated before speaking again. “And the future? You said to ask you in a week, and… it’s been a week. Are you s-staying?” He flared his nostrils at the slight stutter.
“I am,” Ellie replied, taking a step back from the wall. “And you can text me whenever you want. I promise it won’t feel like I’m being bombarded.”
She winked playfully, causing Daniel to blush deeper and exhale, at a loss for words. Chuckling to herself, Ellie turned and walked back into the cottage, a sense of newfound confidence washing over her. She wasn’t quite sure who she was becoming, but she liked her.
Chapter 30Breathe
Bright and early as the birds of South Street sang their morning songs, Ellie approached Meadowfield Books, pausing outside. She pulled her old studio ID from her pocket, turning it over. What was it her boss had said her picture looked like? A crime watch mugshot. It had been her first day ten years ago, and she still looked mostly the same, minus the pale face and the wet hair after rushing in from the rain and straight in front of the camera. Her eyes were different, though, or more so, what was behind them.
“I should have just asked to take the picture another day,” Ellie said to herself, studying it one last time before tossing it into the yellow skip next to the shop. A small weight lifted from her shoulders as she watched it disappear among the debris. They’d rented it to clear out the upstairs and the basement, which were a whole other story of messy.
But so far, no books had made their way in. Ellie just couldn’t bear it.
In the shop, Ellie found Maggie engrossed in a book, peering over her glasses with intense concentration. At the sound of Ellie’s entrance, Maggie looked up, a guilty smile spreading across her face.
“You caught me,” Maggie said, setting the book aside and easing out of her chair. “We’re never going to get this place fit for selling if I keep getting distracted by every book I pick up. Wuthering Heights. One of the greats.”
Maggie resumed her task of neatly ripping all the pages from ruined books, adding to the pile for Ellie’s wallpaper idea. She was going to paper them around the wood columns that had held up the floor for upstairs, which Ellie had so far opened the door of, stared in horror, and then sealed shut again to face another day.
Downstairs, the shop was indeed looking better with the books back on the shelves and surfaces cleaned, but it only highlighted how much work remained. Without the rose-tinted filter of childhood nostalgia, if she’d walked in as a thirty-year-old, she might have circled the shop once and left, despite her love for dark, cosy bookshops. But this place was different. It wasn’t just any bookshop; it was one that needed to be loved back to life, and Ellie was determined to do just that.
Even as neglected as it was, there was still so much love in the walls. From Ellie’s childhood memories, Maggie’s second career running the bookshop, and her gran’s sister and mother running the place before her, the shop held a lifetime of stories. Not just in its books, but in its very walls, and every inch of the place deserved that love back. Ellie took a deep breath, her heart racing with a sudden surge of determination.
Now or never. Time for that something different. Yet so familiar.
“Gran?” she said, her voice steady despite her nerves.
Maggie looked up, curiosity in her eyes. “Yes, dear?”
“Let’s stop pretending like you’re selling this place. I accept.”
