Maggie’s too.
She’d never let it get like this. Not without saying something.
Ellie tugged at the car door handle, her brow furrowing as it refused to budge. She yanked harder, her frustration mounting as the door remained stubbornly shut.
“Having a bit of trouble there?” Taxi Tony’s voice called out from the front seat. Before Ellie could respond, he was out of the car and hurrying to her side. “The child lock’s been on the fritz lately. Bit of a nuisance.” With a practiced twist, he pulled the door open, announcing a sheepish Ellie to Meadowfield, still gripping her bag. “There you go.”
“Thank you,” she said, smiling up at him, and as Tony’s eyes met hers, that flicker of recognition passed between them again. “I think I am who you think I am.”
“The girl from the church,” he said, his eyes drifting towards St. Mary’s golden rooster weather vane visible over the rooftop of The Drowsy Duck pub separating the pond from the village green. “I never forget a face.”
Ellie nodded, her throat tightening as memories threatened to surface. She quickly turned her attention to the bookshop, eager to avoid any further conversation about the past.
Gripping her duffle bag in a tight fist, Ellie took a few steps towards Meadowfield Books, and the sight of the once-beloved shop in such a state of disrepair sent a pang through her chest. She found herself cataloguing every detail of decay, a to-do list growing in her mind and rolling down the cobbled street past the other shops. It was like being handed a continuity research project. Except there was no time. And no money. And no team.
As Ellie stepped out of the taxi, her gaze drifted to the shop next door. What had once been a quaint tourism office was now a charming cheese shop called Bramble & Brie. The storefront resembled a cosy cottage, its window display a tempting array of artisanal cheeses.
“That’s Sylvia Fortescue’s shop,” Penny whispered to Ellie as Tony slammed the car doors behind them. “She moved here a few years ago from Windsor. She might not be the richest woman in the village, but she’s the poshest. Wait till you meet her—she makes us Meadowlings sound common as muck, she does.”
Turning back to the bookshop, Ellie took a deep breath and moved towards the entrance. Her foot caught on the loose doorframe, and she stumbled, catching herself just in time. She was sure the doorframe had needed fixing before she left. Not that long ago on paper, but a different world, a different Ellie, and a very different Meadowfield Books.
As she pushed open the creaky door, the familiar wave of nostalgia washed over her. The dimly lit interior was crowded with shelves, and the distinct smell of old books enveloped her senses. Ellie paused, breathing in the familiar scent, her eyes adjusting to the gloom.
Memories flooded back, vivid and bittersweet. She could almost see her younger self, weaving through the aisles, searching for the perfect book to curl up with by the fireplace. Her gaze drifted to the back wall, where the once-inviting hearth stood cold and neglected.
Ellie took a tentative step forward, overwhelmed by the jumble of emotions coursing through her. The shop she remembered, with its meticulous organisation and welcoming atmosphere, was barely recognisable. Books were everywhere - stacked in precarious piles on the floor, crammed haphazardly into shelves, and teetering on every available surface.
As she moved deeper into the shop, her elbow brushed against a tower of books. The stack swayed dangerously, and Ellie’s eyes widened in alarm. She reached out, trying to steady it, but it was too late. The top few volumes tumbled to the floor with a series of dull thuds.
“Keep your floor clean, Ellie, and the rest will follow,” she murmured, echoing her grandmother’s oft-repeated advice. “Well, Granny Maggie, I’m not sure where to even start with this mess.”
Auntie Penny bustled into the shop behind Ellie, and she immediately began fussing with a stack of books on the counter, trying to create some semblance of order.
“I’ve been doing my best to help out, you know,” Penny said, her voice tinged with a mixture of pride and apology. “Even if Maggie is only family on your father’s side, I couldn’t just leave her in the lurch.”
Ellie raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “Speaking of my dad, where is he?”
“Birdwatching, last I heard,” Penny replied, waving a hand dismissively. “You know how he gets when he’s on the trail of some rare warbler or other.”
“And Mum?” Ellie asked, already anticipating the answer.
Penny’s face lit up. “Preparing for a huge audition! Television, darling. Carolyn Swan is going to finally get her big comeback!”
Ellie smiled, a familiar mix of affection and exasperation washing over her. “I’m sure it’ll happen,” she said, her tone carefully neutral, “this time.”
As Ellie looked around the shop more closely, the sense of dread solidified. Things weren’t as she remembered leaving them. Her gran had always valued the shop feeling cosy with ‘the right amount of clutter’ over the organised, bright high street bookshops. But that ‘right amount’ had been replaced by a chaotic disarray that went beyond mere neglect. It was as if the shop had been ransacked.
“Auntie Penny,” Ellie said slowly, gesturing to the jumbled shelves and upturned furniture, “was this... the incident you mentioned?”
Penny paused in her tidying, her usually cheerful face clouding over. “Oh, well... I think it’s probably better if Maggie explains that, dear.”
Ellie’s heart raced as she made her way to the back of the bookshop, Penny’s worried gaze following her. As she rounded the corner, she found Granny Maggie sitting at her old desk, a familiar sight that brought a lump to her throat. Her grandmother looked like she’d drunk in the wash, more fragile, with a blanket draped over her lap. Yet, there was a determined set to her jaw as she pored over an old notebook, her pen scratching against the paper like nothing was amiss.
Without thinking, Ellie rushed forward, enveloping Maggie in a gentle but fierce hug. “Granny Maggie,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
Maggie looked up, surprise and joy lighting up her face. “Well, well, if it isn’t my little bookworm,” she said, her voice warm but with a hint of weariness. “Did you fly in on a dust jacket, dear? You look a bit windswept.”
Ellie couldn’t help but chuckle, even as she blinked back tears. “Oh, Granny,” she said, taking in the sight of her grandmother. Despite the paleness of her cheeks and the new lines around her eyes, there was still that familiar spark of defiance in Maggie’s gaze.
“Now, don’t you start fussing,” Maggie said, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s just a hip. I’ve faced worse than this in my time.”
Ellie pulled up a chair, sitting close to her grandmother. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here sooner,” she began, but Maggie cut her off.
“Nonsense, dear. I’m sorry for dragging you back to Meadowfield. I know you don’t like coming back here, and that fancy TV studio of yours must be missing you terribly.”
Ellie felt a pang of guilt. She almost blurted out that she’d lost her job, but the pride in her grandmother’s eyes stopped her. After all, it had been Maggie who’d encouraged Ellie to persue her education when her life in Meadowfield crumbled.
Looking around at the cluttered back room, Ellie managed a small smile. “Well, I was due some holiday anyway,” she said, reaching out to squeeze her grandmother’s hand. “But, Granny Maggie, what was this incident? What happened?”
Maggie sighed, her fingers tracing the edge of the pad. “Now don’t panic, but there was a burglary here. A burglary attempt, I might add.”
“A burglary?” Ellie repeated in disbelief.
“And I tripped over that blasted doorframe trying to go after them,” Maggie continued, patting her thigh. “They probably didn’t expect that I’d be in here late, but I was putting together an old book that had its spine burst. But it all worked out for the best.”
“You broke your hip, Gran, how is—”
“And the surgeon put me a new one in and told me to get back up on my feet as soon as I could,” Maggie said, fidgeting in her chair. She tried to mask her pain with a smile, but Ellie could see the discomfort in the scrunch of her eyebrows. “The burglar didn’t get what they were looking for, is what I meant.”
