‘It’s the talent show rehearsals, and I can’t wait.’ Lottie wriggled excitedly in her seat. ‘They’re going to be so much fun. Though, I still can’t decide what to do for my act. Should I singWhat a Wonderful Worldor perform a magic trick?’
‘Tough choice. What magic would you do?’ Jim asked. ‘Oh, you know, pull a white rabbit from a top hat or something,’ she replied. ‘What do you think, Mum?’
Greta paused with her coffee cup mid-air. It took a moment to register that her daughter was actually asking for her opinion on something. She wondered if the mention of the white rabbit was pure coincidence.
‘Both ideas sound fantastic,’ she said. The thought of seeing her daughter performinganythingfilled her with joy. ‘You’ve always had the most wonderful singing voice, and you’ve got great stage presence . . .’
Lottie beamed. ‘Thanks, Mum. You’re the best.’
Her smile reminded Greta of the little girl she used to tuck in bed at night, her covers pulled up to her chin and her eyes shining at the stories Greta and Jim used to read to her. She still missed kissing Lottie’s downy forehead and whispering goodnight as she tiptoed out of her bedroom.
‘Righto,’ Jim said, rising to his feet and tucking his newspaper under his arm. ‘I’m afraid I need to leave my two favourite ladies to go to work.’
‘Work?’ Greta stared up at him. Wasn’t thisherdream? Her experience? Now she was here with her husband and daughter, she wanted to spend more time with them. She hadn’t considered Jim and Lottie might have their own agendas in Mapleville. ‘Where are you going?’ she asked.
‘I’m recording a radio commercial. Should finish it by early afternoon. Then I’d love to take my beautiful wife on a date.’ He raised a hopeful eyebrow. ‘If you’d like that?’
‘A date?’ The word made Greta feel fuzzy inside. It had been so long since they’d done anything like that. Too long. A giddy feeling spread through her. ‘I’d love that. It sounds wonderful,’ she said.
Lottie grabbed her leather satchel and placed a sandwich she’d made inside it. ‘See you later, Mum. Have a great day.’
Greta followed her husband and daughter to the front door, reluctant for the moment to end. Jim kissed her cheek, then whistled his way down the path with Lottie skipping beside him. They looked so happy and carefree it felt almost rehearsed.
For a fleeting moment, Greta thought a director might step out from behind the bushes to call, ‘Cut!’
It didn’t really matter because, right now, she just wanted to hold on to this ideal version of her family forever.
This is real, isn’t it?
Greta pinched her forearm to check. Shefeltreal. Watching Jim and Lottie stroll away, laughing together, theywerereal.
After waving and closing the door, Greta pottered around the house for a while, getting to feel more at home. All the carpets were plush, the towels were neatly folded, and the kitchen cupboards were well-stocked. All the bed linen was clean and expertly turned down.
Heading back into the living room, Greta’s gaze landed on her mum’s old rocking chair in the corner.
A familiar ache of grief pressed hard against her ribs.
She trailed her fingers across the worn wooden armrests, wondering what it was doing here. The chair rocked gently under her touch, and for a moment, Greta could almost see her mum sitting in it, leafing throughHellomagazine, checking out the latest celebrity fashions. Perhaps this was the different reflection of reality that Iris had mentioned.
Greta’s eyes shifted to the mantelpiece, where a neat row of photos caught her attention. Stepping toward them, she took a closer look.
The shots showed her enjoying a life she didn’t recognise. In one, she skated on an icy pond, wearing a white dress with a faux fur trim. In another, she waved pink cheerleader pompoms. Greta frowned to herself, trying to recall the feeling of her blades cutting through ice, the cold air pinching her skin, but she couldn’t conjure up the vision.
In Mapleville, Greta apparently played the trumpet, whereas in real life, she didn’t have a musical bone in her body. Yet here she was, performing from a sheet of music while Lottie twirled a baton beside her.
Greta blasted a sharp laugh, feeling weirdly proud of herself.
These images didn’t seem like invented memories. They felt like a different version of her—a dynamic, adventurous woman who hadn’t made mistakes, or struggled to hold her marriage and career together. The Greta in the photos was the perfect woman she wanted to be. And she decided she wanted to live up to that image in Mapleville.
The house suddenly seemed too still and quiet, and not wanting to waste time musing questions she couldn’t answer, Greta headed upstairs.
She took a tiny handbag out of the wardrobe and slung it over her shoulder. Today was for exploring Mapleville again, not quizzing how she got here.
She opened her front door and skipped along the garden path, just as Lottie had done.
As before, the streets were a swirl of colour and chatter. The vibrant town hummed with life and possibilities.
‘Morning, Greta,’ called out a young woman on a bike with flowers overspilling from the basket on the front. The baker whistled as he balanced a tray full of golden loaves on his shoulder. The line of workers streamed toward the centre of the town again, all bidding her good day. A hot-air balloon floated in the sky, and a small airplane with a propeller trailed a banner that said Maple Gold.
