‘Keep them. They suit you,’ Iris replied. ‘Goodbye, Greta, and safe travels.’
For a split second, something flitted between them. Something unspoken. Greta wasn’t sure what it was, but it felt significant. To her, anyway.
‘Don’t forget to flip that sign,’ Iris said, ducking down behind her counter. ‘And remember not to drive after drinking the coffee.’
Standing outside, Greta touched her neck. Her collarbone still felt bare without Millie’s pearls fastened there. As she started to walk along the street, she pulled her scarf tighter.
A faint hint of something remained on her tongue, tasting just slightly of aniseed.
Chapter 36
FOR THE NEXTcouple of days, Greta was so tired it felt like she’d staggered off a plane after a transatlantic flight, though the farthest she’d actually travelled was a short trip to Leonard’s jewellery shop. Oddly, the premises were unlit, with a handwritten sign taped to the door.
Temporarily closed.
Greta re-read the words and sighed. Reaching into her handbag, she pulled out a pen and a notepad. She tore out a page, wrote a short note, and wrapped it around the jar of pearls with an elastic band.
She told Leonard that she believed the broken necklace had belonged to his mother, Millie. She kept the note brief, knowing he’d need time to take it all in. Adding her phone number and email, she let him know he could also reach her via Nora.
A small sign next to the shop door assured customers that they could safely drop off valuables in the secure deposit box, outside office hours.
Greta placed the jar inside the box, pausing a moment before letting go. The jar disappeared inside with a quiet, secure click. Back at home, with Lottie still holed up in the penthouse, Greta found comfort in the little things, like rubbing moistur- iser on the dry patches on her elbows, and making herself cheese on toast with lots of salt and pepper.
Whenever she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, the flaws she had once fixated on no longer exasperated her. They were simply part of who she was. If strangers didn’t recognise her anymore, that was okay, too. If they were rude to her, it said more about their own insecurities than hers.
There was a sense of freedom in shedding her own old expectations. She wore flowy clothes, jeans and oversized sweatshirts because she wanted to, not because she was trying to hide anything. Leaving her bra on in bed felt like a cosy act of self-care.
Greta made sure she drank lots of water, and she steered clear of coffee.
It felt like the right time to put up her Christmas tree, so she untangled the fairy lights and wound them around the branches.
She used to buy Lottie a bauble every Christmas, right up to the age of thirteen. They hung them with Greta’s mum, reminiscing as they unwrapped the tissue paper about where they’d bought them. Now she felt a pang of longing as she took out an angel with real feathers for wings, a polar bear wearing a Santa hat, and a glass candy cane. Maybe this year, she and Lottie could revive the tradition and buy a new decoration.
But, for now, she had Lottie’s talent show to look forward to. Greta could already feel a quiet thrill of anticipation building. Whatever happened, whatever her daughter’s performance might be, she would be proud.
9
THE WOODEN CHAIRSin Lottie’s school hall were small and rickety. Greta found herself surrounded by a mass of parents and a couple of crying babies. One mum in the audience wore pink fluffy slippers. Each time someone walked past the stage, the backdrop of two handcrafted cardboard reindeer wobbled precariously. A bedsheet was stretched across the back of the stage, bearing the words Longmill High Christmas Talent Show painted in bold, uneven letters.
Greta opened the programme on her lap with a sense of déjà vu. She ran a finger down the list of names.
Lottie Perks.
Next to her daughter’s name, the act section was blank, and Greta wondered what Lottie might be performing. She couldn’t picture her delivering a pitch-perfect piano solo, reciting a Shakespeare sonnet, or pulling a rabbit out a top hat, as she’d done in Mapleville.
While Greta scanned the other names, someone slipped into the seat next to her. She instinctively froze for a moment. The wordMum?formed on her lips.
Turning her head, she found Jim sitting beside her instead. His brow was knitted, and he’d rolled his programme into a small tube. His denim jacket was a little frayed at the cuffs, and a tuft of his hair stuck up on top.
For the merest moment, she missed the neatly dressed Maple- ville version of him. Until he flashed her a nervous smile.
‘I hope Lottie doesn’t forget her lines,’ Jim said, gripping the programme even tighter. ‘I’ve asked her several times, and she still refuses to tell me. She says it will be a nice surprise. I’m more stressed than I was auditioning for Maple Gold.’
‘She doesn’t have to be perfect,’ Greta assured him. ‘It’ll just add to the performance if she isn’t.’
He nodded, grateful for her words. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked softly. ‘Did you make an appointment to see a doctor about your . . . visions?’
Greta shook her head. ‘No, I didn’t need to. Everything is . . .’ She hesitated, wondering how to put it. ‘Everything to do with Mapleville, and my time there, is over.’
