‘It very much is not stupid! I think it’s rather charming. And it’s a free holiday, like they say. In a bookshop, and you obviously like those! Of course, it’s up to you. You could just put it right back in, and let somebody else find it. Or you could ask yourself this: why did that book fall on my head?’
‘Probably because I’m a disaster magnet.’
‘Or maybe because it was meant for you. Maybe because you’re the right person, at the right time. Take the book home with you. Think it over.’
I protest, telling her I couldn’t possibly do such a thing. I really really want to, but I can’t.
‘My name is Magda, and I own this bookshop,’ she replies sternly, pinning me with a fierce gaze over her glasses. ‘So it’s up to me if I want to give something away. Or I can write your name down in my records, and you can pay me later. A whole £4.99. I have no real idea where that one came from – we have stock coming in from all over the country, from sales and from suppliers, so I can’t give you any more information. But the card doesn’t look ancient, does it? It looks like someone could have written it in the last few years, or the last few days. Imagine how disappointed they’ll be if nobody ever takes them up on their offer!’
She’s right. It doesn’t look too old. And I could do something sensible like look it up online or call them, just to put my mind at rest. It would be just my luck to take a leap of faith and end up joining a cult, or getting abducted by friendly axe murderers.
My fingers run over the words in front of me. I have had my heart broken. The person I loved has hurt me. And even though logically I know that I did my best, part of me does still blamemyself for what went wrong. Plus, the damn book did practically leap off that shelf and attack me.
I glance at the clock on the wall, and jump to my feet. Time has passed much more quickly than I thought, and I need to make a dash to try and get the next bus.
‘Thank you,’ I say as I grab my coat. ‘For this place. For the book. For being so nice. I promise I’ll pay you back.’
She walks with me to the door, and pats me on the shoulder as I leave. ‘A postcard from Bonnie Bay would be payment enough…’
I nod, and stare out at the still busy street, the still pouring rain. I don’t care about any of it – my mind is now completely occupied by that card. Who sent it? Why did it feel so much like it was meant for me? What would happen if I did actually just turn up?
Maybe, I think, there’s only one way to find out…
TWO
BRODY
Present day, Oxford
‘Isn’t it amazing?’ Shannon asks me, dancing around the room, her blonde hair trailing behind her. Her face is permanently set to ‘excited’, and she looks so much like her mom that it almost breaks me. ‘I just can’t believe I’m finally here! I can’t believe I’m part of this!’
I tear my eyes away from her, and take in our surroundings. Sure, it’s beautiful – if you like beamed ceilings, oak wood panelling, and fancy chandeliers. Portraits of the great and the good from olden times gaze down at us, and the whole place reeks of history. The kind of history we don’t have back home. Still, just because something’s old doesn’t mean it’s perfect – just ask my fifty-one-year-old body.
‘Sure,’ I agree, more interested in her than the damn room. ‘It’s kinda like Hogwarts. I’m half expecting the miserable old guys in those paintings to start talking, and they don’t look like a lot of fun…’
She pauses and glances up at an especially unhappy-looking dude in a wig, a scowl on his face and a scroll in his hands. Hewas probably someone real important, back in the day, and his surly expression is sour enough to sink ships.
‘He looks a bit like you, Dad!’ she says, doing an impression of the scowl. ‘He’s all gruff and grumpy and disapproving, staring at us just the way you stared at every boy I ever brought home!’
I frown at her, and she laughs. I guess I just proved her point. Mr Gruff and Grumpy, at your service.
‘You want to go get dinner?’ I ask, changing the subject. I know I’m not exactly sunshine and rainbows these days, and I feel the ache of the reason why deep inside my bones, just as raw and real as the ache in my back. Maybe it’s good that she’s making this move. Maybe it’ll live up to all her expectations, and give her the chance to blossom. That’s what I want for her, even if it sucks for me.
Her smile falters slightly, and she hesitates. I get it straight away – she has other plans, but she doesn’t want to hurt my feelings. I feel like a jackass for even asking. My daughter has already spent days with me, seeing the sights of Oxford, pretending she needs my help getting settled in.
That was all for my sake, and we both know it. She asked me to come with her so I could see her new home, feel part of her new life. So I’d feel less freaked about her leaving. Shannon doesn’t really need my help with settling in, or with anything at all – she’s a beautiful, confident woman of twenty-two, with a brain the size of a planet. Sometimes I wonder if she was swapped at birth – my kid should be drinking beer and lifting weights and messing with motorbike engines, not moving to Oxford and studying biochemistry.
‘Actually, Shannon,’ I say, rubbing my back, ‘now I think about it, would you mind if I take a rain check on dinner? I’m feeling kind of beat. If it’s okay with you, I might just go back to the hotel and chill.’
‘And by chill, do you mean drink Guinness and watch TV in your room?’
‘Maybe I do. I’m getting into the Guinness thing. It tastes better here for some reason. What do you think? Will you be okay on your own tonight?’
I see the doubts and arguments flutter over her face, her blue eyes narrowed as she thinks it through. She knows me too well to be fooled, but this is a dance we have done many times. The dance where we both try and figure out what the other one needs from us. She can’t stand the thought of me being lonely, and I can’t stand the thought of her worrying about me. I’m her dad. It should be the other way around.
‘Well, there is a thing at the college bar I wouldn’t mind checking out…’ she replies eventually.
‘A thing? Will there be drinking, and boys, and rock and roll music?’
