‘I’ve done something bad,’ says Amber.
Every part of me tenses. ‘Bad?’ Oh God, at fifteen, ‘bad’ could mean anything; binge drinking, smoking, drug-taking, underage sex or something else like a criminal act. I turn around, and I must look panic-stricken as she laughs. ‘Calm down, I haven’t broken any laws.’
I breathe a sigh of relief. ‘Are you going to tell me what you’ve done?’
‘I put a message inside Mum’s birthday balloon.’
‘Birthday balloon?’
Shaking her head, she sighs. ‘Dad does it every year to remember Mum. He gets us all to watch him let go of this balloon. It has Mum’s face on it. Mum would be pleased as it’s a nice photo of her. I chose it as the one Dad initially picked was her in her PJs with no make-up, and she was wearing my brother’s hat as her hair was falling out. Dad said she looked beautiful. I had to tell him that Mum would not be happy with that photo plastered on the front of a balloon.’ She sighs. ‘Mum might not be here, but she still has photo standards.’
‘Your mum loved balloons,’ I say, remembering Kate telling us about how her obsession with pretty balloons always went wild on family birthdays.
Amber nods. ‘This year I stuck a message inside.’
‘Okay – something your mum would have liked? A verse or a poem, maybe?’
She grins, making me feel a little anxious. ‘No. The message said that my dad needs a girlfriend and that I am sick of him being miserable. I hoped a suitable girlfriend for Dad would find it, contact me and work her magic with him.’
‘Contact you? How?’
‘Duh!’ she exclaims. ‘I put his name, and I said that Mum died and now he’s miserable. I also wrote that he’s kind, funny and grumpy in the morning before his coffee. At the bottom, I put my email address and asked any suitable woman to contact me.’
I stare at her in bewilderment. ‘You put your email address on this bit of paper and stuck it in your mum’s birthday balloon?’
‘Yeah… I need to vet these women for Dad. If I don’t do this, he’ll end up with this boy called Finn’s mum, who fights outside the pub.’
‘Please tell me you didn’t add anything else?’
She rolls her eyes. ‘Duh – yeah, of course I did. I added my name and age. These women need to know they’re not dealing with a child. I am fifteen, for God’s sake.’
I turn back to the shelf, close my eyes, and take a few deep breaths. Kate always said Amber had her way of doing things. Anyone could find that balloon, burst it, and read her message. They could then contact her and put her in danger. I take a few more deep breaths. Realistically, the balloon will get stuck somewhere, and if someone found it, their first thought wouldn’t be to burst it and then hunt for a message.
‘No one is going to look inside it,’ I say, my eyes still closed.
I hear a book being shut. ‘You’re right, Nelly.’
Opening my eyes, I turn around. ‘Will you promise me something?’
‘Please don’t tell Dad.’
‘Don’t ever do this again. Call me the second anyone messages your email account who you don’t recognise. Do you understand?’
She smiles and I see that she has inherited her mother’s curvy lips and sparkly blue eyes. For a fleeting second, it’s like I’m talking to her mother, Kate.
‘Will do.’ I watch her flick her eyes to the floor. ‘I did it because Dad is lonely.’
As she gathers her things, I begin to lecture her about my beliefs on love. ‘Maybe your father doesn’t want to find love again? Life is much easier when you’re on your own. Relationships should come with health warnings. In my experience, love never ends?—’
Fortunately, I stop myself from telling her that love never ends well. She doesn’t need to hear that. She has zoned out and is gazing at the romance book section. As she walks away, I pray the balloon is stuck in a tree and is never found. Amber doesn’t need someone creepy contacting her, and her father has had enough heartbreak for one lifetime.
15
Miranda asks me to go to the till and help a woman with a book she wants to buy. As I get closer, I can see its title –Summer Kisses at Sandcastle Bay. The cover features a couple running barefoot through the surf, holding hands.
The woman is in her early fifties, with curly blonde hair and distinctive red-and-white square glasses. ‘I’m looking for something light,’ she says, gesturing towards the book. ‘Is this sad at all?’
With a shrug, I say, ‘I’m not a romance reader, but I will say I have heard people say good things about this author – Aimee Heart – and the books she writes.’
