She laughs and we carry on walking.
We have a lovely time at the café, and Aunt Polly treats me to a cake.
When we return to her bungalow, she groans as I survey the baking disaster zone. The work surfaces are strewn with flour, bits of dough, dirty bowls, utensils, and sat in a tin is a sad-looking cake with a saggy centre.
‘Wow – you have been busy,’ I say, jokingly.
She laughs. ‘Can we never mention this again?’
‘Go and sit down. I will sort this.’
She doesn’t put up much of a fight. I watch her head for the sofa. While she sits and watches TV, I clear away the mess, put the cake in the bin and wash up. As I am putting the clean baking equipment back in her bottom drawer I spot a pile of letters. That’s weird. Why would she keep letters in her baking drawer? I am about to have a closer look when my aunt calls me. ‘Nelly, come in here, I have something to show you.’
Aunt Polly looks up at me as I enter the living room.
I sit down in her armchair and notice a cardboard box. ‘What’s in there, Aunt Polly?’
‘That’s the box of stuff I found at the back of my wardrobe. Remember that photo album I showed you? The one where we both got sad and had to put it away?’
‘What else is in the box?’ I peer into it.
Aunt Polly reaches down to underneath her coffee table and pulls out a little wrapped gift. ‘This was at the bottom of the box. I’ve been saving it for your birthday.’
‘What is it?’ I ask.
She passes me the gift and rolls her eyes. ‘Nelly, it’s a present, and I’m not going to tell you before you open it.’
I take it from her and smile at the rose-patterned paper and pink ribbon.
She watches me as I carefully unwrap it. Once I remove the paper, I’m left with an old notebook.
‘It was your mother’s,’ says Aunt Polly. ‘She would have wanted you to have it. I didn’t realise I still had it.’
‘What’s inside?’
She shrugs. ‘I haven’t read it. That’s your job.’
I run my fingers over the soft blue cover. Holding it up, I fan the handwritten pages. The sight of her swirly letters makes the air catch in my throat. I think about what Henry told me. Aunt Polly can sense something is wrong. ‘Nelly, talk to me. What’s on your mind?’
I explain about meeting Henry, our coffee and what he told me. ‘Do you think Mum had my curse?’ I blink away tears. ‘Why didn’t she tell me?’
‘You were nine years old, Nelly. If she did have it then maybe she was planning to wait until you were a bit older. It’s quite a big thing for a child to understand. Also, can you stop calling it a curse? It’s a gift.’
I hold up her notebook. ‘Maybe this will explain things?’
Aunt Polly smiles. ‘If it does give you answers, great, but if it doesn’t, don’t be upset with your mum. She was doing her best.’
‘I’ll save it for later,’ I croak.
On the train home, I decide to read Mum’s notebook when I am alone. It feels too special to read on a busy train, crowded with a constant stream of visions. Even though the visions I see are heartbreaking, I notice they don’t make me feel heavy or sad. I acknowledge each one and remember what Eva said about heartbreak. I also recall being in the water and that light feeling I had when I got out.
Tiredness washes over me as I climb the stairs to my flat. I’m worried that tonight I won’t be able to keep my eyes open, and I want to because I really enjoy my chats in bed with Oliver. He doesn’t even know it’s my birthday – I left before he woke up and haven’t mentioned it.
I stagger along the hallway and as I put my key in the lock, the door opens. He’s standing behind the door. ‘Come in, birthday girl.’
‘Wait – how do you know?’
He grins. ‘Miranda texted me.’
