‘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.’
The woman nods. ‘I used to adore romance books.’
‘Used to?’
She grimaces. ‘Before my divorce; I learned that love comes with legal fees.’
I watch her study the book’s cover. ‘It’s been three years, and my friends say I should start dating again. I don’t know where to start.’
The urge to tell her about all the horrible things I have seen about love is strong. I would love to go on a date without my curse spoiling it.
The woman is looking at me. ‘Do you have anyone special in your life?’
I shake my head. ‘Dating is not for me.’
‘I wish I were like you,’ observes the woman, repositioning her glasses. ‘The thing is, I’ve started gazing fondly at couples at restaurants, in the theatre and at music concerts and wishing I had someone to lean against, someone to laugh with and someone to share my life with. Sad, eh?’
She taps her card against the card reader. ‘I will read this and see what happens.’
‘Good luck because… you will need it.’ The last part must have come out a little too strong, as she gives me an odd look.
I serve two customers and look up to see Eva. The sight of her gazing at me sends my stomach into a nauseating spin. In my head, I can still hear her angry screams at me.
You’re jealous, Nelly. I never want to see you again.
The memory of the day she moved out rushes back. Karl came with her to pack up her stuff. She must have told him about me, as on the stairs, he called me a nasty bitch.
I gulp back a wave of emotion.
