Page 11 of The Sugar and Spice Bookshop Bakery

‘Oh, Louise, I’m sorry.’ He reaches across the table and takes her hand. ‘I’m so sorry. I guess Babbo – my father – has been lucky in a way - it was like a warning that something is wrong, and hopefully they’ll be in time to do something about it.’

‘I hope so,’ Louise says. ‘I really do.’

He lets go of her hand and sighs. ‘So, in the meantime, we’re both in limbo and new in town?’

‘Well, kind of. Although I did grow up here. What kind of buildings do you work on?’ she says, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

‘Beautiful ones. Do you know what I love about buildings?’

She shakes her head.

‘They’re like books. They tell stories. Priest holes, for example, tell you that someone hid in a particular building during the Reformation. Or bricked up windows remind you that there used to be a window tax. Old bread ovens say somewhere was once a bakery.’

‘Sadly, the oven here is just a modern stainless steel one.’

Jack smiles, and leans a little closer to her. ‘So, Louise, is this building going to keep telling the same story? Or are you going to help it to start a new chapter?

Four

She has to stop this. Has to say something. The longer it goes on, the harder it gets. She should have said something when she arrived, when she first realised. Her mother has the whole village thinking that Louise is back and the bakery is reopening and it will soon be business as usual.

They are each buttering a huge fluffy scone that Louise baked at five thirty a.m. when she couldn’t sleep. A massive pot of tea sits between them. It hasn’t even had a proper chance to brew yet, but in the time that they’ve been sitting here, at the window table in the bakery, three people have poked their heads round the door to ask if the bakery is open.

Elizabeth gave the same answer to each of them. ‘Not yet. Soon hopefully.’

The fourth time she does this, Louise raises her eyebrows questioningly.

Her mother holds her hands up in mock surrender. ‘I know, I know. I shouldn’t say that. Not until we’ve talked everything through.’ She takes a bite of her scone. ‘These are incredible. Far better than mine.’ She closes her eyes. ‘They’re just like your gran’s scones. In fact, when I taste your baking, I feel like she’s sitting right here with us.’

Louise rolls her eyes. Her mother has been listening to the Uncanny podcast again.

‘Of course, you don’t remember when she started the bakery—’

Louise holds up her hands. ‘Mum, we do need to talk.’

As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she’s hit by that all-too-familiar feeling that once again she’s letting someone down, and not just any old someone, but her own mum. For a second, she thinks she should just acquiesce, agree to run the bakery, for a time at least.

Perhaps just whilst she works out where she’s going with her life? It would give her something to do, at least, stop her dwelling on the whole Sheila Penhaligon situation. She’s been going over and over what happened in her mind. Why didn’t she realise sooner that Sheila’s original storyline would upset readers? This question keeps her awake every night. Sometimes, in the early hours of the morning, she finally drifts off, but last night, sleep eluded her completely. Hence the early morning baking session.

Her mum sighs. ‘It’s okay, Lou. I know what you’re going to say.’

Louise searches her mother’s face, wondering if she really knows or if she’s just hazarding a guess.

Her mum bites her lip. ‘You haven’t come home to work in the bakery.’

Louise shakes her head.

Her mother sighs. ‘Deep down, I knew. When you first arrived, I was hoping… But then I heard about Sheila’s book. Oh, Lou. Why didn’t you tell me? It must have been awful for you.’

Heard what exactly? Louise isn’t sure how much of the story is public knowledge and she isn’t ready to talk about it, not yet.

‘Awful for Sheila too,’ she says, keeping her reply deliberately vague. ‘Another case of Louise Dearnley letting everyone down again.’

Her mother frowns. ‘Letting everyone down? You took your eye off the ball, but we all do. Especially when we’re overworked, and you always seemed to have too much on your plate.’

Her mother is trying to console her, but the reminder of how seldom she’s come up to Yorkshire in recent years adds to the ever-increasing pile of guilt and shame that weighs Louise down.

‘How did you find out about Sheila’s book?’ she says.