For a few frantic minutes we’re all scrambling. Struan checks Isla’s sensor, carefully peeling back the adhesive to make sure it’s still secure—it is. I steady Logan while Douglas frees his foot and gets him down. Then Douglas gives both twins a firm scolding. They mumble what sound like apologies before skipping back into the fray, unfazed.
“Those two, honestly,” Douglas mutters as he drops back into his seat. “The holidays have barely started and already they’ve worn my folks ragged. Summer’s off to a flying start.”
I remember Ellie saying his wife comes and goes as she pleases, which basically means Douglas is raising two mischievous kids as a single parent. Can’t be easy.
A tap on my shoulder pulls me from my musings. I turn to find Finn grinning at me, slightly out of breath.
“Tig, you’re it!” he announces. “Catch me if you can!”
Before I can protest, he’s off like a shot, Logan, Rosie, and Isla shouting for me to chase them as they tear after him.
You don’t need to be a linguistic genius to guess that “tig” must be what I’d call “tag”. I know how this game works.
“Oh, you better believe I’ll catch you,” I call, pushing back from the table and giving chase.
“Good luck!” Douglas shouts after me.
“We’ll send in backup if you get stuck!” Struan adds with a laugh.
And despite the mayhem, the awful coffee, and the sticky floors, I’m grinning as I run after four giggling children through the play maze.
Maybe the Pit isn’t so bad after all.
The bell over the library door gives a polite little jingle as we troop inside. After the Pit, the hush in here feels like air conditioning for my ears.
“Blair! What a nice surprise,” Ellie calls from the desk, smiling. “And you brought company today. Welcome, everyone.”
The kids chorus a distracted “hi” before bolting for the children’s section. Struan and Douglas nod their greetings then peel off toward the shelves. I go over to chat with Ellie.
“I’ve actually got something to show you,” she says. She ducks below the counter and comes up with a black-and-white printout from an old newspaper, which she slides across to me. “Found this yesterday when I was poking through the digitised archives.”
A school photo fills most of the page: three neat rows of children, girls in pinafores and cardigans, boys in blazers and shorts. Their names are printed below in faded typewriter font.
“Oh my God,” I say. “Is that my?—”
“This book is all about bogies!” Logan’s voice booms across the library like a foghorn.
Douglas winces. “Indoor voice, mate!” Then, in a quick whisper toward the desk, sheepish as anything, “Sorry, Ellie.”
Ellie’s cheeks go pink as she waves it off—adorably flustered—and I catch the way she fusses with a pile of bookmarks. Huh. Sweet.
But then my attention snaps back to the photo, and I see her. Front row, second from the left. My granny. Pigtails, gap-toothed grin, mischief glinting in her eyes. A fragment of her life from long before she could have imagined emigrating to Canada.
“That’s her!” I say, surprised at how choked up I feel. “Oh my God, Ellie. Thank you so much for finding this.”
Finn appears at my elbow, a picture book tucked under one arm. “What’re you looking at?”
“A photo of my granny when she was little, about your age.” I point her out. “She went to the same school you go to.”
His eyes widen. “Really? Maybe she drew pictures just like I do and they’re still on the walls somewhere!”
“Um... maybe. Probably not, but she’d have played in your schoolyard, maybe even sat in your classroom.”
“Wow,” Finn says. “That’s cool.”
“What have you got there?” Ellie nods at the book Finn is carrying.
“It’s a storybook. I want Blair to read it to me and the others. She’sreallygood at reading.”
