Page 103 of The Bookshop By the Loch

I can remember that September morning you were born. It was crisp and bright, with autumnal leaves hanging from the branches outside the hospital window.

You were this gorgeous wriggling pink angel, with downy tufts of white hair and all I wanted to do was wrap you up in the shawl I had knitted for you and spirit us both away somewhere, where nobody could find us.

But everybody else insisted they knew what was best for both of us and so they took you away from me as soon as you were born. I was allowed the briefest hug with you and then you were gone.

My screams rang out around that hospital. I could hear this animalistic noise and wondered for a few seconds where it was coming from. It didn’t take me long to realise it was actually me making that sound.

I never saw you again, until ten years ago, when I had a private investigator find you. I saw you go into a music venue in town, armed with your guitar, but I couldn’t summon up the courage to speak to you.

I regretted my cowardly actions that night too.

I swear to this day, I can still smell your milky skin as I cradled you for those few seconds, before you were wrenched out of my arms.

So now, I am trying to make amends. I would be forever grateful if you would agree to come and see me. I am a resident of Bracken Way Residential Home.

Seeing my appeal to you written down makes it even larger and more prominent, but if you could find it in your heart to agree to speak with me, I would be eternally grateful, Corinne.

I realise what I am asking of you is a considerable and emotional request, but words cannot explain what it would mean to me to be able to see you and apologise in person.

Having you taken away from me in such a cruel way was something I regret I couldn’t control as a naïve and fragile seventeen-year-old girl.

Now, I hope I am in a position to try and put things right – or at least attempt to.

Thank you for giving me the courtesy of reading this letter.

Yours sincerely, Celeste Matthews (née Finch)

I reread the letter a few more times, my throat closing up with emotion at its contents.

Maeve thought Celeste’s decision not to include details of her failing health a mistake, but Celeste refused to even discuss it.

The writing paper rustled through Celeste’s frail fingers as she folded it and slid it into the addressed envelope.

Once sealed, Maeve dug around in her purse and produced a first-class stamp.

“Are you alright?” I asked Celeste, noting her charged stare at the envelope lying on the table in front of us.

Celeste let out a broken gulp of air. “I’ll let you know when or if I hear back from Corinne.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

“You look shattered, lovey. I hope you’re pacing yourself,” warned Mum, bundling me into her arms.

“It’s been one of those days,” I sighed. I held her at arm’s length. “The same goes for you too, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“You look exhausted, Mum.”

She tried to brush it off. “Oh, I’m alright. You know me.”

“Yes, I do. That’s why I’m asking.”

Mum pulled a jokey face.

“So, how’s Dad today?”

Her smile wavered.