Page 123 of The Bookshop By the Loch

Her sunken mouth glided into a serene smile, as I neared the end of the story. I described how Melissa carved out a life for herself, her husband and her family and how successful and happy her two daughters were.

I read the final few sentences. Tobias listened too, every so often murmuring his support. I could feel his soft breath in my hair.

I bit back a ball of emotion as I finished reading. “And the silver songbird flew high. Even as the years moved on, the love she gave and the love others had for her endured… The End.”

Maeve entered the room just as I fell silent. She drew to a sharp halt. Her face fell at the sight of her mother lying there so still.

Tobias took me in his arms, his expression grave. “She’s gone, Lexie. She’s gone.”

Chapter Forty

The next couple of weeks were a painful yet contented blur.

Celeste’s funeral was a reflective, celebratory affair, attended by so many locals of Bracken Way, as well as former showbiz colleagues from far and wide.

As she’d requested, her ashes were scattered on top of the hill at the castle, overlooking the oval mirror of Loch Bracken and the majestic, heather-riddled hills beyond.

Corinne and Fletcher attended. She was brimming with regret that she hadn’t listened to her voicemail until after Celeste had passed, but Maeve appreciated them attending the funeral and they promised to keep in touch. It was what Celeste would have wanted.

Not having a force like Celeste around anymore was a very difficult thing to adjust to. But having Tobias, the bookshop, not to mention Mum, Dad and Grandpa to focus on, was keeping me occupied.

Since the grand re-opening, the bookshop continued to flourish, as did Mirror Image. However, the torrential rain darkening the clouds in mid-July meant that the bookworms were not as keen to venture out and I found myself quieter than usual that afternoon.

Tobias was out on a commission and I’d been taking the opportunity to polish and edit Celeste’s book.

I picked up my phone and, for what felt like the hundredth time, read the text that Maeve had sent me a few days ago.

It would be a fitting tribute to Mum, if her book could be published, Lexie. What do you think the chances are?

I turned over Maeve’s words in my head and found myself scrolling for Rhiannon’s number. If Literati did go for it, I would ensure Maeve was financially compensated on Celeste’s behalf.

Rhiannon answered after a few rings. I’d already messaged her just after Celeste passed away.

“How are you? How is everything?” she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

“All a bit odd,” I admitted. I glanced down at my laptop screen on the counter. “Would Literati like to take a look at a new novel?”

There was stunned silence down the line. Then an eruption. “Did you just say what I think you said?”

“Maybe.”

“Oh, stop teasing me, Dunbar! Have you started editing again?!”

“Yes and no.”

“Sorry?”

“Celeste wrote a book years ago. It’s great. She didn’t manage to finish it, but I have on her behalf.”

I could hear Rhiannon’s thoughts whirring down the line. “What’s it about?”

“A struggling young singer in a small Scottish town in the 1960s. Think Beaches crossed with Steel Magnolias.”

Rhiannon started breathing harder. “Oh my God. I’m hyperventilating! It sounds great. Autobiographical?”

“Bits of it are.”

Rhiannon’s breathing grew sharper. “And you edited it and wrote the end, you say?”