Page 76 of The Bookshop By the Loch

Celeste arranged herself and I began to angle her wheelchair towards the first set of looming bookcases, the spines beckoning us with their varied colours and author names.

Then Flora Simmonds came barging through the door, interrupting the peaceful reverie.

“Lexie, I have a favour to ask. Would you be able to put a poster in your window for me please? It’s for the summer fayre at the town hall.”

She tossed her floaty scarf back over her shoulder and eyed Celeste in her wheelchair. Her pale stare narrowed as she peered down at her. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

Celeste sat up a little straighter and clasped her hands in her lap. “I don’t think so. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

Undeterred, Flora carried on. “No, there’s definitely something familiar about you.” She scrutinised Celeste again. “Are you sure we haven’t met before? It’s really annoying me.”

“Not as much as you’re annoying me,” muttered Celeste out of the corner of her mouth.

But Flora didn’t hear her. She still had the bit between her teeth. “How long have you lived in Bracken Way?” she asked Celeste, scanning her from head to toe.

Celeste’s expression sharpened. “Long enough.”

Flora continued to study Celeste.

She craned her neck for the umpteenth time as she stared down at her. What was her preoccupation with Celeste? Why all the questions?

“Everything alright, Flora?” I asked pointedly. “It’s just I’d offered to take Celeste on a tour of the bookshop.”

Without waiting for Flora’s response, I started to wheel a relieved Celeste away from her interrogator.

That was until a sudden loud gasp echoed behind us. The half a dozen other browsing customers twisted their heads round to see what the matter was. Chloe, replacing receipt paper in the till, jerked her black corkscrew curls up. Had Flora taken ill?

Part of me expected Flora to be demanding immediate medical assistance, but instead, she was wide-eyed, unable to tear her attention away from Celeste.

One of Flora’s hands flew to her chest and rested there, like an age-spotted star fish. “I knew it. Celeste! I knew I recognised her from somewhere, but I couldn’t place her. Now I know!” Flora’s face was illuminated in triumph. “It’s her!”

Celeste’s complexion drained of colour. Both of her hands reached down to grip the arms of her wheelchair.

Flora’s smug face peered at each of us, delighted that she was the centre of attention and we were hanging on her every word. “It’s her,” she repeated again, jabbing one finger.

Irritation and concern for Celeste took hold of me. “Yes, you’ve already said that, Flora.”

Flora levelled her stare at Celeste again, relishing every second. “Don’t tell me you don’t know who she is.” I glowered at Flora, who let out an exasperated sigh. “For pity’s sake. You live in Bracken Way and yet you’ve no idea about the history of the place or the infamous people who make up part of it.” She let the word “infamous” roll off her tongue.

Celeste squirmed against her cushion.

“Let me introduce you then,” proclaimed Flora, looming over Celeste in a wave of Chanel perfume and linen trousers. She paused, savouring every ounce of Celeste’s discomfort. “This lady is the silver songbird.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Silver songbird?

What was she talking about?

Celeste’s hands gripped tighter to the arms of her wheelchair. She struggled to recover herself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do,” insisted Flora with glee. “It is you, isn’t it?”

I frowned, concerned by Celeste’s sudden wan appearance. I bent over beside her. “Celeste, are you alright?”

She didn’t answer at first. She didn’t look at me, but instead trained her troubled attention on somewhere over by the other bookcases. Her voice was preoccupied. “Yes. Yes. I’m fine.”

Flora wouldn’t let her pursuit of Celeste drop. “There’s no need to feel embarrassed,” said Flora in a faux caring tone. “After all, it was years and years ago now.” A triumphant smirk spread across her face. “Still, a bit of a girl back in the day, weren’t you?”