Page 97 of The Bookshop By the Loch

I chewed my lip and glanced down at Celeste’s manuscript still balanced on my lap. It was true. I had said that to her.

My head slumped back against my pillows. I listened to her exasperated sigh down the line, as I then confessed that I’d bought a flat in Bracken Way. I thought this was as good a time as any to tell her.

“I guess I’m not surprised,” she conceded. “Look, what I’m trying to say is, I’m proud of you. Sodding annoyed I can’t lure you back to Literati, but I’m still proud of you for taking a chance and sticking with it.”

I stared back down at Celeste’s typed manuscript, the words bleeding into one another.

My hand grazed the pages. Celeste had created this story out of nothing. She had carved pictures and sprinkled life and colour onto blank, white sheets of paper.

“Lexie? Are you there?”

I yanked my attention back to Rhiannon. “Yes, I’m still here. Sorry.”

I straightened up, still stroking the manuscript.

Rhiannon sighed. “Ok, Dunbar. You win.”

We rounded off the call, promising to speak to each other again in a week or so and then I took a huge gulp to finish the last of my wine. It hit the back of my throat.

The next morning saw a summer flurry of book purchases, predominantly bulky beach reads, thrilling crimes and spirited romcoms. Holiday season was on the horizon and there was a buzz of hyperactivity everywhere. I was grateful that I had both Chloe and Daryl in the shop to help out.

Tobias was secreted in the office, tackling admin and being interviewed over the phone by a prestigious art critic for a newspaper article.

I was about to place an order for another supply of the latest cosy crime sensation, when the shop door rattled open, bringing with it Mum, Dad and Grandpa.

It still seemed so surreal, seeing the three of them together, as though the past two decades had been a figment of everyone’s imagination.

Mum was adorned in a floaty hemmed lemon dress; Grandpa was wearing an expression of bemusement and my dad was clasping Mum’s hand. His hair was a little shorter. Mum must have persuaded him to get a haircut. It suited him.

“Just passing, so thought we’d drop by,” smiled Mum, striding towards me and delivering an affectionate kiss to my cheek.

Dad stared around. “Looking good, Lexie.” He moved around the bookshop, his tanned hands browsing the spines. “How long can I borrow the books for?”

His words made me prickle with alarm. Grandpa’s bristly brows gathered.

“This isn’t a library, Niall,” said Mum smoothly. “It’s a bookshop, remember? Book Ends? Lexie works here.”

Dad studied our faces. “A bookshop?”

My breathing lodged with concern in my throat. I forced my mouth into an encouraging smile. “That’s right. I’m the manager, remember, Dad?”

Confusion swam in my dad’s eyes. Then it passed over, like a brooding cloud allowing the sun through. “Book Ends. My clever daughter.”

Mum refused to allow her serene, contented expression to slip. “We can splash out on a takeaway tonight after you finish work, sweetheart.”

“Sounds good.”

Grandpa waited until I’d kissed my parents and they were back out on the sun-drizzled bookshop step, admiring the glistening ripples across the loch. He hung back for a few moments. “Your mother is being amazing. She refuses to accept defeat.”

“And Dad?”

Grandpa stroked his moustache as he thought about my question. “I think he’s so grateful to your mum. He’s trying to stay positive for her, but…”

“But?”

He gestured over the shoulder of his light summer jacket. “Niall Dunbar is still in there, but I’ve noticed over the last few days that there have been more frequent bouts of him becoming confused.” His posture sunk. “Your mother would never admit it, of course, but she must’ve noticed it too.”

My grandfather puffed out his cheeks in frustration. “Yesterday, he thought I was one of his old newspaper bosses.”