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Callum hastily got dressed in the confined space. Fortunately, there were public toilets just steps from the campervan and the beach, but there were no showers. After leaving the bookshop the previous evening, he’d driven to the nearest larger town, Leiston, which had a public swimming pool. He’d paid for a dip in the pool, and he’d had a shower too.
Callum stepped forward a pace to the little counter and reached for a pouch of cat food in the small cupboard above. He squeezed the contents into Dickens bowl; the cat was already on the counter trying to get to his food.
Callum yawned. ‘I’m still considering checking into a hotel and putting it on my credit card,’ he said to Dickens, although he knew he really couldn’t afford to add to his debts.
He glanced at his watch.At least I’m up bright and early this morning, he thought. It wasn’t that early – around nine – but it was way better than the previous day, when he’d been woken by the cat at midday.
The only thing he might not get in a hotel was a gorgeous view to wake up to. Callum poured himself a bowl of cereal from the box he’d remembered to buy from the local Co-op, along with a pint of milk, and slid the side door open to reveal the sea.
Callum had shifted his van the previous night, afraid that someone might spot his van parked overnight in the car park again. He hadn’t shifted it far; just a few hundred yards. His thoughts drifted back to the previous afternoon as he stood admiring the view.
Mabel and Marjorie had been having lunch when he’d left the charity shop and crossed the yard, so they hadn’t spotted him entering the shop. They had been long gone by the time he’d stepped out again, and he had locked the door before he left.
He hadn’t done much; he had been at a loss as to where to start. He’d found himself perusing the bookshelves, chosen a good book to read, and settled on the couch in the back room. He’d spent the afternoon reading, telling himself that he’d be more productive tomorrow, when he’d get an earlier start.
When he’d left the shop, he’d gone for a walk through the town, down a side street and along the little promenade fronted by pastel-coloured Victorian terraced houses and small cottages looking over a pebbly beach.
He had become used to the vast sandy beaches in LA with their huge modern beach houses and their wide promenades stretching as far as the eye could see. This was another world – cosy, very British, and surprisingly very him.
He bet he wasn’t alone in falling instantly in love with the place. ‘No, don’t do that,’ he said to himself thinking about the old bookshop and the flat above it. ‘I’m not staying, I’m here to sell the place.’ He knew he was trying to convince himself.
He looked at the cat. ‘What do you think of the view, Dickens?’ He’d left the car park, driving by way of a track that led just a couple of hundred yards along the seafront to free parking he’d discovered near a boat yard, with views on one side of the sea and on the other side of the marshes. When he’d left the car park, he had wondered whether Dickens would find the van if he was let out of the shop.
‘Oh, my god!’ exclaimed Callum at that thought. Dickens was back, which meant his plan had worked. ‘Someone let you out!’
He’d checked last night, and there was no other way the cat could get out unless someone unlocked the front door. Dickens liked his food, so Callum had been pretty confident he’d be back first thing if someone let him out this morning – and he imagined he’d soon spot the campervan just a short distance away from where it had previously been parked.
Callum put his unfinished bowel of cereal down on the counter and pulled the heavy sliding door closed. It made a thumping sound as it shut, disturbing Dickens. Callum spotted the cat turn from his cat food and sniff the bowl of cereal before he started lapping up the milk.
‘Hey! Do you mind?’ Callum took the dish away. Clearly Dickens didn’t mind at all, his nose following the dish as Callum looked around for somewhere to put it. ‘Eat your own.’
Callum dumped his bowl in the washing-up bowl. He remembered to put the milk away in the little fridge before grabbing his coat. He left a window open, anticipating that Dickens would be off to the bookshop after he’d finished his own breakfast. Today, Callum was going to get there first.
Oh boy, he thought as he walked at pace down the track and past the car park to make his way along the highstreet.I can’t wait to confront whoever is in my bookshop right now.Then he slowed his pace, starting to feel surprisingly anxious. For some reason someone in that bookshop right now thought, mistakenly, that they owned the bookshop. He didn’t know why he was feeling anxious. He had the deeds. He’d simply tell them to leave.
But whoever was there had a key. That was what the elderly sisters in the charity shop had told him. But there was somethinghehadn’t toldthem. His thoughts turned to that photo.Was it one of those girls? And if it was, what were they doing with a key to his father’s bookshop after all these years?
All this time he’d assumed that if they were Henry’s kids, he’d had an affair – that was why Callum hadn’t mentioned the wallet and the photo he’d found to his mother. But it was quite an assumption. Callum was starting to wonder if he’d got it all wrong. Those girls could be older than him, in which case, was it his mother that Henry had left his original family for?
Callum shook his head. Did it matter? Either way, it was quite possible he’d had two families. He realised that his anxiety was really about whom he was about to meet. Would they resemble his father? Would they take one look at him and guess the truth – that they might be half-siblings? Or were they already aware that their father had another family, another child?
Callum wasn’t sure he was ready to be confronted by the truth about his father, but he had no choice.
It did cross his mind that he might be reading way too much into the photo. As Jack had said, his father had dementia. The wallet, and the photo, might have nothing to do with Henry whatsoever. But that didn’t explain why someone else had a key to the bookshop.
Callum quickened his pace. Up ahead, he could see The Two Magpies Bakery. Outside the stop, sitting patiently beside a bowl of water, with his lead tied to a post, was a sweet golden retriever. Callum stopped to say hello, patting him on the head and giving him a stroke.
He happened to glance in the window, thinking of that pretty young woman he’d locked eyes with at lunchtime the previous day. He’d hoped to see her again, but he hadn’t expected to see her this morning. She was standing at the back of a long queue at the counter, which meant she was getting something to go.
Perhaps she works here in town, thought Callum, smiling hopefully.
She happened to glance out of the window, and caught him pausing outside the café, smiling her way. She smiled back.
If he hadn’t been on a mission to find out who was in his bookshop, he might have stepped inside that shop and joined the queue behind her. What a perfect way to strike up a conversation.
Damn! He was torn between doing just that and heading to the shop. He said goodbye to the well-behaved dog and stole a glance at the young woman being served fresh croissants at the counter. He wondered where she was headed with those croissants.
You haven’t got time for that either, thought Callum, as it crossed his mind that he could wait and find out. Petting the dog would have provided the perfect excuse to hang back outside the shop.
