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Margot Dorey was already there, sitting on the sofa in the bookshop, with copies of her new book piled up in several big stacks on the coffee table. A crowd of people were waiting in the yard, the queue snaking right out of Cobblers Yard and round the corner into the high street. The coffee machine was working overtime, and Lexi was delivering coffee in takeaway cups to customers outside. They were grateful for the hot drinks as they waited in the chill autumn air. There were children there too, wrapped in gloves, scarves and hats, enjoying the chocolate digestive biscuits that Marjorie was handing out.
People had come from miles around to be the first few to get their hands on Margot Dorey’s new book when it was released at a minute past midnight in this little bookshop in Aldeburgh.
‘And what does the new owner think of all this?’
‘Well I—’
‘Where is he, by the way?’
‘Who?’
‘Callum.’
Thea had been asking herself that question. She wanted him to be there by her side when she cut the ribbon that Lexi had placed across the door to the bookshop, marking the bookshop’s official reopening. Thea had been asking everyone where he was, but bizarrely no one had seen him.
‘It’s a bit strange the new owner disappearing like that – don’t you think?’ the reporter asked.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’I’m right here, thought Thea, looking at her, bemused.
‘I’m talking about the guy you’ve been working for this whole time to get the bookshop ready.’
‘I’m sorry, but I think you’re confused. My father used to own the bookshop.’
‘Well, that’s all very interesting, but I’m talking about thenewowner.’
‘That’s me,’ said Thea, getting a bit frustrated and annoyed with the confused reporter.
The reporter stared at her. ‘Well, this is all rather strange. I’ve done my research on the bookshop and, according to the official paperwork, it’s not you but the guy, Callum, who owns the shop.’
‘You’re mistaken.’
‘I think not. I got hold a copy of the title deeds of the shop from HM Land Registry through the government website. Callum’s name is on it in black and white – hisrealname, not his stage name.’
Thea hadn’t realised he had a stage name. But that was beside the point. She suddenly felt sick. ‘I don’t understand …’
The reporter opened her handbag, had a rummage, and said, ‘Ah, here we are.’ She handed Thea a copy of the paperwork.
‘Oh, look, there he is now!’
Thea turned around and looked at the crowd of people gathered outside the bookshop. She spotted Callum heading her way, grinning.
He waved. As he joined them outside the shop, he said, ‘This turnout is amazing – isn’t it?’
Thea still had the form in her hand, although she hadn’t had a chance to look at it. ‘Where were you?’ She noticed he had something behind his back.
‘I was just in The Potting Shed.’ Callum revealed a bouquet of flowers, holding them out to Thea.
The reporter said, ‘Oh, how wonderful, giving your employee flowers to thank her for all her hard work.’
Callum looked at the flowers, and turned to the young woman standing beside Thea. ‘I’m sorry, who are you?’
‘I’m Clarissa, a journalist for a local newspaper. I’m writing an article about The Bookshop of Memories.’
Thea glanced at the copy of the title deeds in her hand, and said, ‘Tell me it isn’t true.’
Callum’s head turned to Thea. ‘I’m sorry – what?’
‘The bookshop.’ Thea held up the paperwork. ‘Do you own it?’ The words caught in her throat. She couldn’t bear to look at it, to see his name in black and white on the deeds.
