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Henry appeared. He smiled at her. ‘Look, I’ve got some pocket money for you. Would you like to go and buy some sweets?’
Thea smiled affectionately at her father as she took the pennies from his hand. She would be forever nine years old in his eyes now. ‘Are you binding another book, Daddy?’
‘Oh, yes. That’s the plan for this afternoon. Well I’d better get to it.’
She smiled. ‘All right, Dad.’
Henry hesitated. He raised his eyebrows. ‘Where’s your mother?’
Thea replied with the same response she gave every day when he asked that very same question. ‘She’s out in the campervan, selling your bound books. Remember, it was agreed that she’d get on the road and do that now, so you can stay in your shop?’
Dad was back in business, but there was no way he could go out in the campervan ever again. So the plan was that her mum would come back, now and again, to collect the bound books and deliver them to some of her dad’s clients around the country. There wouldn’t be that many books. It took her dad a lot longer to bind books than it used to. But he still had a handful of loyal customers who were so pleased to find out The Bookshop of Memories was back in business.
‘Righty-ho.’ He turned to go, but before he did, Henry had another question that Thea heard every day too. ‘Say, where’s that lad that helps me with the bookbinding?’
‘Toby will be back soon.’
‘Ah, right you are. He’s a good-un, he is. Do you know, he reminds me of someone …’
Thea squeezed Callum’s hand as her father’s eyes roved over to him before he walked off into the back room. Since returning to the bookshop, they’d discovered one downside of her father being there; Henry no longer recognised Callum. He had no idea who he was.
Callum just smiled. ‘Like I said before, when he’s in the bookshop, his memories from his time here are perfect; he never misses a beat, because this is his past. With dementia, it’s where he lives now, in his memories. If he steps out of the door … well, you know.’ Callum trailed off.
Thea knew. Her father would get confused, agitated; he couldn’t cope with the outside world now. It was a wonder he’d made it back there.
When she’d first asked Callum about her dad’s condition, he’d said it was progressive, dementia; there was no sugar-coating it. But he had a theory; in this place full of memories of his past life, he would defy his prognosis and keep it in abeyance.
Callum smiled at her reassuringly. ‘Here in The Bookshop of Memories, he can live out his days.’
Thea smiled. That was only possible because they’d already put a plan in place. A carer came in, whom Henry thought was an assistant working nights in the bookshop, minding the store. The lovely carer was, in actual fact, minding Henry so that he didn’t have to cook for himself, shop, or take care of himself, and gave Thea and Callum peace of mind that he was never truly on his own.
Callum looked at Thea. ‘I have a proposal.’
‘What is it?’
‘That we make new memories in this bookshop, you and me. What do you think?’
Thea grinned at him. ‘I think that is the best idea ever. Where shall we start?’
‘With this.’ Callum stood up, then slowly lowered himself down on one bended knee.
Thea stared at him. ‘What are you doing?’
From his trouser pocket, he produced a little felt box.
They both knew that in the years to come, they would remember this moment and treasure the start of their journey making memories together. Their journey would always be bound up with this bookshop, The Bookshop of Memories.
