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‘It couldn’t be. This book was written in the fifties.’ I run my finger along the date scribbled almost illegibly under the title on the first page. ‘See?’
Marcy picks up her handbag off the floor by the end of the bed and pulls out a huge yellow-and-green scarf and wraps it around her neck. ‘Yes, this is an old book, Holly. Even older than you or your mother. But there is a message in here for you; I know there is.’
I stare at Marcy. The scarf covers the lower half of her face, and only the bridge of her nose and her eyes are visible. Her eyes are big and round and sparkle like Nana’s used to. There’s so much compassion in her dark-blue irises. I want to believe her.
‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Maybe Nana and I should read by ourselves for a while.’
I can’t see Marcy’s mouth, but the lines around her eyes crease, and I know she’s smiling at me. ‘I think that would be perfect,’ she says. ‘See you tonight, my dear. Enjoy every word.’
I take my grandmother’s hand. ‘We will.’
SIX
ANNIE
1958
I rub my eyes and jolt upright in bed, almost banging my head on the bookshelf above me. I take a moment to catch my breath, thankful I didn’t hit the shelf and send my bulky hardbacks tumbling to the floor with a loud bang. Sudden noise like that would get me in a lot of trouble.
I scurry to the window and throw back the curtains. It’s bright; the sun peeks out behind thick October clouds. It must be well after nine in the morning. Why didn’t Ma wake me? She can’t be still in bed. She never sleeps in, especially not on a Saturday. The best vegetables are gone from the market by ten, and she’d never dare bring home misshapen carrots.
I fetch yesterday’s clothes from the top drawer of my bedside locker and pull them on as fast as I can. Even if we leave now, we’ll still be too late to have our pick of my father’s favourite meat and vegetables. I yield briefly to a familiar ache of fear in my stomach before opening my bedroom door.
I take a single, giant footstep to cross the hall and press my ear against my mother’s door. I’m not sure what I hope to hear. The sound of her cleaning, perhaps. Maybe she’s already back from town. Maybe she went without me today. I hope, that instead of falling behind on today’s chores, she’s getting a head start. But silence reigns in her room, and I know she’s not in there.
I slip off my shoes and creep along the old floorboards of the hall. After years of practice, I know exactly where to step and where not to. Some floorboards will show me mercy and keep the secret of my presence, and others will rat me out with their creaks and groans.
Reaching the front room, I find my father passed out on the rug sleeping off last night’s whiskey. The stove has burnt itself out during the night, and the cold is creeping in. I spy Pa’s coat on the armchair beside him and I drape it over him, desperate to keep him warm. If I hurry, I might have enough time to make it to the market and back before he wakes.
As I tiptoe away a sudden snort and body turning behind me freezes me in my tracks. I hold my breath until I hear my father turn onto his back and continue snoring.
I set my shoes down just outside the kitchen door and creep inside. My head is telling me to hurry to market, but my heart is telling me not to leave before I check on my mother.
I put the page down with shaking fingers and look at my grandmother. Nana’s eyes are open now.
‘Nana,’ I say, struggling to catch my breath. ‘Is this… is this a true story? The girl I’m reading about is you, isn’t it?’
‘It’s me, Holly.’ Nana’s voice cracks like a rusty nail being scraped along steel. ‘This is my story.’
‘The father in this story… your father. You were afraid of him, weren’t you? He wasn’t a good man, was he?’
Nana swallows.
‘Maybe we shouldn’t read any more today,’ I say quickly, covering the words on the page with one hand as if hiding the ink means it didn’t happen. ‘I don’t want to upset you.’
‘Holly, sweetheart.’ Nana squeezes my hand as best she can. ‘Remembering won’t upset me. Forgetting would. Read on.’
I can’t hide my concern as I stroke my thumb across the back of her bony hand.
‘Holly, please.’ Nana’s voice is a dull whisper. ‘Please read to me.’
‘Shh,’ I encourage gently, worried that just a few simple words are enough to leave her exhausted. ‘I’ll read more. I’ll read more.’
I skip to the next page and begin again…
The village is quieter than usual today. The town square is normally a hub of activity at this time on a Saturday morning. Everyone says we have the best farmers’ market in the county, and people come from most of the neighbouring towns to get their hands on the delicious fresh produce. But only a handful of people litter the square this morning, and most of the farmers are packing up empty boxes and getting ready to leave. My breath sticks in the back of my throat as if it’s laced with glue, and I panic that I’m too late to buy food for the week.
‘Miss Annie,’ a deep male voice calls out behind me.
