Chapter 1 #3
Hello stranger! If you’ve found this card, then the hand of fate has just tapped you on the shoulder, and now she wants to give you a big hug!
Life isn’t always easy, and our hearts are fragile things – made of glass, too easily broken.
The people we love can be lost, and the people we love can hurt us.
They leave, they are taken, they simply disappear from our worlds.
Sometimes we even seem to disappear from our own.
It’s not your fault, you know. You did everything that you could, and we all deserve a second chance.
This is yours – an invitation to come and visit us and our perfect little bookshop by the sea.
Take a leap of faith and head north, to our tiny patch of paradise.
You’ll find a warm welcome, friendship, free board and lodging, and a place to heal.
A bed to sleep in, books to read, and wonders to explore.
It won’t cost you a penny, and at the very least you’ll have a free holiday – and maybe something so much more.
This isn’t a hoax, and as they say, life isn’t a dress rehearsal.
Are you brave enough to take a chance? If not, then at least remember this: don’t give up.
Don’t accept that you have run out of choices.
If you’re not the right person and this is not the right time, please leave this envelope where you found it, maybe with a message of your own.
If you are, then we’ll see you soon. No need to call us, or book ahead – in fact we specifically ban it!
You trust us, and we’ll trust you – just turn up.
The address is on the back of this card.
The Bookshop at the Edge of the World will be waiting!
I flip it over, and see a stamp. Bonnie Bay in Aberdeenshire, which certainly sounds like the kind of place that could be at the edge of the world.
It’s got to be some kind of marketing gimmick, I think, reading the card again.
Maybe people look it up, and then there’s an internet scam where they tell you the holiday is free, but you need to pay a one-off admin fee of ￡500.
Except… it doesn’t feel like that. Those words were real, heartfelt.
Authentic. I could almost touch the warmth radiating from them, the very genuine sense of hope and honesty behind them.
It’s crazy, but I feel like it might almost just be true.
I also feel like those words, that message, could specifically have been for me.
Kate Daniels, the invisible woman. That’s even more crazy, but it’s what I feel.
I’m still staring at the card when the shop lady joins me. I pass it to her, saying: ‘This fell out of the book. The book that fell on me. I think it must belong to you.’
She pops a pair of reading glasses on and inspects it, her mouth quirking into a smile as she takes it in.
‘Well,’ she replies, handing it right back. ‘I’d say it very much belongs to you. The book didn’t fall on my head, did it? Are you going to go? To Bonnie Bay?’
‘I can’t. It’s in Scotland.’
‘I believe they have these new-fangled inventions called trains these days, my dear. It’s Scotland, not Timbuktu.’
I turn the idea over in my mind, realise that I am actually considering it. No, I tell myself. It’s stupid. I’m stupid. I couldn’t even get the bus home tonight without messing up, never mind go on a wild adventure like this.
‘I can’t afford it,’ I say lamely. ‘Plus it’s stupid.’
‘It very much is not stupid! I think it’s rather charming.
And it’s a free holiday, like they say. In a bookshop, and you obviously like those!
Of course, it’s up to you. You could just put it right back in, and let somebody else find it.
Or you could ask yourself this: why did that book fall on my head? ’
‘Probably because I’m a disaster magnet.’
‘Or maybe because it was meant for you. Maybe because you’re the right person, at the right time. Take the book home with you. Think it over.’
I protest, telling her I couldn’t possibly do such a thing. I really really want to, but I can’t.
‘My name is Magda, and I own this bookshop,’ she replies sternly, pinning me with a fierce gaze over her glasses.
‘So it’s up to me if I want to give something away.
Or I can write your name down in my records, and you can pay me later.
A whole ￡4.99. I have no real idea where that one came from – we have stock coming in from all over the country, from sales and from suppliers, so I can’t give you any more information.
But the card doesn’t look ancient, does it?
It looks like someone could have written it in the last few years, or the last few days.
Imagine how disappointed they’ll be if nobody ever takes them up on their offer! ’
She’s right. It doesn’t look too old. And I could do something sensible like look it up online or call them, just to put my mind at rest. It would be just my luck to take a leap of faith and end up joining a cult, or getting abducted by friendly axe murderers.
My fingers run over the words in front of me. I have had my heart broken. The person I loved has hurt me. And even though logically I know that I did my best, part of me does still blame myself for what went wrong. Plus, the damn book did practically leap off that shelf and attack me.
I glance at the clock on the wall, and jump to my feet. Time has passed much more quickly than I thought, and I need to make a dash to try and get the next bus.
‘Thank you,’ I say as I grab my coat. ‘For this place. For the book. For being so nice. I promise I’ll pay you back.’
She walks with me to the door, and pats me on the shoulder as I leave. ‘A postcard from Bonnie Bay would be payment enough…’
I nod, and stare out at the still busy street, the still pouring rain. I don’t care about any of it – my mind is now completely occupied by that card. Who sent it? Why did it feel so much like it was meant for me? What would happen if I did actually just turn up?
Maybe, I think, there’s only one way to find out…