Chapter 15
Miranda asks me to go to the till and help a woman with a book she wants to buy. As I get closer, I can see its title – Summer Kisses at Sandcastle Bay. The cover features a couple running barefoot through the surf, holding hands.
The woman is in her early fifties, with curly blonde hair and distinctive red-and-white square glasses. ‘I’m looking for something light,’ she says, gesturing towards the book. ‘Is this sad at all?’
With a shrug, I say, ‘I’m not a romance reader, but I will say I have heard people say good things about this author – Aimee Heart – and the books she writes.’
The woman nods. ‘I used to adore romance books.’
‘Used to?’
She grimaces. ‘Before my divorce; I learned that love comes with legal fees.’
I watch her study the book’s cover. ‘It’s been three years, and my friends say I should start dating again. I don’t know where to start.’
The urge to tell her about all the horrible things I have seen about love is strong. I would love to go on a date without my curse spoiling it.
The woman is looking at me. ‘Do you have anyone special in your life?’
I shake my head. ‘Dating is not for me.’
‘I wish I were like you,’ observes the woman, repositioning her glasses. ‘The thing is, I’ve started gazing fondly at couples at restaurants, in the theatre and at music concerts and wishing I had someone to lean against, someone to laugh with and someone to share my life with. Sad, eh?’
She taps her card against the card reader. ‘I will read this and see what happens.’
‘Good luck because… you will need it.’ The last part must have come out a little too strong, as she gives me an odd look.
I serve two customers and look up to see Eva. The sight of her gazing at me sends my stomach into a nauseating spin. In my head, I can still hear her angry screams at me.
You’re jealous, Nelly. I never want to see you again.
The memory of the day she moved out rushes back. Karl came with her to pack up her stuff. She must have told him about me, as on the stairs, he called me a nasty bitch.
I gulp back a wave of emotion.
Her blonde hair is styled into a shoulder-length bob.
She wears a loose sweatshirt, jeans, and trainers, and as she moves towards the till, and an awkward silence descends over us both.
I notice she isn’t wearing any makeup, which is peculiar.
When we shared a flat, Eva’s desk always resembled a make-up counter at Boots.
Eva was the one who taught me how to apply foundation, eye shadow, mascara, and do a bit of contouring. Maybe Karl prefers her to look natural.
‘Hi, Nelly,’ she says quietly.
‘Hello.’
She picks up one of the pens for sale on the counter and fiddles with it. With her eyes fixed on the pen, she says, ‘I need to say some things.’
My defences are rising. ‘What things do you need to say?’
‘Karl and I have split up.’
An uncomfortable feeling takes hold of me. Was my curse right?
She places the pen back in its box. ‘Everything in my life is a mess. His and Esther’s betrayal still hurts me.’
I should never question my curse. It is always right.
‘I still can’t believe Karl made me give up my BookTok account. But that’s not what I wanted to say.’ She looks at me directly. ‘I’m sorry about what happened between us, and I want to be your friend again.’
I blink a few times. I’m close to accepting her apology and hugging her, but I stop myself. She could have a new man in her life, and my vision might show me their love ending. Do I want to risk touching her when my curse will surely ruin everything again?
I can’t do it. After she moved out, I spiralled. It took me months to recover. I shudder with shame at all the pain and suffering my curse caused.
‘Please, Nelly, I miss your friendship.’
The risk of hurting her and myself again is too high. Friendships are not for me. ‘Thanks for apologising, it means a lot. I don’t think we should go back to being friends though.’
‘Why not?’
‘My curse is too much of a burden.’ Tears sting my eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’
The silence between us is uncomfortable. I grip onto the till counter to steady myself. She nods and casts me a weak smile. ‘Oh… well, it was nice to see you.’
I watch her walk out of the bookshop until everything goes blurry. ‘It is for the best, Eva,’ I whisper.
Thoughts about Eva and my curse nibble away at me as I serve the next customer.
When the bookshop is quiet, I catch sight of Henry’s book jutting out of the shelf under the counter. My curiosity is peaking. I have not read Margo Lane’s book. I pull out the book and read the sleeve.
The Water Holds Me – How I Learned to Float Again. A memoir about healing and the unexpected power of swimming to pull us back to the surface, one stroke at a time.
The thought of swimming makes me uncomfortable. I haven’t been swimming since the car crash. It reminds me of Mum too much.
The words ‘pull us back to the surface’ make me think about how, after one of my visions, I feel like I’m underwater.
A memory I have buried deep at the back of my mind rushes to the front, as if carried on the crest of a wave.
Mum and I are in the car travelling to my swimming practice.
I’m trying to tell her about my curse. ‘Sometimes when I am not wearing my gloves, I touch people, and I see…’ She doesn’t let me finish.
Instead, she puts her hand on my arm. ‘Promise me, Penelope, you will keep swimming. Now, I wonder what stroke you will be practising today.’
That was odd. I remember thinking that perhaps Mum didn’t hear me. Our car was noisy. Dad used to say we had to ignore the sounds and say nice things about it, as it was old. Even though he and Aunt Polly were not close, they shared similar views on talking to cars.
My mind drifts to Henry. He said the book was for his mum. I recall his mum telling us about how she swam as a child.
‘Can you tell me if my medieval history book has arrived?’ I look up with a jolt to see Mrs Richards, one of our regular customers. In a fluster, I shove Henry’s book back under the counter. I’m busy tapping the details into the laptop when I hear a voice.
‘Excuse me.’ I lift my eyes to see Mr Ellis. ‘Have you managed to find my cookbook?’
‘Mr Ellis, I am serving this customer—’
Mrs Richards gestures towards Mr Ellis. ‘Serve this gentleman. I want to have a quick look at that new crime book on the shelf over there.’
Frustration bubbles inside me. Mr Ellis smiles. His blue eyes twinkle, and all my agitation disappears. ‘I’m sorry. Once I think of Joan’s chicken casserole, I can’t think of anything else.’
‘Barbara Plum’s cookery book is out of print.’
His face lightens. ‘You remembered the name of it without checking your notes. That means something to me.’
I smile. ‘I will need to speak to my contacts who run second-hand bookshops.’
‘Will you do that for me?’ With a shaky hand, he scratches his tuft of white hair.
‘Yes, I will, Mr Ellis. I have your contact details.’
He smiles. ‘That cookery book is my time machine. Thank you for helping me.’
I watch him hobble away. As the doorbell rings behind him, I reflect on how he still wishes to cook the dishes his wife used to make when she was alive. Surely love doesn’t live on within a recipe for chicken casserole.