Chapter 5
It was Sunday, the shop was closed, and the day seemed to stretch out before Aurelia in an unpleasant way.
Even after vacuuming up broken glass and downing several bracingly strong cups of tea, she still had hours to fill.
But she knew her mind would be stuck on repeat, playing over what had happened.
She considered the evidence: she could see and hear people in the shop in the middle of the night, and they seemed to disappear quite suddenly.
There was also that strange light that came and went along with them.
Narrowing the possibilities, she thought she was either dealing with ghosts or hallucinations.
While neither was particularly appealing, she was leaning toward ghosts since that option was preferable to losing the power of rational thinking.
Aurelia thought of her sister and father, who’d known Aunt Marigold almost as well as she had. Maybe Marigold had mentioned something to them about the shop being haunted? If so, it would go a long way toward easing her mind.
She decided to try calling her father first. He must have heard the tension in her voice because he soon asked if everything was alright.
“Yes, everything’s fine.”
She was determined not to tell him or Antonia about the police since they’d be guaranteed to worry about her.
“It’s silly, really, but I was wondering… Do you remember if Aunt Marigold believed in things… like, supernatural things?”
“What, like ghosts and spirits?”
“Right, that sort of thing. Did she ever mention anything like that?”
“I’d have to think.”
He paused, giving Aurelia time to appreciate that, as a retired philosophy professor, he was game to indulge her by carefully considering an entirely random question.
“I suppose I’d say Marigold was a very practical person,” he reasoned. “She loved her books, same as you, but I think she left fiction to her novels.”
Aurelia sank back into her chair. She had to agree with him; Aunt Marigold had been a very practical, rational person.
If she’d ever encountered something out of the ordinary in the shop, she likely felt as Aurelia did now—unsure if it were actually happening and unwilling to tell anyone and risk them thinking she was unstable.
“Do you believe in those sorts of things, Dad?”
“Do I?” After another thoughtful pause, he replied, “I suppose I believe there are still a few unanswerable mysteries in the world—things that can’t be explained by modern theories. Don’t you?”
Aurelia had to admit that she did. Not only because of recent experience, but other incidents that, so far in her life, she couldn’t explain away with rational explanations.
Like the calls to and from Antonia that one or the other usually anticipated before the phone rang.
Since they never set a date for their calls, it seemed as if one sister could simply sense when the other was about to call.
And how many times had Aurelia seen Marigold hand a customer a book right before they’d asked for it?
“I do, yeah. I like answers, though.”
Her father laughed and said, “Well, mysteries make life a little more enjoyable and unexpected. Just think if your novels answered every question. It wouldn’t leave much room for the imagination, would it?”
“Hmm.” Aurelia smiled. “I see your point, but I still don’t like it.”
“We rarely like what’s good for us.”
“Like Brussels sprouts.”
“Or flossing,” her father added.
Aurelia’s smile widened at the smile she could hear in his voice.
He reminded her that he’d be coming down to London later in the week and they made plans to meet for dinner.
They soon rang off, leaving Aurelia to think about whether what she’d seen in the shop was one of those unanswerable mysteries he’d mentioned.
When she still couldn’t come up with a good answer, she decided to sound out Antonia. She dialed her number and Antonia picked up after the first ring.
“I was just about to call. How’re you doing?” Antonia asked, unfazed by the apparent coincidence.
“Oh, good.” Aurelia tried for a casual tone but failed.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Aurelia fibbed. “I was just thinking about Aunt Marigold this morning.”
Antonia made a vague noise that suggested she was growing distracted, so Aurelia forged ahead.
“Do you remember… Did she ever… I mean—”
Aurelia couldn’t make up her mind how to casually ask her sister about ghosts. It had been easier with her father, somehow.
“Spit it out, Relia.”
Aurelia closed her eyes—nothing for it now.
“Did Aunt Marigold ever mention seeing or hearing anything strange in the shop?”
That had got Antonia’s attention; Aurelia could hear her growing still.
“Strange like what?”
“Just… strange. Unusual.”
“Like noises? Did you hear something again last night?”
Antonia was a bloodhound for intrigue and seemed to sense there was more to Aurelia’s question. Of course, Aurelia had heard something again last night, but it was what she had seen that concerned her.
“I did, but it wasn’t like someone had broken in. It was more like there was… a presence.”
“What, like ghosts?”
“Something like that.”
“Um… I remember her saying she thought there were mice in the walls.”
“I can confirm—there are,” Aurelia groaned.
“Other than that, no. I don’t think she ever talked about feeling a ‘presence’ or seeing a ghost.” Antonia grew serious. “Is it too much, Aurelia? Living there and running the shop? You were out of sorts yesterday, and now—”
“No, I’m fine. Really. I was just curious, that’s all.”
“You’re sure?”
“The shop, the flat—everything’s fine.” Aurelia hoped she sounded convincing.
“The shop’s closed today, right? Can you get out for a bit? You said you went for a walk the other day—are you doing your ‘idea walks’ again?”
“No,” Aurelia said with a sigh. She hadn’t been writing, so she hadn’t needed to go out wandering the city in search of ideas and inspiration like she used to do.
After her mum died, Aunt Marigold had joined her for a while, insisting that she keep up with her walks—and her writing.
Now, with Marigold gone too, Aurelia had lost the habit of it.
“But I could probably do with some fresh air.”
“Go. Maybe you’ll see something out in the world that’ll inspire you to start writing again. Or someone.”
Trust Antonia to seamlessly shift from concern over Aurelia’s well-being to concern over her stagnant love life.
Like her writing, Aurelia’s romantic prospects had tapered off in the wake of her mother’s death.
She’d been dating a nice-enough guy named Brendan for a few months when her mother had gotten sick, and he’d stuck by her through the difficult months that followed.
Aurelia had liked him well enough but knew he wasn’t ‘the one.’ Still, she’d hung onto him—perhaps selfishly, she could admit now—as she’d needed to lean on someone who wasn’t torn up by grief the way her father, sister, and aunt had been.
But when Marigold became sick soon after her mother died, Brendan had broken things off with Aurelia, declaring it all ‘too much.’ She’d been hurt by it, but another, deeper, part of her understood.
She’d wanted to say, ‘Right there with you,’ and walk out on herself.
It had all felt too much—she couldn’t blame him for wanting a relationship with someone who wasn’t wrung out from crying on a daily basis.
Now, months after Aunt Marigold’s death, Aurelia was certain she was still too much for someone new to want to take her on.
“I’m not looking for anyone inspiring just yet, Tonia.”
“Well, keep your eyes open while you’re out, anyway.”
Aurelia returned from a walk, clutching a nearly empty coffee cup as if it might still warm her hands.
Standing in front of the shop door, she peered through the new glass panel, trying to decide whether it was safe to go in.
She’d done the same thing on her way out of the flat as she left for her walk—opened the door a crack and peeked through to confirm the shop was deserted, as it always was on Sundays.
Now, putting up a brave front, Aurelia opened the door and walked inside.
A light gust of wind blew in behind her, sweeping her hair around her face.
She closed the door and turned the lock, then looked around. There was no one there but her.
Hearing a thump above her, she flinched in surprise only to realize it was Fezz hopping down from the window seat.
Not a ghost, then. She sighed at her jumpiness, then climbed the spiral staircase to the mezzanine and waited as Fezz made his way toward her.
Aurelia smiled and shook her head at his glacial, nonchalant pace, then bent down and rubbed his cheek.
“Desperately missed me as usual, hmm?”
She stood and opened the door to the flat, then watched Fezz scramble up the stairs.
Turning back, she looked across the shop, through the mezzanine window, and out to the trees in the small square.
She used to love this view, but now—between taking over the shop and losing sleep over her mysterious nightly visitors—she felt trapped, as though she were looking through the bars of a well-appointed cage.