Chapter 7
When Aurelia woke the next morning, it was because of pain instead of her alarm. She was curled into a ball at the bottom of the stairwell and had to slowly unwind her limbs and stretch them out before she could stand up.
She’d fallen asleep listening to the voices coming through from the other side of the door, fascinated by the bits of conversation she could make out as their volume rose and fell.
There was a heated discussion about whether the Royal Navy could continue to outmaneuver Napoleon and excited theorizing about what type of sleeves would be popular in the coming season.
It wasn’t exactly the stuff of current affairs.
Still, once Aurelia had gotten over her initial panic, she’d almost enjoyed hearing the voices transition from the annoying noise that had kept her awake at night, to conversations between people with unique personalities and points of view.
The vaporizing hand had dispelled Aurelia’s fear of intruders once and for all.
She was now almost certain they were ghosts, but so many?
In one shop? She’d heard of one ghost haunting a place before, but a whole crowd?
She tried to think if there was anyone she could confide in but felt certain that everyone she knew would likely say the same thing—her imagination was running wild because of too much time spent alone, too much time reading books, too little time spent processing her recent losses… And maybe they’d be right.
Aurelia focused on the routine of her morning to distract herself from thoughts of ghosts and hauntings.
Moderately alert after breakfast and a shower, she headed down the stairs that led to the shop and stopped at the bottom to pull an oversized cardigan from a peg on the wall.
Slipping her arms into the sleeves, she hesitated for a moment and then pushed open the door. All was quiet below.
She picked up her phone from where she’d left it on the floor, then headed downstairs and went into the back room to make tea.
Pulling a box from a shelf, she found a single teabag left inside, but she’d need two this morning since she was expecting a visitor.
She poked around the shelf and countertop, then bent down to rummage through the cabinets.
At last, she wrapped her hand around a likely box at the back of a cabinet and pulled it out.
It was tea, but there was a small note attached to it, scrawled out in her aunt’s handwriting: Marigold’s tea! Consume at your own peril.
Aurelia laughed, remembering their battles over whose turn it was to buy tea. She’d been convinced that Marigold had a secret stash somewhere, and she’d finally found it. But then her smile wavered, giving way to tears, and she was lost in missing her aunt.
When she heard the click of the electric kettle switching off, the water now ready, Aurelia knew she had to pull herself together.
She’d need to open the shop soon and couldn’t greet customers with tears streaming down her face, so she ran up to the flat to sort herself out.
Once she was mostly back to normal, she grabbed a half-empty box of tea—one that wouldn’t make her cry—and slumped back down the stairs, willing herself to put on a brave face.
Tea made, she left one mug at the desk and carried the other with her as she moved to the front of the shop. Pausing at the Recommended Reads table, she placed her hand on each stack of books, almost believing a mist might appear. But no—she was as solid as ever, as were the books.
Sighing, she moved to the front windows and raised the blinds, then unlocked the door and opened it, taking in the morning.
It was cool enough to see a few wisps of her breath as she exhaled.
Aurelia felt her sadness ebb as the chilly air brushed her skin and she watched the square come to life.
She waved to a neighbor passing on the other side of the street, then retreated inside with her shoulders hunched and her hands wrapped around her mug for warmth.
Her phone rang from where she’d tucked it in her pocket and she jumped, nearly spilling her tea. As she walked to the desk, Aurelia pulled her phone out and saw it was David, one of her oldest friends. She answered as she leaned against the desk to watch for customers.
“Why aren’t you at school?” she asked, knowing his days usually started early since he taught history at a local secondary school.
“Good morning to you too,” he said, his voice muffled. “And I am at school—I’m in between classes, so I can’t talk long, but I wanted to check on you.”
“Me? I’m fine.”
“That’s not what Antonia says.”
“What did she say?” Aurelia felt defensive even though she knew Antonia had plenty to report about her—like questions about ghosts and worries over burglars.
“She said you’ve been weird and need to get out of the shop. So, you’re going on a date tonight.”
“No, I’m not,” Aurelia insisted before her curiosity took over and she added, “With who?”
“With Oliver. He works with James at his publishing house.”
Aurelia bit back a smile; David loved calling the publisher where his boyfriend worked a ‘publishing house,’ even though James insisted it was a tiny company that was more like a publishing closet than a house.
“I’ve never heard James mention someone named Oliver—and I’m not going.”
“That’s because Oliver just started working there a few weeks ago. Listen, I can’t raise my voice right now because my students are filing in, but you’re going,” David informed her.
“Have you even met this man?”
“Of course I have.”
“How old is he?” Aurelia challenged.
“Mid-thirties?” David guessed. “He’s our age,” he added defensively.
“What’s his surname?”
“Just call him Oliver.”
“You don’t know it, do you?”
“Look, I’ve got to go,” he whispered urgently. “I’ll text you the details later.”
David hung up before she could keep arguing, leaving her to shake her head indignantly.
“I’m not going,” she muttered to herself as she sipped her tea.
A date was the last thing she needed after sleepless nights and strange happenings in the shop.
Antonia was just meddling and, as one of Aurelia’s closest friends, David was only too happy to join in.
His parents had moved to the outskirts of London from Kenya when he was in primary school and the two of them had bonded after an eventful school outing when they discovered that they both became carsick on buses.
Their long friendship meant he knew her sister well since Antonia was only two years older than them, and they’d spent plenty of time together over the years.
It was fun when they were all plotting something in tandem but far less fun when Aurelia was the one being plotted about.
She would just have to ring him back during his afternoon break and tell him to call the date off.
Aurelia was still grumbling to herself when she spotted an older man walking past the square and heading for the shop. The sight of him instantly lifted her mood and she smiled as he opened the door and set its bell ringing.
“Good morning, Mark!”
“Morning, Aurelia.”
He walked slowly toward her, favoring an old injury in his right knee, and greeted her with a wistful smile.
Mark was in his late sixties and had rumpled salt-and-pepper hair and stubble that was less an aesthetic choice than a sign that he wasn’t taking particularly good care of himself.
He wore an old tweed coat and a maroon scarf that had seen better days, but Aurelia knew he wouldn’t part with it for the world.
Marigold had knitted it for him many years ago after tutting to see him underdressed for midwinter.
Mark quickly became a regular visitor to the shop, but it had taken him years to confess his feelings for Marigold.
She had let him down gently, but they remained friends, with Mark ever pining for her.
“How’ve you been?” Aurelia asked, sliding the extra mug of tea across the counter.
“Oh, doing alright,” Mark said, pausing to take a sip. “I was wondering how you were doing, since… Well, it was a year ago this week, wasn’t it?”
Aurelia blinked hard and only just managed to keep from crying again. She hadn’t expected Mark to remember, though he’d witnessed Aurelia and Marigold struggling through the difficult days and weeks after her mother’s death.
“It was, yeah. Thanks, Mark.”
He reached out a tentative hand and patted her arm.
“It’s been a hard year, but you’ve come through just fine,” he said encouragingly.
“I don’t know about that,” Aurelia said, rubbing at a muscle in her neck that was still sore from last night’s cramped sleeping position.
“No, you’ve got to give yourself credit,” Mark scolded, though not unkindly. “Taking on the shop all on your own… I know Marigold would have been so impressed. She was lucky—she had her aunt to lean on for help when she first started.”
“Mmm… I’m trying, anyway,” she said with a half-hearted laugh.
“This place is very special to me—to a lot of people.” Mark stooped to catch her eye and then nodded. “It means a great deal to us, knowing it’ll always be here.”
After Marigold’s death, Mark had stopped visiting the shop, leaving Aurelia to worry over him.
A few weeks after the funeral, however, he appeared on a Monday morning, just after Aurelia had opened for the day.
They didn’t exchange a word; she just walked over and threw her arms around him.
They’d shared a long hug that both of them needed, then she made him tea and let him wander.
After that, he’d made it a habit to stop by on Monday mornings and Aurelia always looked forward to seeing him.
“I’ve spent so many happy hours here,” he continued.
“Lately it feels a bit… like a place to clock in each day,” Aurelia said quietly.
“I’d hate to think that were true.”
Aurelia saw the concern in Mark’s face and felt guilty for not sharing his enthusiasm.
“I think I’m still just settling in, getting used to running it myself,” she said, repeating what had become her now-constant refrain.
“You’ve got to find a way to put your own stamp on the place,” Mark said knowingly. “This carpet, those curtains—that was all Marigold. And she was very particular about the books she set out on the table,” he added, nodding to the Recommended Reads table.
“I keep meaning to rearrange those,” Aurelia admitted with a frown.
“Well, I’m going to need a new recommendation one of these days,” Mark said kindly. “When you’re ready.”