CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The next morning, I woke later than planned, having forgotten to set my alarm.
My shift at the café started at twelve that day, which usually gave me plenty of time to get ready. But having been up talking to Blaize until all hours, I’d have to get a move on if I was to get to work on time.
Stumbling down to the kitchen, I met Mum putting the kettle on, looking as exhausted as I felt.
‘Did you sleep okay?’ I asked her.
‘Actually, I did.’ She smiled wearily. ‘It was probably through sheer relief at having unburdened myself to you yesterday. So thank you, darling.’ She gave me a little hug.
‘I’ve been giving our finances some thought. We don’t need the dining room, so why don’t we turn it into a bedroom and offer bed and breakfast? It might keep us ticking over until the mortgage is paid off?’
Mum nodded. ‘Funnily enough, that’s exactly what I was thinking myself. That’s why I was talking about giving the place a bit of a make-over, although I didn’t want to worry you by telling you why.’
‘All we’d need for the dining room would be a lick of paint and some smart new furniture – and we could start almost immediately.’
She nodded. ‘That’s what I thought. Oh, Lizzie, do you think it could work?’
‘I do. We live in a lovely part of the country and people are always looking for good places to stay. Also, how about we get you set up on something like Vinted and see if we can sell some of those designer clothes? I’m sure you could recoup some of your money that way.’
‘I was thinking about that as well. I just didn’t know where to start.’
‘We’ll do it together,’ I promised.
I hesitated, wondering whether to mention Blaize. But no, it was up to my sister whether she wanted to tell Mum about her secret drinking. Last night, she’d been determined to stop and I’d promised to help her.
I groaned. ‘I wish the Regency Romp Festival wasn’t happening next Saturday. I’m doing extra shifts at the café this week because Ellie’s short-staffed. I doubt I’ll have the energy to practise my lines and iron my costume.’
‘I’ll iron your dress and Blaize can practise with you. She’s not at uni today, is she?’
‘Er . . . no. I don’t think she is.’ I was cringing inside. Mum was going to be so sad when she found out Blaize had been chucked off her law course.
We drank our tea in the sitting room, curled on either end of the sofa, and I honestly could have fallen asleep right there, after all the drama the night before.
Mum was also looking like she might nod off at any moment.
And when Blaize joined us, she sank down in an armchair and started yawning, which of course set us all off.
We were all so listless, I eventually announced I was going to have a shower in the hope it might wake me up. But as I got wearily to my feet, we heard the sound of Kitty’s bedroom door opening. She was running down the stairs and we looked at one another in alarm.
‘What’s going on?’ said Mum.
But when Kitty burst into the room, she was smiling.
‘Where are you going, Lizzie?’ she asked breathlessly. ‘I’ve got something to show you all.’
‘Oh.’ I stared at her, thinking I hadn’t seen Kitty look so energised and excited for a very long time. Since Dad died, in fact. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Well, you know Dad’s stories? The ones he wrote down and read to us when we were little? I had them in my room in that big folder?’
Mum smiled sadly. ‘I’d like to read them again. Your dad was so talented.’
Blaize nodded. ‘I read them soon after he died and I was amazed. He knew just how to connect with little ones, didn’t he?’
‘He was an incredible writer,’ I agreed. ‘So good with words.’
‘Exactly,’ said Kitty, her eyes shining.
‘We were so lucky to have him for a dad, reading to us every night. And I suddenly thought why not let other kids hear his magical stories? So I contacted a few publishers of children’s fiction and while I got some lovely replies, no one was prepared to publish them.
‘So then I thought why not publish them ourselves? I thought it would be complicated but it turns out, it’s really not!
Even I can do it. So then I researched artists to find someone who could illustrate Dad’s stories, and I eventually contacted the local college and they put me in touch with a young art student called Yvonne, who says she’ll happily do the work.
It’ll count towards her final mark so she’s delighted to collaborate with us on the project. ’
‘Is she good?’ I asked eagerly.
Kitty nodded. ‘She emailed me some of her work and she’s incredibly talented. I’ll show you. I think her style will be perfect for the fairy-tale quality of Dad’s stories.’ She beamed around at us all. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think you’ve been really busy up there, my love,’ said Mum, smiling proudly at her middle daughter.
Kitty nodded. ‘I’ve been finding out everything there is to know about self-publishing. But it would be lovely if we could all work on the books together . . . commissioning the illustrations . . . maybe planning a little launch campaign on social media? That kind of thing?’
‘Well, I’m in,’ I said immediately.
Blaize grinned. ‘Me, too. Hey, well done, sis! You had us a bit worried but you were obviously beavering away all this time, being far more productive than me.’ She gave me a look and I gave my head a little shake and smiled at her.
‘I’m so proud of you, love.’ Mum got up and gave Kitty a big hug. ‘Listen up, world! You’re about to find out just what a fabulous story-teller James Bennet actually was.’