The Lost Bookshop(94)

‘Mein liebling,’ he said.

All of this time, we had kept our distance from one another. I suddenly realised that, at least for my part, it was purely out of fear of losing another person that I loved. I had fooled myself into thinking that if I didn’t allow myself to get close to him, I wouldn’t miss him if he left. Stupid, stupid woman. Intimacy is only one string on the bow. The instrument still plays the music.

He took my hands in his, turned my palms upwards, then lifted them to his face, one on each cheek. Then he took each one and kissed them. The sadness that always seemed to tug at the corners of his mouth was still there, but there was something else. A vulnerability he had not let me see before.

It felt like time had slowed, just for this moment, as if he wasn’t being whisked away from my life. I tilted my head upwards and let my lips linger next to his. I could feel his breath and watched as he let his eyes close. I brushed my lips ever so lightly around his mouth, then kissed the corners that would curl in a smile when he thought I wasn’t looking. His arm pressed tightly against my lower back and when I could no longer hold back, I let myself melt into him. We felt like one person and I knew that no matter what happened, I had met my true soulmate, and maybe that was enough. Just knowing he was out there, breathing, living, would have to be enough.





I couldn’t watch him leave. It was only when the engine of his motorbike faded that I went back out on to the street. Empty once again.





Chapter Fifty





MARTHA





Have you read the end of the book?

I blinked at Henry' message on my phone. The sun wasn’t even up yet. Had he spent all night reading it?

I texted back:

No





I mean, I’d peeked ahead. Everyone does that, don’t they? But it’s hard to make sense of an ending when you don’t have all the facts. A Place Called Lost was the story of a building that may never have existed in real life and a potential custodian who was most likely a fictional character. The one thing it hadn’t mentioned was the one thing Henry was desperate to find – the manuscript.

‘The manuscript,’ I whispered to myself. The leaves on the tree shimmered and shook as I said it. I stretched my arm up over my head and touched the wood, so familiar to me now. How could I even begin to explain it to him when I couldn’t even explain it to myself?

We arranged to meet up later and speak in person. Another bittersweet conversation where I would pretend that I hadn’t fallen in love with him. I groaned loudly and got up to prepare Madame Bowden’s breakfast. I took my frustration out in the kitchen, banging saucepans and plates, and brought a plate full of sausages and scrambled eggs to the dining-room table. I finally decided that I would tell her about Opaline’s book and the documents we’d stolen from the asylum. I was glad Henry had given them to me, but he was right – it did not make for happy reading. To have lost her daughter in that awful place, she must have wanted revenge on her brother. I know I would have. I thought of Shane and his accident. Madame Bowden had hardly flinched.

Something was tugging at my mind and I wondered why she hadn’t come down for breakfast yet. Every morning she was the one to wake me with her shrill voice and endless demands. What if there was something wrong with her? With every step I climbed I told myself I was being stupid and that she was just having a nice long lie in, but I didn’t really believe it. I knocked on the door to her bedroom and, after a moment, let myself in. My eyes adjusted to the scene. Her bed had not been slept in and she herself was nowhere to be seen.

‘Madame Bowden?’ I called out. ‘Are you there?’

The door to the ensuite was slightly ajar, but on further inspection, it was empty.

‘Hello?’ I called out on to the landing, but the house had such an air of stillness that I knew I was alone.

I checked downstairs for a note but there was nothing. Of course she did not have a mobile phone, so I couldn’t call her. She refused to have her daily movements monitored by technology companies. I wasn’t sure what to do and spent the morning wandering from room to room, looking out of the windows at the street outside every few minutes.

‘Do you have any of her friends’ numbers that you could call?’ my mother asked, when the worry became too much and I had to call someone.

‘I can’t remember any of their names and there’s no address book or anything.’ It was only now I realised that I knew so little about the woman. ‘Should I call the police? What if she’s wandered off somewhere and forgotten where she is?’

‘Has she ever seemed forgetful?’ my mother asked.

‘Well, no, but you saw her when you were here, she is pretty old.’

‘I didn’t see her.’

Her answer seemed out of place – like trying to force a cube into a round hole.

‘What are you saying? Of course you saw her. I introduced you both when you were here the other day.’

After a pause my mother spoke again. ‘She wasn’t there when I stopped by, remember?’

My flesh broke out in goosebumps. What the hell was going on? I almost jumped when I heard the doorbell ring.

‘Maybe that’s her now,’ I said, rushing to open the door, but it was Henry.

‘You may as well come in,’ I said, then told my mother I would call her back.