Page 2 of The Mended Hearts Bookshop

Ash thought about how many dead bodies were potentially bobbing around under the giant cruise ship and shuddered. “Fine. There’s nothing to worry about. I’m perfectly fine. And if I do choke to death in my sad lonely flat, I’ll make sure to show up and haunt you, just so that you’re not left uninformed.”

“There’s no need to be flippant. Love you.”

Ash sighed. “Love you, Mum.”

Her mother had a habit of assuming that Ash had never grown up, and to be honest, after a ten minute conversation, Ash was left feeling like she’d never grown up. Like she was a sulkyfifteen year old on her fourth step-father, rather than an almost forty year old with a flat and a job and interests.

She unlocked the building door and walked into the foyer, where she was greeted by rows of mailboxes. Without much thought, and definitely without thinking that she was about to change her life for good, Ash opened her box and pulled out a tiny slip of paper with something scrawled on it.

A tremble of anger went up her spine.

Honestly, she’d been out for all of a couple of hours, and spent most of her time at home. How come the only time she went out was when the postman actually came? Was he watching and waiting for her to leave?

And surely the point of a registered letter was that it was supposed to be delivered to her. Not to a neighbor.

She blew out a breath and closed her eyes, standing in front of the now empty mailbox.

She could attempt to avoid the situation. If she didn’t knock on the Brown’s front door then perhaps they’d knock on hers, leaving her slightly more in control of the situation.

Or maybe they’d slide whatever it was into her mailbox.

Or perhaps they’d just forget about it.

But then, it might be important. Not that she was expecting anything important. But you never knew.

She ran her hand through her short, dark hair and squared her shoulders. As much as she disliked her neighbors, this was ridiculous. They had something that belonged to her, and she needed to go and get it. It was that simple.

And, as her mother often told her, it was better to eat the frog for breakfast. By which she meant it was better to do the thing you didn’t want to do first and get it over with. Ash had already eaten muesli for breakfast, and had uncharacteristically had a protein bar for lunch due to the concert. She was planning cheese on toast for dinner.

Right, fine. She stomped up the stairs. But see if the postman got a Christmas tip this year from her. She marched her way to the Brown’s door and then tapped on it before getting angry with herself for being pathetic and rapping on it smartly.

“Yes?” said a voice as the door opened. Then Amanda Brown stood there wreathed in smiles, her hair newly colored and in tight curls close to her head. “Ashley, how lovely to see you. How can I help you? Oh, yes, that’s right, the postie did leave something for you. Come in, come in.”

“No,” Ash said quickly. She swallowed. “No, thank you. I’m in a hurry.”

“Nonsense,” said Amanda, holding the door further open. “Come in, come in, now let me think, where did I put that letter?”

Only when it became clear that the woman wasn’t going to look for the letter until the door was closed did Ash step inside.

“How are you dear?” Amanda asked. “Now let me see, where is that letter?” She poked ineffectually around a messy hall table.

“Fine,” Ash said through gritted teeth. How hard could this be? She’d literally just received the letter, it couldn’t have gone far.

“Good, good,” said Amanda. Then she grinned, holding up a brown envelope. “Here we go.”

Ash reached out for it, thinking perhaps she’d gotten lucky this time. But Amanda held it back, slightly out of reach.

“Now, let’s see, what about Thursday?”

“Thursday?” Ash asked, knowing what was about to come and dreading it.

“Yes, for dinner. You haven’t been round for months Ashley, we’re starting to think that you dislike us.” She giggled here. “So Thursday at seven then?”

It wasn’t that Ash disliked the Browns. Though she sort of did. It was more their insistence at being friends that she didn’tenjoy. After all, this was London, people were supposed to be cold and uncaring, something that Ash very much enjoyed. “I’m afraid...” she began.

“Nonsense,” Amanda said again. “We won’t take no for an answer.”

Which was a shame, since that was the very answer Ash wanted to give. The thought of an evening surrounded by Amanda, her husband Jim, and their two blonde-haired children who had an awful predilection for recorder playing and impromptu concerts, made Ash feel slightly sick. “But...” she began again.

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