Page 30 of The Mended Hearts Bookshop

In the end she tucked the book tidily under the counter and wiggled the computer mouse to make her screen come to life.

She checked her email, flicked through a few sites, and then sighed again.

Her original plan hadn’t been amazing, but she’d figured she’d get at least something from one of the genealogical websites. Some kind of… what? Now that she thought about it, it wasn’t like she had that much information to give herself.

After all, what did she know other than her own name and her mother’s? She didn’t even… Quickly she clicked onto Google and made a search request. Alright, that might be a start. She clickedagain, filling in the appropriate information and her credit card number. A copy of her birth certificate would be with her within three weeks, she was promised on the final screen.

Great. Only almost a month. She gritted her teeth. Why was it so hard to find anything out? She was beginning to sympathize slightly with solicitor Snythe. Tracking down families was a lot harder than she’d imagined.

Mind you, if her father was anything like the idiot she’d just read about in that stupid book, all illogical feelings and doing anything for love, she didn’t think she’d be able to stand him. Not that she actually planned on meeting him. Probably.

Mostly she just wanted to sort out this bookshop business. She wanted to be sure that she was the right person and that some rightful heir wasn’t going to come tracking her down years from now to demand money from the sale.

Then she wanted to know more about Mary. She still couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something she needed there, some secret that Mary was keeping about who she was, the life she led, the happiness she had.

There was a faint meow as the damned cat slipped around the counter and then hopped up on top of a bookshelf. Ash bared her teeth and growled at him. He ignored her completely.

“Nice look,” George said, coming up the stairs from the cellar just in time. “A bark or growl won’t do you any good though, Fab loves dogs. All the online orders are done, Billy will pick them up in the morning when he’s done with his rounds.”

“Billy?” Ash asked.

“Um, postman?” George said. “Do you not know his name yet? You’ve been here nearly two weeks.”

“Why would I know the postman’s name?”

“Because…” George shook his head. “Never mind.”

“No, I want to know, why would I?”

“Because he drops in here nearly every day and asks how you are and gives you your letters and because why wouldn’t you? You live here now.”

“Temporarily,” Ash reminded him, though the idea of keeping the flat upstairs was growing on her. She walked on the beach every day and the quiet evenings were perfect for getting her work done. She was starting to like it here, to like the way the days were all the same.

There was no opera, of course, or lunchtime concerts, or museums to go to. But she supposed she could still take the train up to London for those things from time to time.

“Right, temporarily,” George said. He sniffed. “Pen thinks you’ll end up staying, you know.”

Ah, there was the current obstacle standing in her way. If she did stay, how was she supposed to persuade the blonde to just leave her alone? Or at least to knock before coming in, and to limit her visits to no more than once a week rather than two or three times a day.

“Mmm,” was all Ash felt comfortable saying to this.

“You should give her a chance,” said George. “She’s really lovely, you’ll like her if you give her a chance and you never know, you two might—”

“We two nothing, she’s an interfering little… something,” Ash said sharply.

George rolled his eyes. “Fine, well, then, I suppose I’m off. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Hold on,” Ash said, putting her hands on the counter. “Where do you think you’re going? It’s only one o’clock.”

“It’s my half day,” said George, picking up his jacket from behind the counter. “You’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

“Well… what if I’m not?” she said, starting to panic slightly. “What if… I don’t know, what if there’s some kind of book emergency?”

“There are no book emergencies,” George said, pulling his coat on. “And if there were, well, I suppose you’d just have to deal with them. This is your shop, after all. Temporarily, that is.”

“But…” Ash took a breath. “How about we ask Pen to come in and help?”

George looked at her as if she’d grown two heads. “Pen has her own shop to run, she doesn’t have time to run around after you. Which is something you should remember. All those biscuits and cakes she brings you, they all take work, you know?”

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