Page 89 of Merrily Ever After
Dear Merry,
It was lovely to bump into you …
My eyes skimmed the words, scarcely believing what I was reading.
‘Oh my …’ I gasped, staring at Nell.
Her eyes widened. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s from Emily.’ I swallowed; my mouth had gone dry. ‘That girl who came to the stall with her mum a few weeks ago.’
Nell looked nonplussed. ‘Who?’
I moved closer so that we could read it together, my heart thumping so hard that I could hardly catch my breath. I had to read it twice before it started to sink in. When I got to the end a second time, I delved back into the envelope and pulled out a photograph.
‘Oh my God, Nell, look!’ My hands were shaking so much that she had to hold it still for me. ‘It’s me. That baby – that is me!’
‘You’re kidding!’ Her mouth opened, looking from the picture to me and back again.
I’d seen pictures of me in that dress before. It was our flat too, I recognised it straight away, my mum must have taken the photograph. And the man … Memories stirred inside me, snatches of his voice, the roughness of his cheek against mine, the lemony smell of his skin … I knew him. I remembered him. I knew him only as Mum’s friend.
I read the letter again, tears running down my face.
‘I don’t understand what all this means.’ Nell frowned.
‘I think it means …’ I sobbed; my throat so tight I had to fight to find the words. ‘I think it means that I might have found my family.’
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Merry
Delilah’s Café doorbell tinkled as I entered, and a girl hurried out from the kitchen to serve me. I quickly cast my eye over the clientele, looking for Emily, but I was the first to arrive.
This place was the closest café to Harley’s school, where Emily worked, and meeting here had been her suggestion; neutral territory, she’d said on the phone this morning.
I’d only dropped Harley off and collected him from school a handful of times, but on how many of those occasions had Emily been there? Or in Wetherley market, or out shopping in Bakewell? How many times over the years had we had sliding doors moments? According to her dad, he wasmydad too. Which meant I had a sister. A dad and a sister in the space of a few hours. This whole thing was surreal. It felt like I was living in a dream.
I wanted it to be true. I wanted it so badly that my body was in pain: my stomach was in knots, my shoulders tight and every so often my heartbeat would treble … even my jaw ached from being tensed ever since opening Emily’s letter this morning.
‘What would you like?’ the girl asked. Her black hair was tied up in a red and white polka-dot scarf and she wore a matching apron. She waved her hand elegantly over thedisplay of cakes like a conductor summoning her orchestra. ‘I can recommend the boozy puff pastry mince pies.’
‘They do look delicious,’ I replied. My body wasn’t in the mood for food; it was far too busy trying to keep my heart from taking the elevator from my feet to my throat. ‘But just a gingerbread latte please.’
‘I wish I had your willpower,’ she said wistfully. ‘My name is Delilah and I’m a pastry-aholic. Take a seat wherever you like. I’ll bring it over.’
‘Thanks. I’ll open a tab if that’s OK? I’m expecting someone.’ I turned to glance at the door in case she’d arrived while my back was turned. But there was no one behind me.
‘Of course.’ Delilah smiled. ‘And if you change your mind about cakes or pastries, let me know.’
The café was warm and cosy and smelled of vanilla and coffee and caramelised sugar. The counter was at the front, the centre was taken up with three squishy leather sofas and the rest of the space was filled with random tables and mismatched velvet chairs. A pink Christmas tree, decorated in delightfully kitsch decorations, was squeezed between a coat stand and a small table piled haphazardly with newspapers, and fairy lights were strung around the windows and across a chalkboard announcing the day’s menu.
Delilah had gone to a lot of effort to make her customers relax, I thought, choosing a window table where I could see someone arriving from any direction. Any other time and it would have worked for me, but now I perched stiffly on a chair and set my phone on the table just in case Emily cancelled at the last minute. I checked the time; still ten minutes before we were due to meet.
I ran over the phone call she and I had had earlier afterexchanging a few texts. It was all a bit blurry, like when you went to the doctor’s and they gave you precise instructions and you nodded, thinking you were taking it all in, and then, as soon as you got home, realised you hadn’t understood a word. She thanked me over and over for getting in touch and I said that I should be the one doing the thanking and then we’d both cried for the rest of the conversation. I had so many questions and so did she. At which point, it was obvious we had to meet and share what we knew as soon as possible. And as we’d met before, I didn’t see any reason to be worried that she might turn out to be a psycho.
We’d met before. I shook my head in wonder at that; it was too incredible to comprehend.
I looked up and down the street through the window. It was late afternoon and already dark outside, and the café had probably already waved goodbye to most of today’s customers. There weren’t many of us here. A couple of men were sipping hot chocolates and whispering together. A woman with a pair of glasses perched in her hair tapped at her laptop and two young people in hoodies and joggers were playing cards.
