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‘We don’t understand either, Tilly, my love. We wish we did,’ Grandma would say, and Grandad, as always, would quietly wipe his eyes with his tartan handkerchief.
Tilly pulled her mind back to the box in front of her. Inside were piles of old books, the paper yellowing and the covers tattered and ripped. Tilly stared at them, not sure where to start, but as she went to pull out the top book she heard Jack calling from the shop.
‘Tilly! Vanilla! I’m smearing honey on your book as I speak!’
The bubble popped and Tilly sighed and pushed the box to the side of the kitchen. She wanted to save it until she had uninterrupted time to look through it properly, the way she made sure she had time to savour a new book.
She went back through to Jack in the bookshop. ‘I couldn’t find any vanilla; you should ask Mary,’ Tilly said.
‘Well, go on then.’ Jack gestured impatiently. ‘Go and ask her.’
Tilly opened her mouth to make an excuse, wanting to return to the box of books. But the words weren’t there, so she turned and grabbed an umbrella from by the door, but skidded on something squishy underfoot. She looked down to see a half-eaten sandwich on the wooden floor. She tutted to herself as she picked it up.
‘Honestly, who eats marmalade sandwiches?’ she said to herself as she threw it in the bin outside the shop, and crossed the road to Crumbs, the café run by Mary Roux.
Mary and Jack had a long-standing, mostly affectionate rivalry that was almost entirely one-sided. Mary was always lending Jack things he was missing, and offering him baking tips.
The bell above the door jangled as Tilly went in. She didn’t spot Mary straight away, but she noticed Oskar, Mary’s son, sitting at a table at the back, eating toast. A moment later Mary’s face appeared behind the counter. She was carrying a plate of cupcakes iced in pastel shades, which she handed to a couple with a happily gurgling baby.
Mary grinned when she saw Tilly and beckoned her over once the family had sat down.
‘What can I help you with?’ Mary asked. ‘Has Jack been experimenting again?’
‘He’s trying to make pop cakes, like the ones in the Enid Blyton books,’ Tilly explained, ‘but he’s run out of vanilla and he wondered if he could have a little bit of yours, if you can spare some?’
‘Of course, of course,’ Mary said. ‘Sit down. Let me grab some from the kitchen. Do you want some lunch while you wait? You look a bit peaky.’
‘I’m okay,’ Tilly said. She looked up at Mary, testing how she felt about sharing the news about the box with her. ‘I just found some of my mum’s old stuff. It’s put me in a bit of a funny mood, I guess. I don’t have much that was hers.’
‘Oh, love. I can see why that might have thrown you,’ Mary said before planting a kiss on the top of Tilly’s head. Her hand rested on Tilly’s shoulder a little longer than it usually did and then Tilly felt a squeeze as Mary headed off towards the kitchen. ‘Sit down. I’ll be right back.’
As the door through to the kitchen swung shut Tilly looked at Oskar and tried to make eye contact. He didn’t ever seem to be in Crumbs when Tilly was there, and he’d gone to a different primary school, so although they shared some lessons now they’d never really spoken much.
She tried to wander over casually.
‘Have you started your English homework yet?’ she asked, and Oskar looked up.
‘No?’ Oskar said in surprise. ‘It’s literally the first day of the holidays. But we have to read a book by an author we’ve never read before, right?’
‘Yep,’ Tilly said happily. ‘Best homework ever.’
‘I was thinking … I might come and find something at Pages & Co. later. Maybe? If that was okay?’ he asked.
Tilly beamed. ‘That’s a great idea. I can help you find something, if you want? What do you like to read?’
Oskar scuffed his feet together and looked down at the table.
‘All sorts. I started reading the first Percy Jackson book in the summer holidays and I’m really enjoying it.’
‘They’re so good, right?’ Tilly said. ‘I could not believe it when I found out who Nico’s dad was.’
‘Don’t tell me!’ Oskar said. ‘I haven’t got to that bit yet – I’m still on the first one. I read kind of slowly.’
‘Oskar’s dyslexic,’ Mary said, coming up behind them, a small bottle in one hand and a brown envelope tucked under her arm. ‘But he still loves reading, don’t you, my love?’
‘All right, Mum,’ Oskar said, brushing his mum’s hand off his head in embarrassment.
‘Right, well, you should definitely come over to the shop for your homework book, though,’ Tilly said.
‘Yes, thank you, Tilly. That would be lovely. Why don’t you pop round now, Oskar?’ Mary said, smiling widely.
‘All right, Mum, chill out, okay?’ Oskar said. He turned to Tilly. ‘I’ll come round tomorrow?’
Tilly nodded.
‘Oh, and here’s the reason you came over,’ Mary said, holding out a tiny bottle of vanilla essence. ‘Could you let Jack know I don’t need it back as long as I can try one of his pop cakes?’ She grinned, before putting the envelope down on the table between them and pushing it towards Tilly, who looked at her quizzically.
‘When you told me about your mum’s books it made me think of this,’ she said slowly. ‘I’ve had it for ages. I should have given it to you sooner but, well, when Bea left I tucked it away, and it just slipped my mind until you mentioned finding her things.’
Neither Tilly, Mary nor Oskar seemed sure what to say or do next, so Mary pulled the envelope back towards her, and slid out a slightly faded photograph that showed Bea and Mary as young women on a sofa in the shop. They sat at either end, with their socked feet touching in the middle, and both of them had books resting on top of their heavily pregnant bellies.
‘I’m sorry I haven’t taken better care of it, Tilly,’ Mary said as she tried to rub away a smear from one corner of the picture. ‘But it’s yours now, if you want it. I know it’s only one photo, but I thought you might like it anyway. I can tell you a bit more about it, if you like, but I understand if you’d rather look properly by yourself first. I can picture that day perfectly. I haven’t the foggiest what book I was reading, but your mum went on a real classics binge while she was pregnant, nostalgic for her own childhood, I suppose. That book is A Little Princess; she read it over and over. It was her favourite – although I’m sure you know that. You can come and ask me about the photo or your mum any time you like, you know.’
‘Thank you,’ Tilly said quietly, staring at the photo. That was the first time she’d heard A Little Princess was her mum’s favourite book. Mary slid the picture back into the envelope and passed it to Tilly.
‘Go on, get back to Jack, and make sure to bring me over a pop cake later.’ Mary gave her a gentle push towards the door. ‘And keep that envelope out of the rain.’
After dropping the vanilla off with Jack, Tilly went back into the kitchen to find Grandad sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall next to the box with his hanky out. Tilly slid down the wall next to him and squeezed in under his arm, breathing in his familiar smell of cashmere jumpers and old paper.
‘I’d forgotten where I’d put these,’ he said, hugging Tilly close to him. ‘They were some of your mum’s