Chapter Twenty Eight

Ash looked around the little flat that wasn't hers and imprinted it on her memory. This was an important place and one that she wouldn't forget. As she hauled her case downstairs she almost tripped over the cat, lying sprawled across the bottom of the stairs.

"I hope you luck out with your new owner," she said.

Fabio meowed in return.

It was early still, the light gray and muted, as Ash walked out into the bookshop, smelling the scent of it, feeling the stories in their pages, knowing that she could have been happy here if things had turned out differently.

She made it all the way to the door before she turned back.

The book was lying exactly where Pen had said it would be, on the counter, under the phone. She'd seen it every day and ignored it. But not now. Now, without thinking too hard about it, she picked up Mary's journal and slid it into her bag.

She had no right to it, it wasn't hers. What it contained was none of her business. But she felt like she'd gotten to know Mary just a little here and she wasn't quite ready to let her go. Nobody would notice, she thought, as she unlocked the door and stepped out into the grayness.

The little rental car was still where she'd left it and she stowed her case in it before she went back to the bakery. The door pushed open easily and she walked inside.

"Pen?"

Pen appeared in the doorway, a smudge of flour on her nose, wiping her hands on a towel. "So, you're going?"

Ash nodded. They'd said their real goodbyes. Not forever goodbyes, as Ash kept telling her. Just their for now goodbyes. Ash had left the bakery at three in the morning, needing to pack her final things, wanting to enact this decision now that it was made.

"Here," Pen said, handing over a paper bag. "Just something for the journey."

Ash grinned. "I'm going to London, not Timbuktu. There's enough in here to feed an army."

"You might get stuck in traffic," pointed out Pen. "Or meet a friend on the way."

"If someone climbs into my car then they're probably not going to be a friend," Ash said. But she held tight to the paper bag. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Pen's face without a smile was like a sandwich without butter or a storm without rain, just not quite right.

"It's going to be alright," Ash said, stepping in closer. "Just you wait and see. And I'm going to see you in three weeks, that's not so long."

Pen nodded and bit her lip and Ash knew she was trying not to cry.

"Come here," Ash said, pulling her into a hug. "I'll be with you very, very soon," she said, dropping a kiss onto Pen's head.

"You're squashing your sandwich," said Pen, pulling back.

"Okay, I'd better go before the traffic gets too bad. I'll see you very soon, Pen, please don't cry."

But it was Ash that was blinking away tears as she walked away from the bakery, away from the bookshop, and back toward her old life.

AFTER THE OPENNESS of the seaside, London seemed cloying and dark. Ash went through the kerfuffle of returning the rental car and paid an exorbitant amount for the privilege of having it parked in front of the bookshop for longer than necessary.

Then she pulled her case behind her and began the slow walk back to her flat.

The river churned brown beneath the embankment, and nobody looked at her, there were no smiles or greetings as she walked. This was what she liked about living in the city, she reminded herself. The anonymity, the fact that she could be anyone or anything and everyone would ignore her.

By the time she got back to her building she was cold, tired, and wondering whether she'd made the right decision at all.

Of course, she'd made the logical decision. Moving into the tiny flat above the bakery with Pen would be far too soon, put far too much pressure on a relationship that was fragile and new. Still though, it didn't stop the strange empty feeling inside her.

She dragged her case into the lift, and then out again when the lift refused to move, before hiking it up the stairs, dropping it when she got to the top. Why did suitcases have to be so unwieldy?

A door cracked open and an eye appeared, followed by the rest of the face and then the body. "Oh," said Amanda Brown. "It's you."

"Yes," said Ash, standing upright with the case behind her again. "I do live here, remember?"

"We were all beginning to think that you'd forgotten." Amanda sniffed. "Nice hols?"

"It wasn't really a holiday," said Ash. "More of a… a work thing."

"Mmm. Well, your plants are healthy and the place is clean. I ran the hoover around since you were gone so long." She looked Ash up and down. "Wait there a minute."

She disappeared and Ash barely had time to wonder where she'd gone before she was back, holding a canvas tote bag.

"Here you go, you'll be needing these, I expect. It's about to chuck down and you look tired, you'll not want to be going out again."

Taking the bag, Ash opened it to see a small carton of milk, a couple of eggs and half a loaf of bread. Suddenly there was a lump in her throat that she had to swallow down. "Um, thank you. That's very kind." Which wasn't enough to say. She took a breath. "So, how are the kids?"

Amanda beamed. "Fine, fine, very well. Well, Sanzia has her recorder recital next week and she's worried, but you know how they get. And Luke's struggling with maths, but nothing horrific."

Ash nodded. "Good, good to hear." She held up the bag. "I'd best be getting in then. I need to unpack."

"Right you are. I'll let you get on with it." She hesitated in the doorway. "Nice to have you back."

"Thanks," Ash said, unlocking her own door, feeling the milk carton bumping against her back in its canvas bag as she did so.

THE PHONE RANG as she was getting out of the shower, the number on the screen long and foreign looking, and Ash had to hurriedly wipe her hands dry before she picked it up.

"Mum?"

"Thank God," her mother said. "They actually have decent phone lines in Ecuador. Who would have thought? They eat guinea pigs, you know."

"Guinea pigs?" Ash asked.

"Guinea pigs," confirmed her mother. "But they know how to make a good phone line, and that's what counts." There was a slight crackle on the line. "It's a blessing to be off the ship, if you can believe it. Ted won't eat a thing that's not steak, and there's only so many shows and casinos you can go to before they all start to look the same. I'm beginning to think that half way around the world would have been enough."

"Mother," said Ash. "I'm sure it's lovely."

"Well, the state room is nice. And I suppose it's nice to have someone do all the washing and cleaning. By the time we get back I'll have forgotten how." She paused for another crackling second. "And what about you, my dear? How are you?"

"Fine," Ash said automatically even though she didn't feel fine. She felt untethered and unsure in an unfamiliar way.

"No news?"

Ash sighed. It was a long story and she really didn't want to get into it now. Besides, her mother would only run out of phone credit or have to run to catch the ship half way through. "Nothing big," she said eventually.

"Wasn't it funny, you asking me about auntie Mary like that," said her mother, as if her phone call from Chile had been just yesterday. "I haven't thought about her in years."

"Yes," said Ash. "About that, she wasn't really my aunt, was she?" Only a guess, but a pretty good one.

"Oh, of course she wasn't," laughed her mother. "She lived next door but one and gave you sweets every time you walked past her garden, so you called her auntie."

Ash sighed. "I don't suppose she's still around, is she?"

"She'd be ancient if she were," said her mother. "She was well into her eighties when you were tiny."

Which tied up all the loose ends, really, Ash thought.

She bid her mother goodbye, making her promise not to jump ship and leave her latest husband no matter how bored of shows and casinos she got, filled the washing machine with clothes, made herself some scrambled eggs, and then, by seven o'clock, had run out of things to do.

Just what had she done before, she wondered. How had she filled her days and nights? Without George to distract her or Pen to feed her or Lucy to bother her or Fabio to trip her up, the flat seemed terribly empty.

It was just the time for a walk on the beach. Except there was no beach, obviously. She sighed and picked up her mobile, texting Pen. Miss you xxx

Within a second, the phone was vibrating in her hand.

"Already?" Pen said when she picked up. "You've only been gone a few hours."

"I can stop missing you if you prefer?"

"No," Pen said, laughing. "I like that you miss me. It makes me feel better."

"Glad that you're wallowing in my misery then," said Ash.

"You know what I meant. How's London?"

"Big," Ash said, looking out of the window toward the river. "Empty."

"Jesus, has there been some kind of zombie apocalypse I haven't heard about?"

"Not that kind of empty. There's plenty of people here. Just… lonely, I suppose."

"Ah, I see," Pen said. She was quiet for a moment. "Still, it's only three weeks, right?"

"Two weeks and six days tomorrow," said Ash. She could picture Pen now, sitting on her couch with too many cushions.

"It's only your first night back, it's natural that you'll be missing us all," Pen said. "I'm sure everything will go back to normal soon. You'll be busy with work and, well, whatever else it is you do."

Which wasn't much now that Ash thought about it. "I suppose you'll be off to basket weaving or church choir or something tonight?"

"It's crochet circle in half an hour," said Pen. "We'll all sit around making complicated knots together, you'd hate it."

"Alright then, I'll let you go," said Ash. "I just wanted you to know that I was thinking of you."

"And I'm glad to know it," Pen said.

When the phone was hung up and Pen's voice was gone, the flat seemed even emptier than before. Ash sighed and picked up her book from the kitchen counter. She might as well go to bed and read. The quiet was too hard to hear.