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Secrets in the Shadows
Hannah Emery
‘One of my favourite reads so far this year.’ HELLO MagazineA must-read for fans of Kate Morton & Barbara Erskine.In 1920s Blackpool, eleven year old Rose wanders away from her parents and has a unique gift bestowed upon her. This gift will leave a haunting legacy, seeping down through the generations…Decades later, Louisa has a vision of her mother walking into the sea. This isn’t the first time it happens and it won’t be the last, but what she sees isn’t always what she wants. The rest of her life is spent trying to change the future that haunts her.In present day Blackpool, Grace is going to be married someday. She knows this because she’s seen it; a vision of a white dress, daisies embroidered on the sleeves, the groom by her side, vowing to love her forever. Except the man in her premonition doesn’t belong to her- he belongs to her twin sister, Elsie.Haunted by what they know and what they are afraid to find out, all three women must make a choice: in the face of certain destiny should you chase the outcome that’s “meant to be”, or throw away fate and choose your own future?
Secrets in the Shadows
Hannah Emery
A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
Contents
Hannah Emery (#u0f11b048-c768-552a-b69c-b80ebdf5c58a)
Dedication (#u4077fc55-9c7b-51c4-a01f-77adeba9f5e8)
PART ONE (#u05e6991e-b1ff-52c6-bdc3-9f1e8fbfe8d9)
Chapter Two (#u4bd811b8-65e9-57f5-9e57-14a3ed95027a)
Chapter Three (#uabe5e4ec-df76-5ae7-91db-cf43648c17e0)
Chapter Four (#u6246cca1-5c71-5e1d-b121-cff4c905ce31)
Chapter Five (#u6ea09328-46da-586d-bdaa-e8734b96a0e8)
Chapter Six (#ufb695268-7f04-5c63-90b9-d11a1f71cebc)
Chapter Seven (#ub7b95297-59c3-56b1-896a-e713459556cc)
Chapter Eight (#uc7833e81-77cf-5140-85af-61112a5a54fa)
PART TWO (#u64a90fe4-599d-5ef8-9204-c2908250d3c6)
Chapter Ten (#u6c1910a1-063a-5629-b981-ee2e1c8baeb7)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
PART THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty Three (#litres_trial_promo)
PART FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
About HarperImpulse (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Hannah Emery (#u029027ba-db43-574a-8e5e-eacb5de5a228)
I studied English at the University of Chester and I have written stories for as long as I can remember. I love writing about how fragile the present is and how so much of it depends on chance events that took place years ago. My favourite things in life are my family, my friends, books, baking on a Saturday afternoon, going out for champagne and dinner and having cosy weekends away. I live in Blackpool with my husband and our little girl. Find out more at hannahcemery.wordpress.com and follow me on Twitter @hannahcemery.
For my family: past, present and future
PART ONE (#u029027ba-db43-574a-8e5e-eacb5de5a228)
Chapter One (#u029027ba-db43-574a-8e5e-eacb5de5a228)
Grace, 2008
Grace should be with Eliot.
Grace should be the one to take a bite of Eliot’s toast in the morning, to text him and see what he fancies for dinner, to carry around a solid weight of certainty that he is hers and she is his.
But Grace isn’t the one with Eliot, and doesn’t know how to be.
She sighs shakily and glances up as she walks along the promenade to Ash Books. She can barely see Blackpool Tower for the autumn mist.It’s a blue, cool morning and her icy breath streams behind her as she clatters down the glittering concrete. The tide is in, and to her left is the wide expanse of grey sea that she knows so well. Salty spray spits at her and she wipes it quickly from her face, disturbed by what the sea contains. By the time Grace reaches the shop an hour later, her face is stinging with the bite of cold air.
Even today hasn’t taken her mind off Eliot. She is tired of thinking about him, but her thoughts are pulled to the image of him like pins to a magnet. When Grace sleeps, which isn’t often, Eliot’s face floats through her dreams and his voice weaves around the jumbled stories of her subconscious. When she wakes, she can think of nothing but her connection to him.
Grace’s mother called it a gift.
There is only one person who has the power to make Grace think of something else. He is the only person who can make her feel as though the future might be different somehow. But he is not here.
After a slight pause, Grace tugs off one of her blue woollen mittens with her teeth so that she can find her keys in her bag, unlocks the heavy green door and shudders as she enters the bookshop.
As Grace enters Ash Books, she looks around and takes in her new business venture. Opening a secondhand bookshop with her twin sister Elsie seemed straightforward at first. Grace loves books, and Elsie loves books. The business loan application went through easily. It all seemed too simple to be the wrong thing to do.
There are new pine shelves lining each of the ivory walls, mostly filled with second-hand novels. Grace thought that they should sell only children’s books and Elsie argued that they shouldn’t narrow their target customer. The rainbow of creased spines is the result of their spat: a mixture of men’s black crime, women’s powder-blue romance and a colourful burst of children’s books piled up at the back of the shop. Grace runs a finger along the spines of the books on the shelf to her left, careful not to move them from their perfectly lined up positions. Her eyes wander to the stray leaflet on the counter.
ASH BOOKS OPENING DAY
COME AND SEE OUR NEW SHOP! DON’T LEAVE IT TOO LATE!
As she stares at the exclamations that scream out at her in acid yellow and thinks about the day ahead, a surge of panic fizzes through Grace’s blood and into her stomach, where it sits like a dissolving tablet. Hopefully Elsie will be here soon.
The scent of yellowed paper that has been thumbed through a hundred times hangs in the air like nicotine. The counter is to the left, cluttered with boxes of pens and lists of things to do before the grand opening. Grace moves over to a pile of stock behind the counter and picks up a stuffed owl that Elsie bought them as a good luck gift. Elsie has a thing for owls. She places him on top of the counter, then stands back to take in the view.
‘Perhaps you could be our lucky charm?’ Grace asks the owl, who glares at her with his frozen black eyes in response.
No, he doesn’t look right at all. And he might scare small children.Grace glances at the door uneasily, her nerves easing a little when she sees her sister appear behind it. Elsie is laden with tote bags and wearing a royal blue beret that Grace immediately recognises as her own.
‘You’re here already!’ Elsie says to Grace as she unwraps her gigantic yellow scarf from around her neck. She tosses the scarf on the floor next to where she dumps her bags. ‘Shall we make a coffee and then straighten up? We’ve got an hour until we officially open.’
Grace holds the owl up. ‘I’m worried he’ll scare the children,’ she says.
‘He won’t. He’s cute.’ Elsie snatches the owl from Grace and plonks him back in his rightful position next to the till.
The twins are quiet as they unpack the final boxes of books and gifts that they ordered last minute to try and fill up their shelves. As the boxes dwindle, the shelves begin to look a little more cluttered with choice and the counter and surrounding floor become tidy.
‘It’s finally starting to come together,’ Grace says, pushing a strand of black hair from her face. ‘It looks better than I thought it would when I first arrived.’
‘And still fifteen minutes to spare,’ Elsie says as she folds down the last empty box.
‘Yes,’ Grace frowns, ‘so why is somebody already at the door?’ As the tall figure behind the glass motions to be let in, Grace walks over to the front of the shop.
‘Oh, Mags! It’s you!’ Grace unlocks the door and ushers Mags in. ‘I’m so glad you made it. You’re our first customer! Come and have a look around.’
Elsie makes some more coffee in their little staff room at the back of the shop and Grace walks Mags around, pointing out the novels that she has given them to sell. Mags smiles at Grace and squeezes her arm as they return to the counter.
‘I’m so happy for you girls. It’s about time something good happened for you both, after everything you’ve been through.’
Elsie returns with three potently scented coffees and puts them down on the counter. ‘I hope it works out. We just kind of went for it without thinking it through in too much detail,’ she says, taking a sip of coffee and wincing when she realises it’s far too hot.
‘Well, that’s exactly what you have to do. People get far too wrapped up in what they think they should do, rather than what they want.’
Grace stares at Mags for a moment, thinking of her own mother. There’s a short silence, peppered with blows on coffees to cool them. After a few moments, Mags takes her oversized handbag from where she dropped it behind the counter and swoops out a bunch of roses wrapped in bright pink paper.
‘I brought you these. But I’ve just realised that you probably don’t have a vase here. I’ll pop and get you one later. Or I might send someone in my place.’
Just as Mags says this, the bell above the door tinkles again and two elderly women enter, cooing over The Wizard of Oz window display, which Grace assembled late last night after stumbling upon a 1960 edition of the book amongst their stock. Dorothy is a doll borrowed from the toyshop next door, and the yellow brick road is gathered crepe paper. Paper poppies surround the road, and in them nestles The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.
It’s October, the last week of the illuminations, which always means that Blackpool and the surrounding towns are swelled with families who are there to see the flashing show of lights that dangles along the whole length of the promenade before the end of the season in November. The till is constantly beeping and at 2 p.m. they run out of paper bags. It’s the silly things that are sold first: the extras that Grace bought on a whim and Elsie didn’t think would match the shop of their imagination. Teddy bears wearing Ash Books hoodies; bundles of marshmallows in cellophane tied with curling ribbon; cheap children’s books with gaudy covers are all grabbed without much thought, paid for, probably forgotten soon after.
Towards the end of the day, when the buzz of new customers has died down, Grace is in the small office at the back counting through the money they have taken when she hears Elsie call her.
‘Somebody has brought us a vase for our flowers,’ Elsie shouts from the front.
Grace smiles as she piles the notes neatly on the desk and stands up, expecting to see Mags in the shop again, brandishing a vase. But when she turns around and sees who has just come through the door, Grace feels all the blood in her body rush to her head.
‘My mum said something about you needing a vase?’ Noel says, smiling at the twins and setting the vase on the counter.
‘When did you get back here?’ Grace asks, trying to dismiss the instant confusion that swarms around her mind, the warmth that blasts through her body at the sight of him.
‘Just now. I had a couple of days’ holiday to take, and I couldn’t miss the grand opening, could I?’
Elsie beams. ‘Grace, why don’t you show Noel all our stuff?’
‘I think he’s capable of looking himself,’ Grace says, suddenly sullen. Elsie shouldn’t try to pair her with Noel. Elsie has no idea. It’s just not that easy.
Noel touches Grace’s arm. ‘Come on, Grace. Give me a tour.’
Grace softens. ‘Okay.’
They wander around the shop, arm in arm to the back, where there are more boxes piled like bricks, two old office chairs and a small desk. The desk is crammed with the notes that Grace was counting when Noel arrived, piles of books and magazines, cups, a jar of cheap coffee, some powdered milk and a kettle.
