Will took off his boots and stretched his legs out, creating a hurdle to the history section. ‘Any chance of a brew?’ he asked Martha.

      Rose sat cross-legged in front of the YA shelves. She stabbed at her phone screen with her index finger. ‘I’d love one, too. You make the best cups of tea.’ Her eyes shone as a neon-yellow trophy exploded.

      ‘Of course,’ Martha said. ‘Would you like a biscuit, too? Freshly baked.’

      Will and Rose nodded in unison.

      Branda was the next person who needed help, with her photocopying. Her real name was Brenda, but everyone switched the e to an a without her noticing because she only wore clothes she classed as a ‘dee-signer brand’. Three years ago, her husband left her for a family friend, so Branda hit him where it hurt – in his wallet. Today she wore a crisp white shirt with hand-painted eagles on the shoulders, and a black leather skirt with bright yellow stitching. Her bluey-black hair was coiffed into a small crispy beehive.

      ‘I’ll do it,’ Martha said, wrestling the paper out of her arms. ‘You have a nice sit-down. Do you have extinguishers in the Lobster Pot? Your candles could be quite a fire hazard.’

      ‘I only use the best beeswax, Martha,’ Branda said. ‘Extinguishers would spoil the restaurant aesthetic. I stow them away in the kitchen.’

      After that, Martha showed a young man with multiple face piercings how to search for jobs online. She changed a plug on a computer that didn’t fit the socket properly, even though she should report electronic stuff to Clive. She issued a new library card and replaced two lost ones. A man from the garden centre asked where he could buy brown fur fabric, because the staff wanted to dress up as woodland creatures. He wanted to go as a ferret. Martha located a book in the sewing section on making costumes for children. ‘You can tape pieces of paper together and scale up the pattern in size,’ she said. ‘In fact, I’ll do it for you.’

      ‘You make everything so easy for people,’ Suki said, as the man walked away with the book and a six-feet tall piece of paper with a man-sized ferret outfit sketched on it.

      ‘Thank you.’

      ‘Too easy… Have you called Chamberlain’s yet?’

      ‘I’ve not had the chance.’

      ‘You’ve got time now. Think about yourself, for once.’

      Martha felt a lump rise in her throat. It happened now and again, if anyone displayed unexpected thoughtfulness towards her. She tucked in her chin and swallowed the lump away, but she also felt a weird flutter in her stomach, as if she’d swallowed something that was still alive. A new bookshop and the opportunity to find out more about the old book were a real temptation. She wondered how Owen Chamberlain had traced her, and what he knew about the book and Zelda’s message. ‘Well, okay,’ she said.

      She dialled the number for Chamberlain’s but didn’t get a reply, so she rang a further three times in a row. ‘I don’t know how Mr Chamberlain expects to make a living if he doesn’t pick up the phone,’ she said. ‘Did you know that eight out of ten businesses fail in their first year of trading?’

      ‘That’s a lot. Go over to Maltsborough to see him,’ Suki suggested. ‘I think the shop closes at one thirty today, and doesn’t open again until Wednesday. I’ve got things covered here.’

      But Martha had duties to perform. The library didn’t close for another fifty-three minutes. She looked over at her niece and nephew, still studying their phones. ‘I can’t go. Someone might need me.’

      As the morning ticked by, Martha carried over Skulduggery Pleasant, Divergent and Percy Jackson and placed the books on the table beside Will. He smiled but didn’t pick them up.

      Martha found Little Women and Chocolat for her niece. Although Rose muttered, ‘Thanks,’ Martha could tell that the books would remain unread. She kept the two of them topped up with cups of tea.

      She also tried to call Owen Chamberlain a further two times but the phone still rang out.

      Siegfried Frost shuffled into the library and, as usual, didn’t say hello. The reclusive seventy-something always wore the same grey knitted hat, the same texture and colour as his wiry hair that sprang from under it. His beard obscured his lips so that, on the rare occasions he spoke, you couldn’t see them. His brown mac almost reached the ankles of his frayed, turned-up jeans. He’d moved into the old Sandshift lighthouse after the Pegasus accident.

      His fingers crept towards the battered book and he picked it up.

      Martha shot out her hand to stop him. ‘That’s not actually a library book.’

      Above his grey whiskers, Siegfried’s eyes didn’t blink. He twisted his upper body, moving the book away from her. Flicking through it, he paused to peer at an illustration of a blackbird.

      Upside down, Martha read the title of the story, ‘The Bird Girl’.

      An image slipped into her head then vanished just as quickly, of her reading a story to her mum and nana. It was one she hadn’t thought of for a long time and her head felt a little floaty. She reached behind her for a chair, her hand hovering in the space above it.

      ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghoul,’ Suki said.

      Siegfried dropped the book back on the table and shuffled away.

      Martha immediately picked it up again. The ground seemed wavy beneath her feet. ‘I think I know the story that Siegfried was looking at.’ She turned the pages and located it, her eyes scanning the words. She stared at its title. Gingerly, she lifted the book to her nose and inhaled, recognizing the smell as a hint of Youth Dew. ‘I have got to read this.’

      ‘Sure. I’ll make you a coffee.’

      Martha sank into the chair and traced her finger down the words. She read the story twice, recognizing