Lucy’s Book Club for the Lost and Found: A heart-warming feel-good romance novel

by Emma Davies

  Jules smiled, reaching out to touch Hattie’s hand. ‘I know how difficult this is for you,’ she said, ‘but you really mustn’t worry. The beads are expensive, more than I thought to be honest, but just think how they’ll look.’

  Hattie nodded mutely. There was nothing she could do but agree. Somehow, she would just have to find a way to give Jules what she wanted, even if it meant starting the dress again. Her mind was already thinking of possible solutions when her mum made a derisive noise in her throat.

  ‘See, it’s obvious you don’t like them! You could at least pretend, for Jules’s sake.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘You always think you’re better than us, don’t you? That’s what the problem is, isn’t it? You’re right and we’re wrong!’

  Hattie’s hand flew to her mouth, and she turned to Jules as the first tear rolled down her cheek. ‘I’m so sorry, Jules. I’ll be outside.’

  She wasn’t sure how long she stood on the pavement, trying to avoid the curious looks of passers-by as she stared into the distance, heaving with silent sobs. She had tried so hard to convince herself that nothing was wrong and, as the day had gone along, she had almost started to believe it. But now her mum’s hurtful words had left her reeling and she couldn’t understand why she’d even said those things.

  A gentle touch on her arm made her jump.

  ‘Come back inside, please?’ Her sister’s voice was soft.

  Hattie looked into her eyes, but she couldn’t speak. She shook her head.

  Jules sighed. ‘Listen, I’ve spoken to Mum. She knows she was in the wrong.’

  ‘Then why say it, Jules? I just don’t get what I’m supposed to have done. Can you imagine how it makes me feel, knowing that she thinks so little of me?’ She wiped her chin.

  ‘It’s not that, Hattie, it’s just that…’ She trailed off, squeezing her arm again. ‘Listen, come back inside and we can talk about it. Otherwise I’m not sure what we’re going to do.’ She passed Hattie a tissue. ‘Please?’

  Hattie dabbed at her eyes and cheeks, trying to pull herself together. This wasn’t fair on her, but it was also supposed to be Jules’s special day and right now she looked wretched too.

  She gave a weak nod. ‘Okay,’ she began, screwing up her courage. ‘But can I just say something first? Just to you.’

  Her sister held her look for a moment before rolling her eyes. ‘Oh,’ she said abruptly as the penny dropped. ‘So, you didn’t like the beads then.’

  ‘No, I loved the beads, Jules,’ Hattie replied, ‘but… I’m sorry, I just don’t think they’re right for your dress. I can’t pretend otherwise, but I’ve got some suggestions, which I think might work even better. If we go back inside I can show you, but I wanted you to know that… first.’

  Jules raised an eyebrow, a flash of disappointment crossing her face, but then Hattie saw her nod in understanding. ‘I’ll back you up,’ she said, lifting her chin a little, ‘as long as you tell me I’m still going to look gorgeous.’

  Hattie returned her soft smile. ‘Promise,’ she said, taking her arm and following her back inside.

  Their mum was still standing by the counter examining the trays of beads and crystals.

  ‘Right,’ said Jules in a business-like manner. ‘Hattie has explained what the problem is with the beads – and I agree with her.’ She flashed a smile. ‘So, I’m not having any more silly comments; we need to listen to what she has to say.’

  Hattie’s mouth dropped open in surprise. She risked a glance at her mum, relieved to see a slight dip of her head. She swallowed, composing her thoughts, knowing she had to get this right.

  ‘A good dressmaker works with the person, not the dress. A bad dressmaker can easily make an elegant person look frumpy, a thin one look fat, or a sensual one have all the allure of a brick…’ She smiled at her sister. ‘Sometimes you get lucky. Sometimes you get to design for someone who is all those things; elegant, with an enviable figure and who positively exudes sex appeal – that’s you, Jules, in case you haven’t worked it out. I want you to have the dress of your dreams, because you’re my sister and you deserve to look stunning, but you have to trust me. The design I created for you will make you look amazing, because it will define and emphasise all of your best features. You don’t need huge sparkling beads to get people’s attention, however beautiful they are—’

  ‘Because I’ll look like a dumpy, ostentatious tart!’

  Jules’s explosive giggle made Hattie jump. She frowned, but then caught her sister’s infectious grin. ‘Yes!’ she agreed, the previous tense atmosphere dissolving in an instant, leaving gales of laughter in its place.

  ‘Oh, stop,’ said Jules, clutching her sides a few moments later. ‘My mascara will be all down my face!’ She was almost bent double. ‘Can’t I have just a teeny bit of bling, though?’ she asked in a fake whiny voice. ‘I’d really set my heart on it.’

  Hattie grinned at her sister’s expression. ‘Of course, but it’s got to be subtle. It’s much more effective that way anyway,’ she replied, thinking on her feet. ‘Do you know what would look stunning? Seed pearls, tiny ones, worked onto the front bodice – not covering it, but enough to catch the light and add interest. Every now and then I could add a tiny crystal, just to oomph it up a bit.’ She groaned. ‘It will take me hours, but…’

  ‘But would you do it? For Jules?’ Her mum’s voice was soft.

  ‘Of course I would, Mum. We’re family; I’d do anything to help.’

  Her mum gave a slight nod. ‘This is important to you, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, Mum, it is! I can’t begin to tell you how much. Not just because Jules is getting married…’ She stopped, wondering how much she should say, knowing that this was the perfect opportunity to reach out to her family. ‘My dressmaking isn’t just some sad hobby I do because there’s nothing else in my life – I want to really make a go of it. Now that Poppy’s at school, I’d like to make it into a proper business, something that will support us – but mainly because it’s something I love doing and care passionately about. And I’m pretty sure I can make it work.’

  Hattie studied her mum’s face, and finally saw the beginnings of a smile there.

  ‘I’m sure you will,’ she said. ‘I think that’s a very good idea. And I like the idea of the seed pearls, too. Just as long as Jules is really happy with them.’

  Jules beamed. ‘Oh, I am,’ she said. ‘I really am. They’re going to look stunning.’

  ‘And so will you, Jules,’ replied Hattie, ‘I promise.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  The park was always glorious, to Oscar anyway. It didn’t matter if there was sunshine or rain, a carpet of snowdrops under the trees at the far end, or blowsy sweet-smelling roses in later summer, there was always something to gladden his heart. It was a skill that Oscar had become particularly adept at over the years: the ability to find comfort in something new each and every day. Whether it was some sight or sound that filled him with joy or enriched his knowledge, or a kind word or deed that made him feel better, they were all like sparkling diamonds laying a trail through what would be otherwise dark days. As time went by, finding things to be grateful for had become a habit and a necessity. It was a good way to live, and today was no different.

  The air was mild after a dry week of late autumn sun, and the paths that threaded their way through the park were littered with fallen leaves; golden, russet and ruby, all dried, all waiting to be kicked and crunched by feet, both little and big. Oscar scuffed at the path as he walked, smiling as he watched a squirrel race away with an acorn. Up ahead, a mother and her small child were doing just the same, the child’s pink wellingtons bright in the low sunlight. As they kicked their way through the piles of leaves, bending every now and again to pick up armfuls and throw them high into the air, the wind blew the child’s shrieks of laughter straight through Oscar’s heart.

  His optimism was something of a smokescreen; something he and Mary had developed as a way of getting through their day
s so that they did not dwell too heavily on the love that was lost to them. It helped enormously, but it never really took away the pain; even on days like today, filled with wonderful sights and sounds, the bittersweet ache sat inside Oscar like an old friend.

  He slowed slightly as he reached the section of path that would take him past the playground and around the bend by the seats to the little kiosk that sold ice-creams in the summer. From here, a swing gate would take him out onto the leafy lane that ran parallel to Fish Street, and only a few minutes’ walk from the library. He was later than usual, deliberately so. He had arranged to meet Callum just as soon as Lucy had gone to lunch, and nerves skipped through him as he anticipated what the young lad might have to tell him.

  He also felt rather guilty about concealing his search from his favourite librarian. It wasn’t that he thought Lucy would disapprove of his decision. In fact, given the way their conversation had turned that day, he was sure that she would fully understand. But she had encouraged him to talk and he didn’t want her to feel bad for unlocking a part of him that he had kept a tight hold on all these years – not until he knew the outcome. He had no idea what the search would uncover and it made him feel relieved and terrified in equal measure, but for now it was a burden he must carry alone.

  During their early life together, he and Mary had often discussed what might have become of the child they lost, but as the years passed and Mary failed to fall pregnant again, it became a subject they avoided; neither one of them had wanted to spoil their otherwise joyous marriage. They compensated. They found happiness in other things, and in time it was a topic of conversation that was never returned to. Now Oscar was alone again and Lucy’s gentle encouragement had given voice to his feelings. He was ready to open up that wound in his heart once more – and there was no going back.

  The library was quiet when he arrived and he took up his usual position, where he could read with an uninterrupted view of the counter. If he leaned forward he could also see through the door into the computer room and, as he settled himself in his seat, he noticed Callum’s dark head bobbing as he spoke with someone. His hand reached to touch his cravat as he caught sight of Lucy across the room. He had chosen its bright yellow colour deliberately, and he beamed a smile in her direction, pleased when she turned and raised a hand in greeting. Business as usual, he bent his head to his book and began to read.

  When, at last, he heard Lucy call to her colleague that she wouldn’t be long, sailing through the door with her handbag tucked under her arm, Oscar leaped from his seat and slipped into the chair beside Callum, his heart beating fast. Callum was still tapping furiously on the keyboard as Oscar cleared his throat and Callum’s fingers stilled.

  ‘My wife used to be able to type like that,’ Oscar commented. ‘And I could never figure out how she managed it without looking.’

  Callum smiled. ‘I learned to touch-type years ago,’ he replied. ‘Got fed up with my brain going faster than my fingers could.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s just habit. Once you know how, you don’t even think about it.’ His eyes strayed to the door. ‘Has Lucy gone out?’ he asked.

  Oscar nodded. ‘Just this minute,’ he said, ‘but she told a colleague she wouldn’t be long.’ He looked at Callum expectantly. ‘I’m sorry to rush you,’ he added.

  Callum curled his fingers around his notebook. ‘No problem,’ he said. ‘This won’t take long. It’s pretty straightforward really.’ He turned to a few pages previously. ‘There seem to be two options,’ he continued. ‘The first would be to look up the adoption records yourself. I’ve found the site where you can do this, and although it might take a while to narrow things down, with the detail that you’ve got I’d be optimistic you’d find something.’

  Oscar nodded. ‘Yes, Mary was meticulous in recording what she knew at the time of the birth. Even at that age she had her wits well and truly about her.’

  ‘After that, it’s a paper trail really… but most of the stuff you can find out from the internet. If you have the adoptive name, addresses, et cetera, most people can be found relatively easily…’ Callum trailed off, dropping his eyes for a moment. ‘Well, they can if you know how,’ he finished. ‘You’ll only have a problem if your daughter has registered for no contact.’

  ‘I see,’ said Oscar slowly. ‘I presume that means that her details are withheld?’

  ‘Exactly. And neither you, nor any intermediary acting on your behalf, can contact her if that’s the case.’

  ‘But we wouldn’t know that until we find her details… That seems a little like winning a battle but losing the war.’

  Callum pulled a face. ‘It does, I’m afraid. But, to use another analogy, we shouldn’t ever let our fear of striking out prevent us from playing the game.’

  Oscar studied the face of the young man in front of him. He was so much like his father in looks, but underneath, so very different.

  ‘Wise words,’ he commented. ‘Babe Ruth, I believe. Are you a baseball fan?’

  Callum laughed. ‘No, not at all. I just have a crop of inspirational quotes available for any occasion.’ He dropped his voice. ‘It helps when you have a family like mine.’

  ‘I see,’ replied Oscar, wondering if he should enquire further, then decided not to pry. ‘You mentioned there were two options?’

  ‘Yes, sorry. The other thing you can do is use an intermediary to help find your daughter – charities usually, who operate a tracing service for reuniting families. It’s a slightly… softer option.’ Callum let his last words hang in the air.

  ‘Softer?’

  There was a nod. ‘Look, it’s none of my business, but I know first-hand that families can be odd things. Sometimes I think I’d be quite happy to find out that I’m adopted… What I mean is: we don’t get to choose our family, adopted or not, and there’s never any guarantee that family relationships will be happy ones. There’s no way of knowing how your daughter feels about her adoptive parents, or her birth parents; hell, she might not even know she is adopted.’ He paused, looking at Oscar seriously, but gently. ‘Whichever way she finds out you want to get in contact, it’s going to come as a massive shock. These intermediaries act as a buffer, they can broach the subject with her gently and neutrally, give her the details little by little if she wants them. Smooth the way and all that.’ Callum tipped his head on one side, regarding Oscar with a wisdom far beyond his years.

  Oscar sat back in his chair, myriad thoughts running through his head; surprisingly, the most immediate were not about his daughter at all.

  ‘You know, I taught both your parents once upon a time,’ he said. ‘And I’m happy to say that you are nothing like them.’

  Callum’s mouth dropped open. ‘I knew you looked familiar when I met you the first time,’ he exclaimed. ‘You were head teacher at St Michael’s, weren’t you? Or Old Man Smallwood, as my dad called you. Sorry, no offence.’ He grinned. ‘Were they terrible?’ His smile grew even wider. ‘They haven’t changed much.’

  ‘Forgive me,’ said Oscar. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned it, and I know it’s quite wrong of me to make such judgements, but—’

  Callum put out his hand to forestall any further comment. ‘Don’t apologise. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in ages. I’m made up to find someone who actually agrees with me that being a layabout is not a career choice. Like I said: funny things, families.’ He beamed at Oscar before glancing over at the clock on the wall. ‘What do you reckon, then?’ he said. ‘I can go ahead and make some enquiries on your behalf, if you’d like?’

  Oscar took a deep breath. His answer could well change the course of the rest of his life.

  ‘Or you might want to think about it for a bit,’ prompted Callum. ‘It’s a big decision. You could take a day or two and let me know?’

  ‘I feel rather as if I’ve been thinking about it my whole adult life,’ said Oscar, ‘but it’s the fear of how I’ll cope if it goes wrong that makes me cautious. That, and old age.’ />
  Callum raised his eyebrows, looking at Oscar with a kind expression. ‘Can it hurt much more than it already does now?’

  Oscar may have been a teacher for most of his life, a thousand facts and figures his to impart, but he had learned a thing or two today. He nodded gently, a soft smile creasing his face. ‘You’re absolutely right,’ he agreed. ‘Let’s do it.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  There were days when Lia could cry with frustration. Most of the time she was able to keep her mum moving along, to find diversions that, however small, were enough to prevent her from becoming fixated with something, but sometimes her mother’s dementia took an unpredictable turn and there was nothing she could do about it; the two of them became locked in a vicious cycle that seemed never-ending. Tonight was one of those nights.

  Lia put down her sandwich and breathed deeply, trying to keep calm, as getting agitated often only made things worse. If she pretended to her mum that everything was under control, sometimes Lia even began to believe it herself.

  Rose’s strident voice was plain to hear, even in the kitchen. ‘I said I wanted a drink,’ she shrieked. ‘Where are you? Where are you?’

  Lia rushed down the hallway, crossing the living room to the small table that sat beside her mum’s favourite chair and picking up the full mug that was already there.

  ‘Sorry, Mum, I’m here now, and I’ve brought you a nice cup of tea – look.’ She held out the mug. ‘Have a sip now before it goes cold.’ The mug had already been on the table for the last ten minutes or so and was rapidly cooling.

  ‘Don’t be so silly. I’ll burn myself. For goodness’ sake put it down!’

  Lia did as she was told. There really was no point in trying to explain. Instead, she picked up a book from the floor. ‘I borrowed this from the library, Mum,’ she said showing her the cover. ‘Dancing Shoes. I thought I could read it to you later – would you like that?’