Read Online The Dress Shop of Dreams by Menna van Praag - Free Book Online
Authors: Menna van Praag
Ads: Link
journey to a hidden graveyard. They leave a bunch of white roses on each of the two graves. Cora has never done it alone.
Etta had offered to shut the shop and accompany her granddaughter to the Oxfordshire Police Station. In fact, she’d almost insisted. But Cora had been firm. It was something she had todo by herself, she’d said, though she isn’t entirely sure why. Perhaps so she can back out at the last minute if seized too sharply by the fear circling her now—silently waiting, like a shark in shallow waters. What will she say when she arrives? What does one say to the police in order to find out the particulars of a twenty-year-old case? What procedures will she have to go through? Will any evidence even have survived? Is Etta right in her suspicions, or not?
As the scenery slips past, Cora, wanting a distraction from more distressing thoughts, allows her mind to rest on Walt. She’s surprised at just how many memories she has that contain him. Has she really seen him so often? How odd that he’s never stood out before now. Or perhaps the fact that he’s been such a fixture in her life, like oxygen in water and air, is exactly why she’s always taken him for granted.
Her thirteenth birthday fell on a Wednesday. Etta had wanted to organize a party but Cora begged her not to do so. After sitting around the shop that morning, squirming about in the silk skirt—cream sprinkled with lavender lilies—her grandmother had sewn, Cora had left at lunchtime, claiming she had plans with a friend. A few hours after that Walt found her squeezed into a corner in the back of the bookshop, face buried in a biography of Jocelyn Bell Burnell.
“Happy birthday,” Walt said softly.
Cora glanced up with a frown. “How do you know it’s my birthday?”
Walt blushed and shrugged.
“When’s your birthday?” Cora snapped.
“Thirty-first of October,” Walt said, softer still.
“Halloween.” Cora considered this. “Same day as Adolf von Baeyer and Sir Joseph Swan.”
“Who are they?”
“Scientists,” Cora said. “You must have heard of Sir Swan?”
“Sure.” Walt lied. “I don’t know who else is born on your birthday, but I bet—”
“Albert Einstein.” Cora let slip a smile of pride and closed her book. “Sorry I snapped at you. I don’t like birthdays very much.”
“Why not?”
Cora glanced down at the book again, tracing her forefinger over a woman’s face. While he waited, Walt sat down a few feet away, took off his backpack and set it down on the floor next to his knees.
“My parents died on my birthday.” Cora spoke without looking up. Her finger stopped on the B of Burnell. “So birthdays always make me sad.”
“Oh,” Walt said. “I’m sorry.”
Cora shrugged. “It’s not your fault.”
“I just, if my dad died, too … being an orphan, I can’t imagine it. I’m sorry I brought it up.” Then Walt brightened. “I’ve got something that might cheer you up.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s a bit of a secret. My dad gave it to me last year, on my tenth birthday. I’m not supposed to show it to anyone else.”
“Really?” Cora leaned forward, fingers twitching.
Walt unzipped his backpack and very carefully pulled out a book. It was quite small, just bigger than a deck of cards, bound in dark red leather with an inscription embossed in gold on the front that Cora couldn’t quite make out.
“My dad had my name engraved on the front.” Walt held it tight between both hands. “It’s—”
“Walt! Where are you?”
At his name, Walt sat up, eyes wide with shock, his mouth straightaway shut with a guilty grimace.
“Oops,” he whispered. “That’s Dad. I’d better go.”
Cora nodded, glancing once more at the book as Walt slipped it back into his bag. As he started to scurry away, Cora stood up.
“Wait.”
Walt turned back.
“Thank you,” she said softly, and smiled.
He had never shown that book to Cora again. Not, she realizes, until the night he came to
Etta had offered to shut the shop and accompany her granddaughter to the Oxfordshire Police Station. In fact, she’d almost insisted. But Cora had been firm. It was something she had todo by herself, she’d said, though she isn’t entirely sure why. Perhaps so she can back out at the last minute if seized too sharply by the fear circling her now—silently waiting, like a shark in shallow waters. What will she say when she arrives? What does one say to the police in order to find out the particulars of a twenty-year-old case? What procedures will she have to go through? Will any evidence even have survived? Is Etta right in her suspicions, or not?
As the scenery slips past, Cora, wanting a distraction from more distressing thoughts, allows her mind to rest on Walt. She’s surprised at just how many memories she has that contain him. Has she really seen him so often? How odd that he’s never stood out before now. Or perhaps the fact that he’s been such a fixture in her life, like oxygen in water and air, is exactly why she’s always taken him for granted.
Her thirteenth birthday fell on a Wednesday. Etta had wanted to organize a party but Cora begged her not to do so. After sitting around the shop that morning, squirming about in the silk skirt—cream sprinkled with lavender lilies—her grandmother had sewn, Cora had left at lunchtime, claiming she had plans with a friend. A few hours after that Walt found her squeezed into a corner in the back of the bookshop, face buried in a biography of Jocelyn Bell Burnell.
“Happy birthday,” Walt said softly.
Cora glanced up with a frown. “How do you know it’s my birthday?”
Walt blushed and shrugged.
“When’s your birthday?” Cora snapped.
“Thirty-first of October,” Walt said, softer still.
“Halloween.” Cora considered this. “Same day as Adolf von Baeyer and Sir Joseph Swan.”
“Who are they?”
“Scientists,” Cora said. “You must have heard of Sir Swan?”
“Sure.” Walt lied. “I don’t know who else is born on your birthday, but I bet—”
“Albert Einstein.” Cora let slip a smile of pride and closed her book. “Sorry I snapped at you. I don’t like birthdays very much.”
“Why not?”
Cora glanced down at the book again, tracing her forefinger over a woman’s face. While he waited, Walt sat down a few feet away, took off his backpack and set it down on the floor next to his knees.
“My parents died on my birthday.” Cora spoke without looking up. Her finger stopped on the B of Burnell. “So birthdays always make me sad.”
“Oh,” Walt said. “I’m sorry.”
Cora shrugged. “It’s not your fault.”
“I just, if my dad died, too … being an orphan, I can’t imagine it. I’m sorry I brought it up.” Then Walt brightened. “I’ve got something that might cheer you up.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s a bit of a secret. My dad gave it to me last year, on my tenth birthday. I’m not supposed to show it to anyone else.”
“Really?” Cora leaned forward, fingers twitching.
Walt unzipped his backpack and very carefully pulled out a book. It was quite small, just bigger than a deck of cards, bound in dark red leather with an inscription embossed in gold on the front that Cora couldn’t quite make out.
“My dad had my name engraved on the front.” Walt held it tight between both hands. “It’s—”
“Walt! Where are you?”
At his name, Walt sat up, eyes wide with shock, his mouth straightaway shut with a guilty grimace.
“Oops,” he whispered. “That’s Dad. I’d better go.”
Cora nodded, glancing once more at the book as Walt slipped it back into his bag. As he started to scurry away, Cora stood up.
“Wait.”
Walt turned back.
“Thank you,” she said softly, and smiled.
He had never shown that book to Cora again. Not, she realizes, until the night he came to
Similar Books
