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Noémi had just poured her heart out about the shop’s struggles, safe in the knowledge her mum would nod cheerily and pretend to understand. Noémi still feared she was doing too little too late, and that by the new year, she’d be forced to sell up and watch her mum’s lifework and her joyful childhood memories become boarded up or turned into a betting shop.

In the background, a detective was trying to solve a murder on TV, watched by a resident hugging a giraffe teddy. Another was quietly snoozing, his face changing colour in the glow of the tree’s lights. The care home had plenty of spritely residents, although they were probably off doing Knit and Natter or learning to salsa in their slippers. Élisabeth usually chose peace and quiet, though it tore Noémi’s heart that her mum’s memory no longer served her well enough to read even a page when books had been her life.

She squeezed her mum’s hand, the usual mix of emotions welling up inside her. Gratitude that her mum was still here, safe, warm, and generally serene. And extreme sadness that the version of her mum she remembered now seemed forever out of reach. The younger version of her mum would have listened to Noémi’s woes with careful concern and delivered wise answers. She would have known what to do. Though in fairness, Noémi wasn’t sure she would have confided so many of her failures if Élisabeth could fully understand.

‘I’m scared that if I change things too much, Adventures in Books will no longer be the bookshop we know and love. And that when you visit, you might lose any last thread of recognition.’ Noémi didn’t often take her mum out of the care home, as it could be disconcerting – she now needed these familiar walls. When she left them, she often asked where she was and would seem panicked. But on a good day, the essence of the bookshop lived in her long-term memory, and when Noémi took her there, she got glimpses of the person her mum had once been – like a rare and precious treat. Even if those final threads of memory would sadly wisp away at some point. ‘Though I’m also terrified that if I don’t breathe new life and ideas into the shop, things will quietly …’

Noémi let her voice trail off.

Judith, one of the carers, came to plump pillows and rearrange footstools, offering Noémi a pitying smile and asking if she wanted more tea. Noémi insisted she was fine, as she always did – even if she wasn’t sure when she’d last felt truly fine, or when she would again. Though she’d been doing her best, she couldn’t help feeling like everything was slipping, and she was fighting to stay on two feet. But the kindly aproned woman had only asked if she wanted a cuppa, so she wasn’t about to spill all that.

Another thought came back to Noémi like a jolt.

‘And you’ll never guess who’s moved into the shop next door.’ Noémi could feel her pulse speeding up. Her new neighbour was causing her unnecessary stress even on her quiet morning.

An image of him from earlier, clad in black Lycra and doing his stretches, glistening like a Christmas bauble, slid into her mind. A Christmas bauble?

Noémi fanned her face. Why did they keep this care home so hot? Though noticing the spark in her mum’s eyes, as though Élisabeth sensed an interesting tale, Noémi was tempted to share more.

‘He’s the most curious man,’ Noémi continued. ‘He sells real-life adventures. From a shop! What does that even mean? And he wears such daft costumes. Yesterday, he was dressed as an angel, complete with wings and a tutu.’

‘A tutu,’ Élisabeth enthused, her eyes dancing.

Noémi hadn’t been sure her mum would recall the word, but seeing her buzz of energy brought a wave of delight – which led her to embellish a bit. ‘I mean, some might say he looks oddly angelic, if celestial beings had unruly caramel-coloured waves. Though I’m thinking that holy whatchamacallits ought to shave.’ Her mind wandered to Shay’s rugged-yet-smooth-looking facial hair, and she felt her fingers twitch. Weird. ‘And a halo made of tinsel.’

‘Tinsel,’ Élisabeth breathed back, as though it was the best word ever.

‘And he must have been extremely chilly, flying up and down the street all day, wearing barely more than elastane. On a zip wire. On quiet little Hazel View Avenue. Can you imagine?’

Noémi should probably check he’d got the necessary permissions, and she’d be inspecting those poor trees for damage. She’d spent half of the day trying to stay back from her shop window, frightened she might witness something catastrophic. Though it had surprised her to see Spirit break free from her usual aloofness to whizz past with a squeal of excitement, and Carrie had said some of the shops and Chai’s Lunch & Lattes van had done much better trade.

‘Flying,’ said Élisabeth, carving an arc shape with her hand and watching the motion wistfully. ‘You were flying.’ She fixed Noémi with an animated look.

‘No, not me.’ Noémi shook her head. ‘Far too dangerous.’

Noémi had seen Shay harnessing everyone up and double-checking, and she hadn’t spotted him dropping a single hard hat or leaflet after she’d left. Not that she’d been looking that much. But still. The whole idea had been foolish, and she dreaded to think what he would get up to next.

‘Top o’ the morning!’

What?

The overexaggerated Irish accent with its unlikely phrase came loud and unbidden from somewhere down the corridor, making Noémi jump. No. Surely, she’d just imagined it. What on earth would he be doing here not so long after she’d just shaken him off? And at the exact point she’d been wittering on about his antics and doing her best not to think about all that Lycra.

‘Shay!’ Élisabeth piped up, her happy eyeballs all but popping out at the sound of him.

Shay? Noémi hadn’t mentioned his name, had she? And her mother barely remembered anybody these days. Noémi had become used to being forgotten, or for some passing handyman to be heralded as a long-lost son even though Noémi was her only child.

But correct names were scarcely remembered.

‘What’s he doing here?’ Noémi heard herself ask, through gritted teeth. Was nothing sacred in these hills? Couldn’t she have one quiet place, where she didn’t have to contend with real life and people dressed as divine rejects?

‘That’s Arthur Taylor’s grandson,’ Judith explained, reappearing with a tray of tea and biscuits for the lady with the giraffe teddy. ‘We hadn’t seen him for a long while, but he’s back to liven up the place.’

Did everyone have to have a twinkle in their eye when they spoke about Shay?

Noémi tensed as she heard his voice – less accented after his initial outburst – floating down the corridor in her direction. She absently straightened her fringe and rearranged her slouchy-fit crochet jumper. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Judith smoothing down her apron over her ample curves, and even her mum was checking her hairpins. What was wrong with them all? Noémi quickly clasped her hands together.

Shay stepped into the room, and Noémi could have sworn the air around them somehow changed. Her mouth opened at the sight of him – dressed as an elf again, because who didn’t wear striped tights to visit elderly relatives on a Thursday? She promptly closed her jaw, though Shay was busy greeting Judith with a rendition of ‘Hey Jude’ and gently spinning her. Then he was kneeling at the side of giraffe lady and complimenting her teddy in a way that looked annoyingly sincere. Even the man who’d been snoozing opened one eye.