The House at the End of Hope Street - By Menna van Praag Page 0,94
jobs for a while and just write, if you wanted to.” He shifts in his chair, trying to gauge his sister’s reaction.
Alba wonders exactly how to frame her response. She doesn’t want to offend her brother, she must temper her delight at the idea just a little. “Well, I . . .”
Misreading her hesitation, Edward rephrases. “It could be a fresh start,” he says. “A new beginning. What do you think?”
Alba offers him the single biscuit remaining on the plate, the sole survivor of Tilly’s culling. “I think I’d like that very much.”
“Good.” Edward smiles and bites into it. “So would I.”
—
It’s three days since Alba’s seen Stella, and she’s getting worried. Last night, she fell asleep at the kitchen table, trying to rewrite Carmen’s song, waiting up for Stella, who never appeared. But she can’t worry now. She has to focus on wonderful, witty things to say. She’s never been on a date before and has no idea what to say or do. Perhaps they’ll just end up as friends. Though it isn’t a matter of “just,” really. Alba would love a real friend, someone who isn’t a character in a book or a ghost in a kitchen, someone who’s set firmly in the land of the living, with whom she can visit bookshops, libraries and the like. Alba’s experience with Edward has shown her that the house is careful not to be magical around strangers. Which is why, in a rash act of intimacy, she invited Zoë to visit. She’s now feeling a little nervous about it, but she wants to show Zoë something of herself—all her books and, most important of all, the place that has changed her life forever.
An hour later, when Alba opens the door, her heart lifts and she smiles. For a moment they stand awkwardly together, not sure what to do next. Alba resolves the question by stepping aside. “Come in.”
“Thank you.” Zoë smiles as she steps over the threshold. “Gosh, this place is amazing.” She notices the pictures. “Who are all these women?”
“They’ve all stayed here, over the years,” Alba explains, just as Peggy had nearly three months ago. She points out Florence Nightingale, Joan Greenwood and Emily Davies as they walk toward the kitchen. At the sink, Stella smiles, knowing she isn’t needed anymore.
“The house is over two hundred years old.”
“Really? That’s amazing. I can’t believe I never noticed it before.”
“Yes,” Alba says. “It’s a little secretive. Do you want anything, tea, coffee, biscuits?”
“I’m fine, actually, thanks.”
“Would you like a tour of the house?”
“Yes.” Zoë grins. “I’d love that.”
The tour, including a careful examination of most of the rooms and nearly all the photographs, concludes in Alba’s bedroom.
“Oh my goodness, this is incredible,” Zoë whispers, “absolutely incredible. All these books! Why did you ever need to come to the library?”
“You’d be surprised by what’s missing.” Alba smiles, thinking of Stella and the sneaky plan she finally realized the ghost had been plotting all along.
Zoë turns from examining a first edition of The Old Curiosity Shop and meets Alba’s gaze. Little flashes of silver spark around Zoë’s hair. It would be the easiest thing in the world to inch forward and kiss her now. And the hardest. Alba blinks and glances away.
“You have the best bedroom in the whole wide world,” Zoë says.
“Yes, I certainly do.”
And then, to their mutual amazement, some of the books float slowly down from the top shelves, brushing past their heads. The books on Alba’s bed begin to rustle their pages.
Secretly thrilled that the house is showing off for her new friend, and even more delighted that Zoë is enjoying it so much, Alba reaches up for a book as it passes by.
“Persuasion,” she reads. “I hate to admit it, but I’ve never read any Austen.”
“Seriously?” Zoë stares at her as if this revelation is even more unbelievable than the flying books. “Never? So, it looks like we’re going to have to further your education.”
“Well, I’ll never say no to more reading,” Alba says. She follows as Zoë walks along the shelves, stopping to pick another book. “Pride and Prejudice.” She hands it to Alba. “And Sense and Sensibility, of course.”
“Of course.” Alba smiles. “But after this I’m going to take you through three years’ worth of history textbooks. Maybe four, if you’re very lucky.”
“I am,” Zoë says. She glances back at Alba as she walks on. “And I look forward to it.” Then Zoë comes to a