His words had tossed the book that was her life into the air and the pages had been blown into disarray, could never be put back together to tell the same story.

Time had a way of moulding people into shapes they themselves no longer recognised.

But in my humble opinion, a house needs a good party once in a while; remind folks it exists.

Darling girl, blinded by foolish thoughts of love. How to tell her that the hearts of men were not so easily won. If won, rarely kept.

But everyone's an expert with the virtue of hindsight . . . .

Percy climbed the first step, then the next, remembering the thousands of times she'd run through the door, in a hurry to get to the future, to whatever was coming next, to this moment.

Round and round the questions flew, until finally I found myself standing at the open door of a bookshop. It’s natural in times of great perplexity, I think, to seek out the familiar, and the high shelves and long rows of neatly lined-up spines were immensely reassuring. Amid the smell of ink and binding, the dusty motes in beams of strained sunlight, the embrace of warm, tranquil air, I felt that I could breathe more easily.