One Chapter Ends

Chapter Twenty-One

Saturday, November 10th

The day was bright and sunny. Perfect weather. A blue-and-white striped tent procured by Hazel's dad had been put up outside to shade the musicians while they played. Tempting aromas of coffee, tea, cookies and toasted subs drifted through the door. The letters that Charlotte and Hazel had coloured and cut out so long ago were stuck in the window and outlined in white twinkle lights: OPEN DAY.

Under the tent, a group of five people played: two women and three men. The lead singer, a dark-haired girl in a green dress with kohl-lined eyes, sang a cover of "Cherry Bomb". Anyone listening would have seen the bassist watching her from behind his shaggy black fringe.

Inside was crowded with people. The books were disappearing off the shelves, sold by a dark-haired teenager wearing a wide smile, jeans and a T-shirt with the bookstore's logo printed on it.

As the band wrapped up their song outside, a dark-haired woman in a blue dress, looking like an older version of the teenager, was standing near the window, listening to a young man begin to recite a poem he had written. An audience sat in front of him on fold-out chairs. Three others – two women and a man – stood behind the woman, all of different ages but all looking incredibly nervous.

A young woman with short dirty blonde hair was standing near a table full of food, chatting to a man with a shaved head, who looked to be a few years older than her.

Another young woman with curly red hair elbowed her teasingly as she walked past, leading an older couple across the room, where an elderly man and a woman of their age – with a shaggy brown pixie cut and brown eyes – waited. As she introduced them, one could see a large blue pin stuck to her store T-shirt. The blonde woman stepped forward and hugged the elderly man, who seemed to be near tears.

As the day wore on, it grew busier and even more crowded inside the store. Finally, when the sunlight began to turn buttery at around 3.30pm, the crowd of guests inside the store took seats on fold-out chairs and the floor, gathering around as the curly-haired redhead took centre stage in front of them, her hands nervously gripping pages covered in typeface.

~

The open day was going perfectly. The food was disappearing and so were the books, as well as the business cards Hazel had had her mother make last-minute and set out conspicuously on the front desk.

Charlotte – now a part-time, paid employee of Untitled – had taken pride in being the one to sell books to any of the guests who wanted to buy. Everyone did, of course – Hazel knew no one could resist a book sale.

All of the musicians had been a hit, but the Orange Suns were by far the crowd's favourite, which came as no surprise to her. They were an incredible band.

What had come as a surprise to her was finding Natasha chatting to Ryan against one of the bookcases after their performance. From the look on her best friend's face, she was more than interested in the lifeguard-wannabe guitarist. Hazel had simply raised an eyebrow at her, which Natasha had replied to by flipping her off – without taking her eyes off Ryan's face.

She'd also finally introduced her parents to Brian. When Melanie had hugged him – to Hazel's surprise – she had spotted tears on Brian's cheeks. She herself had finally met Katherine, Theo's mother, who was every bit as kind and intelligent as both Brian and Theo had told her. Theo was nowhere to be seen. Hazel tried not to let that get to her.

This is my day, she told herself firmly. And Lewis' day. Remember what Nat said.

And it was her day, in so many ways. That morning, before leaving for the store, she'd gone online and accepted her offer into the Bachelor of Arts program, to study writing in the next year. Her parents had been standing on either side of her when she'd pressed the button.

But she knew she could tell her brain that it was her day all she liked. It wouldn't make a difference. She just wished that her brain would sit down and have a chat with her aching heart.

Time flew and before she knew it, all the authors and poets had spoken. It was her turn.

As Renée introduced her, she stood to the side, her hands shaking as she carefully checked the order of the pages she held. It would be just her luck to have them out of order at the very moment she needed no mistakes.

"Please welcome Hazel, reading her short story titled Indecision," Renée finished, waving Hazel forward. The crowd clapped – Hazel could see her parents, Nat, Brian, Katherine and Charlotte in the middle, grinning and cheering her on.

Thinking back to a few months ago, Hazel could hardly believe how far they'd come. A few months ago, her parents had wanted her to sell the store and become an engineer. Brian hadn't had anyone to help him write his memoirs. She had been knee-deep in grief and confusion about her career. Charlotte was being bullied and her parents had been fighting non-stop.

We've all grown up, she thought, almost wistfully.

Stepping up to what she'd dubbed 'centre stage' – really, just a designated patch of the store's floor – Hazel glanced at the words on the page and drew breath to begin.

But as she looked up and out at the audience, she caught a glimpse of something that made her halt.

A familiar figure with shaggy brown hair had crept into the store, virtually unnoticed by anyone else.

As Hazel stared at Theo and their eyes locked, all the harsh and unyielding words they'd spat at each other came back to haunt her.

I need to write it...

I can't let you do that...

You're doing that, exactly...

I feel like you're a stranger to me...

I have told you everything...

We're just – different...

As she watched him, he gave her a small smile and a thumbs-up.

The cold that had been floating around her body for what felt like eons eased a bit, replaced by a small burst of happiness. He read them.

She'd spent hours editing and re-editing the words, trying to make the best version of her story that she could as well as taking his thoughts into consideration. Hoping against hope that this, above everything else, would show him that she was sorry, that she wanted to try again.

And just in case he was still mad and felt like being dense, she'd attached a note to the front explaining her intentions and apologising.

He read them. The words kept repeating themselves. He read them. He read them. He read them. She felt like jumping up and down and clapping her hands together and squealing. But she couldn't do that.

He met her eyes again and gestured to the paper she held. She understood: they would talk later. He had come to hear her story. This time, from her own lips.

Her mouth stretched into a grin she couldn't contain. She saw her mother's eyes narrow as she took in that smile and saw her turn imperceptibly to the side, twisting to look behind her. As Melanie turned back and looked at her lap, Hazel caught the shadow of a grin that matched her own and knew her mum understood.

Taking a breath, Hazel began to read.

the power of stories

lies in the knowledge that

even though the stage is closed

the characters go on