I knocked on one of the glass panels set in the front door of the shop and watched the middle-aged Mr. Turner, the owner of the place and thus my boss, coming to unlock it for me.

"Miss Marlowe!" he exclaimed, opening the door wide and letting the beautiful smell of books welcome and envelope me. This was one of the reasons why I chose to work here, I just loved it. "I've been expecting Miss Jones today," he added, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Good morning, Mr. Turner," I greeted the gentleman politely.

Every time I saw him, he reminded me of Agatha Christie's Poirot, making me smile. It must be his short stature or the egg-shaped, nearly bald head. Or his black, stiff moustache and the old-fashioned manners...

"Jessica asked me to take her shift. And Anne, I mean Miss Bloom, will do my hours tomorrow. You don't mind, Mr. Turner, do you?" I asked, looking at him as amiably as I could manage. He usually did not mind our last moment swaps and changes.

"As long as there's at least one of you with me at all times and you all do your hours, all's well, I suppose." He muttered, then shuffled towards one of the floor to ceiling bookshelves that lined the walls of the small shop.

"Thank you, Mr. Turner," I said as I walked past him, carrying my bags into a small room at the back.

The little lounge was reserved for us girls, and it doubled as a kitchen during our breaks when the weather was too bad, or the shop too crowded, to venture outside.

I opened my luggage and took the book I bought at the airport out. The mornings in the Theatre Bookshop were never too busy, I could read at least a few pages before the first customers turned up.

If Mr. Turner doesn't notice, of course, I thought, hiding the book under my arm as I walked across the shop, back to the front door. Slipping it under the counter, I settled at my usual place at the till. The spot offered the most perfect view. I could see the whole shop on my left and a good portion of the high road, Paris, the square, and the theatre through the window on my right.

I noticed Lucas exiting the café, talking excitedly on his phone, and looking towards the shop. He seemed undecided for a while whether to cross the road or not, and I prayed he would not come over. But after a while, he put the phone in his pocket and headed for the tube station instead, making me sigh with relief.

I really didn't need him in my complicated life, too. Shaking my head to banish thoughts of Lucas from my mind, I realised I was hungry again and decided to run back in the kitchen to get Lia's biscuits.

"How was your trip?" Mr. Turner asked as I walked back to my place.

"It was... great, thank you," I told him, my heart starting to beat faster as I tried to hide myself behind the counter. I'd give anything to be able to melt into the background; I didn't want to talk about my trip with anyone.

Mr. Turner unlocked the door and switched on another, stronger light, thus announcing to the world outside that his shop was open. Then he came closer to me. Obviously, he was in the mood to talk. Please don't ask me anything...

"Transylvania and the Bran Castle are beautiful, don't you think, Miss Marlowe?" he continued, leaning against the wooden countertop separating me from him.

"Hmm... yes," I agreed, trying to look busy organizing piles of postcards, theatre programmes, and colourful plastic cups full of souvenir pens lying around the counter.

"Have I ever told you that I've been there when I was younger... Like yourself, I was attracted by the legend of the vampire Count..." he said, shaking his head and smiling at me.

Oh no. Please go away, Mr. Turner... I begged silently even as the door behind him opened, and I was saved by our first customer.

The morning wasn't too bad in the end; there was always someone to keep Mr. Turner occupied, asking about books, talking about theatre, but as usual, most people didn't buy anything, leaving me undisturbed.

I was through the first few boring pages of my book, nibbling at a biscuit, when Lia appeared, a large, white box, and a pack of sandwiches in her hands.

"What's that?" I asked curiously.

"Your lunch," she said, shaking a few drops of water off the transparent plastic container protecting the food. "It's raining again; you better stay in. And here," she added, taking the lid off the box, "are your new shoes."

"Lia! They are perfect!" I exclaimed, looking inside the box and attracting Mr. Turner's attention.

The shoes, a pair of ankle lace boots made of black leather, were very similar to those which I used to wear in the castle.

"Well, I'm happy you like them. Try them on. If they don't fit, I'll take them back tomorrow."

"How much do I owe you? Let me get my wallet..." I told her, standing up.

"Nothing," she said, making me sit down again. "Take them as a part of your birthday present. How are you feeling, by the way?"

"Hmm... fine. Perfect, actually, apart from the headache. I need to take something before it gets too strong, I think."

"Here," she said, producing a pack of Paracetamol from her handbag.

"Don't you have something stronger? This doesn't really work," I complained.

Her bag was always full of all sorts of pills. And plasters and disinfectants and other things the future medics apparently found useful to carry within immediate reach wherever they went.

"No, not for you." She smiled. "This will have to do. I must go now. See you tomorrow night. Don't forget to book us a table," she reminded me.

"Did you hear from Anne?" I called as she opened the door.

I was starting to worry about Anne, she hadn't replied to any of my messages. I'd have to call her, risking waking her up if she was still in bed...

"I called her a while ago, and she told me off for having woken her up. She's fine. Have a nice day Samara, good bye, Mr. Turner!" Lia waved to the man who looked at her from across the shop and waved back. Then she was gone.

After that, the rest of the day flew by. I ate my lunch in less than fifteen minutes because the shop was abnormally busy for a Friday, and it was just me and Mr. Turner to handle all the customers today.

When we finally closed and parted ways outside the shop-- Mr. Turner headed for his house not far from the girls' flat and I for the bus station in the opposite direction-- I felt all stiff and tired. My back hurt, and I still had the headache, too. Katerina's willow bark was by far more effective than Lia's Paracetamol... Don't you think about that! I scolded myself, noticing the dangerous grounds my thoughts were strolling to.

"Hey, Samara, nice to see you again." A voice of a man walking against the tide of bodies headed for the station, appearing suddenly in front of me, startled me.

"Lucas, what are you doing here?" I asked, raising my voice to be heard over the noise caused by the ceaseless traffic. It was dark, cold, and drizzling with rain, and he was the last person I wished to meet at the moment. It couldn't really get any worse.

"Well, I happen to live here. Have you forgotten? Shall I walk to the flat with you? I'll carry your bag," he offered, reaching for it.

"No, thank you. I do not live with the girls. Otherwise, I wouldn't drag this luggage with me around Hammersmith all day, don't you think?"

"Right. So where do you live?"

Dismissing 'That's none of your business' as too unladylike, I said, "In Barnes. I'm going to take a bus."

"Oh. I see. Let me take you to the station then," he proposed, taking the bag off my shoulder.

I only rolled my eyes at him, too tired to protest. He wouldn't give up, anyway.

We walked down the road in silence, but I caught him observing me curiously more than once. I'd have loved to know what he saw in me, what he was looking for, why he was so... strange. But I didn't want to ask.

"Thanks, Lucas," I said simply when my bus arrived and he handed me my luggage back.

"No problem. See you soon, Samara."

I only nodded, sighing, knowing that he would find a way for us to meet soon. I watched him walk away, vanishing into the crowd, as the door of the bus closed and we left the station.

Sitting down, I observed the people rushing along the pavements through the rain-sprinkled window for a while before the bus reached the bridge spanning over the Thames. The bridge that had always felt like a time passage to me, connecting the modern, lively Hammersmith to the sleepy, antiquated Barnes.

What did I truly miss from this world during the year spent in the past? I asked myself as the bus moved over the river, giving up on trying to adjust my messy bun and letting my hair loose.

Cappuccino? Electricity? Running water? Technology? No, not really... Underwear, and a few items of personal hygiene, maybe, I mused, recalling my still unshaven legs, and, with a shiver, the horrendous strips of red fabric Katerina produced for me monthly... Yet, I could live without any of my little comforts if they were the price to pay for staying with him...

I would only miss my friends, really. And my parents, even though we were not too close. I thought, as the bus continued down a long straight road lined with tall, white Edwardian houses, silent and apparently lifeless, looking like ghosts through the misted glass.

We were always arguing at home, ever since I finished university a few months ago and refused to pursue any sort of a 'respectable career', as my parents put it. They wanted me to become a famous architect, like Dad. Or a renowned interior designer, like Mum. Even an editor, a teacher, or an interpreter would do for them, seeing that I spoke French and Italian fluently. And Romanian now, too.

Instead, I asked Mr. Turner to employ me full time in his book shop and my parents didn't like that. They didn't understand me. I just wasn't a career girl like Mum, who had never been around enough while I was growing up, leaving me in care of the endless row of au-pairs and nannies. She only stopped working when I was sixteen, too late to catch up on all the lost years.

Even though I had never been quite sure what I wanted to do in my life, I knew I didn't want to be like her. I'd definitely make my family a priority.

We were by the Wetland Centre already, I noticed when the bus swerved to the right and continued in the direction of the river again, for a couple more minutes, before reaching my stop.

I got off by the pond, in the middle of the village's Green. From there, I walked, taking a shortcut along the narrow cobbled streets and dark back lanes, which led me directly to the old church standing two houses down from my home.

I reached our front steps as my father walked outside, ready for his night out, with mum, looking upset, talking loudly, and gesturing agitatedly in tow.

"Can't you even stay in at least once a week anymore? Will you come back tonight, and if not, when will I see you again? Why do you even bother to come here at all..."

"Mum. Dad," I spoke before he could reply to her. I had heard enough of their arguments over the last few years and didn't want to witness this one, too.

"Samara," Dad said, turning to me. "You look well, daughter. But you should definitely cut that hair. It's too long for a young woman your age, don't you think, Lara?" he spoke to mum without looking at her.

"Have a nice evening, girls. I'll see you later. Or I'll call you," he added as neither of us replied. Then he walked past me and disappeared down the road.

"Welcome home, Sam," Mum said, pulling me in for a hug once we were alone.

Wow. That was unexpected. She never displayed her affection so openly. "Your hair smells like burning wood... Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat, or will you take a shower first?"

Who are you, and what did you do to Mum? I wanted to ask, changing my mind at the last moment. But she never really cared before...

"I'm hungry," I said simply.

"Good. There's some lasagna left, I'll just warm it up for you. Come in," she said, making me follow her inside.

"Did you cook it? And why are you even at home, don't you have your painting lessons on Friday evenings?"

Mum was a good cook, but she didn't like to waste her time preparing meals. If she had spent hours making dinner and skipped her painting lesson, something was up.

"I did. I was kind of hoping your father would stay for once," she admitted.

"Oh. I see," I said, dumping my bags by the front door and following her into the kitchen.

The tiny, fluffy thing she called dog appeared suddenly at my feet, jumping with joy, trying to lick my hands. That was very unusual, too. There was no love lost between the two of us. The dog was a fairly new member of our family. I didn't like its size, and it seemed to know it. Where is my Shadow?

"See, even Lily missed you!" Mum called as the low hum of the microwave was replaced by its loud ding. "Go wash your hands so you can eat, honey."

Honey? Really?

"I like your new skirt more than the jeans you always wear," Mum said, coming to sit at the table next to me, two glasses, and a bottle of white wine in her hands.

She poured the wine out for both of us before she continued, "And the ring even more. He called more than once while you were gone, I knew he was up to something."

"Who are you talking about?" I asked, not quite following her train of thought. The food was good, and I realised I was starving again.

"William, of course."

Oh. "Mum. You know he broke up with me a month ago."

"But you have forgiven him, obviously. You are wearing his diamond," she said, her eyebrows knitting in confusion.

All hunger suddenly gone, I put the fork down next to my unfinished dinner. I drained my glass of wine and poured myself one more, bringing it to my lips immediately. Her words seemed to be the last drop. I couldn't do this, I couldn't hold my tears back any longer.

"Mum," I whispered, my voice failing me. "It's not William's."

Putting the empty glass down, I stood up and walked towards the door, ignoring her surprised and confused questions.

I collected my bags and headed for the staircase leading to the bedrooms when I heard Mum calling after me, "Remember to take your shoes off, Samara, I had all the carpets cleaned yesterday!"

I did as I was told, realising as I reached the door of my room, that I would much rather listen to Katerina scolding me than Mum.

Why did you send me back, my love? How could you do this to me? How am I supposed to go on, here, alone, and why? I thought, despairing, as silent tears continued to flood my eyes and flow down my cheeks.