Would you read a book with the title – ‘The Story of Your Life from Beginning to End?’

Today was one of those weird ‘if’ days. If the lady from Rose Cottage had not had a stroke she would have been at home. If she had been at home, her neighbour would not have been feeding her dog. If her neighbour wasn’t feeding her dog, he wouldn’t have left her garden gate open. If he hadn’t left the gate open the dog wouldn’t have run out. If the dog hadn’t run out the car wouldn’t have swerved onto the other side of the road and crashed into the bus I was taking to work.

Last of the ‘If’s, if I wasn’t on the bus I would not now be standing in front of the most intriguing looking bookstore, all dark green cracked paint and yellow stencilled daisy’s, the kind anyone would dream about owning or at least me anyway. Standing in the window, like a tall handsome man, a glossy black book with the initials MS embossed in gold. Strangely enough my exact initials, MS. So, because the lady from the rose cottage, who I don’t even know, had a stroke, I, Molly Skinner am now the owner, proud or otherwise, of a beautiful book with the title – ‘The Story of your life – from beginning to end’ and all I can think about is reading it.

I am not normally a lucky person, neither am I an unlucky person, I’m a kind of ‘one point away from a C grade’ person, you know the one who always ‘nearly’ landed the job, the one who missed the last train by a minute or so, that kind of luck. ‘Always the understudy never the lead’ my big sister would say with her apologetic, but loving smile. Oh, and I forgot to mention, because I had to phone work to say I would be late, I was fired. Unlucky.

For someone unlucky enough to be in a bus crash and to lose their job I was lucky enough to find myself in this quaint village with one long steep cobbled hill lined with dainty little shops and as if by magic I find a gorgeous coffee shop, weirdly called ‘The Tobacconist’. Not sure what that means, but it definitely serves coffee not tobacco. I should really say thank you to Rose Cottage Lady, if I knew her, this place I have accidently found myself in, because of her, is beautiful. Unbelievably beautiful indeed.

Clutching my bag, coat, caramel latte, and a very sticky bun I head over to the window seat. Desperately wanting to start reading this book. A sip of my now cold caramel latte tells me that it has had me enthralled for a while. Wonderfully it’s true, all true so far. My life from its very sad beginnings, my mama and papa being killed to my happy later life being looked after by my big sister Susie. Susie is the sweetest of girls, little round rosy cheeks and big ginger curly hair and never ever cross. She really is the perfect big sister the kind you might find in an old-fashioned film. She loved to read; I grew up with her reading stories to me every day. She grew my love of books in me, and this glossy little black book describes it perfect, my life, the reading and Susie. I love books and I love Susie. Even when I was so jealous after she met Tom, trying so hard not to like him and to make him not like me but it was impossible. Susie was too nice to not have an equally as nice match such as Tom. They really are the perfect couple.

This world is a strange place. Had I found this book yesterday, I may not have been on that bus, chapter seven tells the story of a bus crash and ironically today is the seventh and people say seven is a lucky number, perhaps not for me with my luck or lack of it. And if that was the case it would have been a shame as I would not have found this magical place. The waitress comes over to clear the table, she grabs my mug, knocks my cold caramel latte over the book. It’s drenched. Quickly she goes to wipe it, ‘excuse me’ I say, I’m glaring at her and snatching it back; she startles, apologies and walks off. How annoying the pages are wet now. Behind me is a radiator, one of those big old-fashioned ones. The height of summer, too hot for radiators but luckily it’s on and warm enough the dry the book. Patience is not one of my best points I just want to carry on reading, I’m curious, if chapter seven is today chapter eight must be tomorrow.

Susie says not to worry about tomorrows, ‘life is like a feather, tumbling, fluttering and spinning through the air and nobody knows where it will come down’ that is how life should be. You don’t need to worry about tomorrows. Let it be what it will be’.

The book dries in no time, grabbing it off the radiator I shove it in my bag, with all intentions of heading home, it opens, or maybe I meant to open it a little to get a sneaky peak. Too late now I see a picture of a lottery ticket. How ironic, ending up in the dreamiest of villages, weirdly finding a book with my initials printed on, about my life, beginning to end, no money no job and a lottery ticket. Maybe I’m dreaming. Or maybe this time I am lucky. Maybe just maybe I land the lead role. I can’t stop myself from reading a little more. A desperate need to know what happens beats me. Frantically, I read the next couple of pages. My phone vibrates, its Susie, I can’t concentrate on the phone I just want to read the book, but she is seeing the baby doctor today. I guess even the most perfect of people have flaws. Susie and Tom’s are that they desperately want a family of their own and it is not happening.

‘Hi Susie’,

‘Hi’ she says in a sad quiet voice. ‘Bad news I’m afraid, no baby, again and I’m out of money with IVF’ she lets out a big sigh.

So desperate to continue reading, I guiltily tell her I am in a busy café and can’t really talk right now. My need to know what happens tomorrow is more than my need to know what has happened today. I read it is not a big winning lottery ticket, seems the sixth number rubbed off with the coffee spill, leaving only five numbers to use. As always for me, one number short, but still, I win $20,000.00. Not quite the lead role though.

Even knowing this book is about my life and reading on a bit will reveal exactly how the twenty thousand dollars are spent, I put it down and allow myself a few minutes to daydream. I could buy my own cute little book shop, fill my wardrobe with trendy new clothes, take a trip round the world or finally own a car. But of course, a baby for Susie and Tom is the only thing on my mind today. I try not to read anymore. I need to go home to tell Susie, even if she will say that the whole thing is a load of codswallop.

Stuffing the book back into my bag to finish my coffee, I try not to think about it. To pacify my nagging brain, I will read one or two more pages. Grabbing the book back out of my bag and speedily scanning the pages, I read about telling Susie I have won twenty thousand dollars and am going to buy her and Tom a baby or rather pay for IVF. She conceives, she is pregnant. Nine months of prepping, preparing and turning the whole house into a nursery. We are all happy and excited. Again, I close the book, I should really stop now and go and tell Susie. But I really can’t resist, a couple more pages, I just want to know if it’s a boy or girl.

Slapping the book closed I push away from the table, scratching the legs of the chair on the floor to irate stares from the clumsy waitress. I stare back I am angry. Why did I have to find this book? I suddenly hate Rose Cottage Lady and the ugly bookshop. I never wanted to win the lottery or read this stupid book. I am blurry eyed. I cannot unread it now. Why. Why me. Why us. I hope I am dreaming, I pinch myself to wake up, close my eyes, blink like they do in films but I’m still here in the café with the book lying there toying with me to read to the end.

Again, I find myself in one of those weird ‘if’ moments. If the bus had not crashed, I wouldn’t be reading this book, if I wasn’t reading this book, I wouldn’t know the winning lottery numbers, if I didn’t know the winning lottery numbers, I wouldn’t have bought a ticket, If I didn’t win anything I wouldn’t have paid for Susie’s IVF and if she hadn’t been pregnant, she wouldn’t be on life support at St Mathews General Hospital after a difficult delivery of a beautiful baby boy with us all standing around praying for a miracle.

I am shaking, telling myself it’s only a book. It’s only a book from a bookstore you happened to mysteriously stumble upon. Only a book and I have read too far ahead in the future. I do not want to win any money or read about my tomorrows. Let it be Susie warned. Let it be what it will be.

I don’t want this book.

Would you?