The Secret of Happy Ever After by Lucy Dillon

everything but giving nothing away.
    Owen towered over his sister, with thin leather bracelets circling his wrists and long legs in skinny jeans. He looks as if he should be in a band, thought Anna, envying his long lashes. One of those ones that Becca likes, with a name that means something she was too out-of-touch to know about.
    ‘Owen’s going to be setting up the new spring web pages, and he’s got a lot to be getting on with, so don’t let him distract you,’ Michelle went on, checking through her to-do list and crossing off a few things, while he beamed affably at them all. ‘Owen, don’t let Kelsey distract you either. She’s got a lot to be getting on with down here.’
    Kelsey looked thwarted and closed her mouth. Owen winked at her, and even though the wink wasn’t directed her way, Anna felt a sort of passive flutter.
    ‘OK.’ Michelle clicked her pen. ‘You, upstairs. You,’ she pointed at Kelsey, ‘serve those ladies over there. You,’ she pointed at Anna, ‘let’s go and do some reading.’
    ‘Are you sure you can spare the time?’ Anna asked, as two more customers jangled the bell and made a beeline for the rack of handsewn cherry-print aprons.
    ‘So long as I’m back for the afternoon rush,’ said Michelle. She wound a scarf around her neck and pulled on her shear-ling jacket. It was buttery soft, and, like all her clothes, untouched by Dalmatian hair or accidental felt-tip pen marks. Anna envied the easy way Michelle made scarves hang right.
    ‘Where are you going?’ Kelsey asked.
    ‘Butterfields.’ Anna seized the chance to recruit some new volunteers. ‘I don’t suppose you’d like to volunteer a few hours a month, would you? All you have to do is read for about half an hour, and maybe discuss the book, share some stories about—’
    ‘No, sorry. I’m not really a book person,’ said Kelsey firmly. ‘I prefer to wait for the film.’
    ‘But reading’s such a lovely thing to do. Very relaxing. You end up enjoying it as much as the people you’re reading to,’ Anna persisted. ‘Don’t you remember being read to at school? Or by your mum? What an amazing feeling it is letting the story come to life in your head?’
    ‘No.’ Kelsey looked horrified at the thought of anything coming to life anywhere near her head.
    ‘Is it a council thing?’ asked Gillian. She was a keen monitor of council expenditure.
    ‘No, it’s a volunteer group we started in the library to reach people who’ve lost touch with words and stories. Maybe they can’t concentrate, or they can’t read, or see . . . all sorts of reasons. I do the old people’s home, my assistant Wendy ran sessions for the Learning Support Unit at the school, and there’s another one at the hospital.’
    ‘And you just . . . read?’ asked Gillian.
    Anna nodded. It was hard to explain how rewarding the reading scheme was without sounding holier-than-thou, but it made her feel she’d given something useful, which would last for hours after she’d left. ‘Sometimes they read themselves, sometimes we stop and discuss a passage, or they talk about some memory it’s brought back. I have to admit, I sometimes get a bit teary with the older folk. It’s like they’re waking up and you suddenly see their eyes look young again. All because of an idea someone had, then wrote down to share, and now that same idea is planted in memories all over the world, and it’s as if it can turn back time. Isn’t that amazing?’
    Kelsey looked unconvinced but Anna thought she saw a glistening in Gillian’s eyes. Next time she’s coming too, Anna decided.
    Michelle tapped her watch. ‘We’re cutting into their Jean Plaidy hour. Let’s go!’
    And with one backwards glance at a silk handbag covered in tiny chiffon butterflies, Anna let herself be swept out of the warm embrace of Home Sweet Home and onto the chilly high street.
    Anna had reluctantly got rid of her sports car to pay for the bigger people carrier, but she