The Little Gift Shop on the Loch: A delightfully uplifting read for 2019!
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Maggie Conway lived the first ten years of life in London before moving to Scotland. She has a degree in English Literature and spent many years working in offices dreaming of pursuing her passion for writing. A perfect day would include an early morning swim, a good coffee, a great book and a few hours spent writing before the chaos of a husband, three children, a dog and a cat begins. Having landed the role of chief dog walker, she spends far too much time roaming the streets but at least this gives her a chance to think up new storylines.
The Little Gift Shop on the Loch
MAGGIE CONWAY
HQ
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2019
Copyright © Maggie Conway 2019
Maggie Conway asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008330873
E-book Edition © May 2019 ISBN: 9780008296582
Version: 2019-05-06
Table of Contents
This book is dedicated to Margaret Couttie
No matter how tired she was, Lily Ballantine prided herself on keeping to her strict morning routine. Her battle with sleep – or rather lack of it – had crept into her life over recent months, insidiously stealing precious hours of blissful oblivion.
She tried to regard her sleep deprivation as a measure of success; her inability to switch off from deadlines and to-do list was a good thing, a sign her career was on the up. So she endured her tiredness, wearing it like a slightly warped badge of honour, although some mornings were harder than others.
Earlier she’d stumbled through to the bathroom, her bleary-eyed, pale reflection confirming the few glasses of wine last night had done their worst. The alcohol sometimes helped, just enough to tip her over to sleep. But never for long enough. Somehow, frustratingly, she always managed to wake up at that deathly hour of 3 a.m., when the world was at its darkest and she just knew she was the only person on the entire planet who was awake.
The scalding shower and transformative contents of her make-up bag had worked wonders and now she was preened and polished, ready to face the day. Her unruly hair had been straightened into submission and she was dressed in her customary dark trouser suit and crisp shirt – pink today because it was Friday.
Lily automatically checked her watch as she closed her front door at precisely seven o’clock, pleased she was on schedule. Situated in a quiet cul-de-sac, the flat’s location meant she could make the walk to Edinburgh’s city centre in under thirty minutes. She walked at her usual brisk pace, weaving her way through the cobbled streets, past the elegant Georgian tenements and narrow alleyways.
The spring morning showcased Edinburgh’s unique charm to perfection, its turreted buildings silhouetted against a pale blue sky. Lily loved this time of day, while the city remained largely untouched by the throng of workers and shoppers and the air still held a clarity in its gentle breeze.
She took a deep breath thinking back to the previous evening when she’d joined a few colleagues for drinks. She rarely went out these days, but it was best to show face now and again and it had made a change to drink in company. She’d found the bar rather noisy, and had trouble hearing Harry from menswear recount his latest hysterical story. Something to do with slim-fitting trousers and inside leg measurements.
She wondered at what age it was acceptable to admit you hated noisy pubs, certain that 28 was too young. She simply wasn’t used to it anymore. Not like the evenings she’d frequented the best of Edinburgh’s bars, immune to the clamorous voices and pulsating music vying to be heard. Erin and Clare had been her willing accomplices but since they’d both left, Lily was less inclined to go out and making excuses had become a habit. It was amazing how quickly invitations stopped and people fell away if you constantly turned them down.
