.

and gave Tilly an awkward half-wave before making his way back across the road to Crumbs.

      Tilly headed upstairs to her reading nook, but when she turned the corner she saw that her sofa was already occupied by a girl with red pigtails. She looked up at Tilly as she approached and sighed dramatically.

      ‘I know what you must be thinking,’ she said in an accent that Tilly couldn’t place. ‘You’re thinking what a dreadful burden it must be for a girl who is already so skinny to be forced to endure red hair as well.’

      ‘I wasn’t thinking that at all,’ Tilly said. ‘I was just wondering what you were doing on my sofa?’

      ‘I’m so awfully sorry,’ the girl said, jumping up and haphazardly straightening the cushions, ‘I didn’t know it was yours.’

      ‘I mean, it’s not really,’ Tilly said, realising that she must have seemed rude. ‘It’s just where I like to sit and read and you surprised me. I hadn’t noticed you when I was up here with my fri— With a boy from school.’

      ‘Oh, I know that feeling,’ the girl said, smiling broadly. ‘I have a tree that is laden with the most beautiful, sweet-smelling, pale pink blossom that I like to read under.’ The girl’s face suddenly morphed into a look of horror. ‘But can you ever forgive me?’

      ‘Forgive you for what?’ Tilly said, thoroughly flummoxed at the change in tone.

      ‘My horrible manners. I haven’t even introduced myself. My name is Anne. With an “e”.’

      ‘With an “e”?’ Tilly repeated hazily.

      ‘Yes, the “e” is ever so important. People are always telling me that the name is much the same with or without the “e”, but I think those people are severely lacking in imagination. How could you ever think that Ann without an “e” was the same as Anne with an “e”? It’s like saying … Why, it’s like saying that dessert is the same as desert! But there I go again with my terrible manners. I haven’t even asked what your name is. Oh, wait! Let me guess, you look like … an Emmeline, or maybe a Penelope. Or Cordelia?’ she added, sounding hopeful.

      ‘It’s just Tilly, I’m afraid. Short for Matilda, Matilda Pages.’

      ‘Why, that is a lovely name and I am quite envious,’ Anne said, looking entirely delighted. ‘I’m so thrilled to meet you.’

      ‘Are you looking for a book?’ Tilly asked.

      ‘That sounds wonderful, thank you!’ Anne said. ‘Autumn is the most magical time of the year for reading, don’t you think?’ She gestured towards the window, which framed only drizzle and grey skies, but Anne reacted as though she could see auburn leaves tumbling in the wind. ‘October is my absolute favourite month. And to read outside, with the sun dappling … Do you think dappling is a real word, Tilly? I think it must be, don’t you? With the sun dappling the leaves of a tree, a glass of raspberry cordial at hand …’ She tailed off, staring dreamily into nothing.

      Tilly began to find the silence a little awkward, but struggled to think of something to say and so returned to her fail-safe question. ‘What’s your favourite story?’ she asked, jerking Anne out of her autumnal daydreams.

      ‘Do stories you’ve made up yourself count?’ asked Anne.

      ‘I don’t think so,’ said Tilly. ‘I think they have to be, well, proper stories, like in a book.’

      ‘A story you’ve made up yourself is just as proper, don’t you think? Although I suppose it is harder to share with other people unless it’s written down. But I do love telling stories out loud as well. My friend Diana and I have a club where we read each other our stories and offer helpful advice on how to improve as writers. I must say, though, the advice is mainly one-way. Poor Diana, she doesn’t have much of an imagination, although I love her fiercely regardless. I daresay it is good for my soul to be bosom buddies with a girl who is so lacking in imaginative powers.’

      The mention of a friend named Diana made Tilly’s brain itch; something about this girl was so familiar.

      ‘But, anyway, it must depend on what the purpose of your story is, I suppose,’ Anne concluded, and looked up triumphantly.

      Tilly nodded supportively, although she wasn’t really very sure what Anne’s point was.

      ‘Do you know,’ Tilly started, glancing down at the book in her hand, ‘you do remind me of—’ But she was interrupted by a harried-looking man who came up behind them and tapped Tilly on the shoulder imperiously.

      ‘Excuse me, young lady, I need to pay for this immediately. Do you work here?’ He was holding a very thick business textbook.

      ‘Not really,’ Tilly said, trying not to laugh as Anne impersonated the man’s cross face behind his back. ‘But I’ll go and find my grandad. He owns the shop.’

      The man nodded curtly.

      ‘I’ll be right back,’ Tilly said to Anne.

      ‘I don’t trust you to come straight back, missy. I’ll come with you; I have an incredibly important meeting to get to urgently,’ the man said, and Tilly couldn’t be bothered to explain that she wasn’t talking to him. She delivered him to Grandad who took him to the till, but when Tilly went back upstairs she couldn’t see Anne anywhere. She ran down to find Grandad after the grumpy customer had gone.

      ‘Ah, Tilly, just the person I was looking for. Don’t forget, we need some of your inspiration for the Wonderland party later. I’d been wondering if we could possibly try to …’ He paused, noticing how distracted she was. ‘What’s up, sweetheart?’

      ‘Did you see a girl come past here a few moments ago?’ she asked.

      ‘No, afraid not, love. Was she a friend from school?’

      ‘No, just a customer, I think. She seemed nice, though. I thought she might have stuck around for a bit,’ Tilly said. ‘But I can’t find her.’

      ‘She probably had to go and meet her parents, Tils,’ Grandad said gently. ‘Maybe she’ll pop back in later. I’ll keep an eye out for her if she comes in; what did she look like?’

      ‘She had red hair in two plaits,’ Tilly said. ‘It was funny actually; she really reminded me of Anne Shirley from Anne of Green Gables – and her name was even Anne too! Such a weird coincidence. Maybe it’s like owners and their dogs,’ she joked. ‘You start seeing your favourite characters in real people. Although that’s not quite right with the dog thing, is it …?’ She tailed off, noticing Grandad’s face had gone pale. ‘Are you okay? Should I get Grandma? Do you need a cup of tea?’

      ‘No, no, I’m fine, love,’ Grandad reassured her. ‘Just a wobbly moment. Been on my feet for too long this morning, I think! I will take you up on that tea, though, and I’ll just have a sit-down behind here for a moment – I’ll be as right as rain before you know it.’ The colour was already returning to his cheeks as Tilly left to make the tea.

      

      hile the kettle boiled, Tilly seized the chance to run upstairs to her room and dig out her mum’s copy of Alice in Wonderland, tucking Mary’s photo inside the cover.

      Grandad wasn’t at the till when she returned with the tea. She tracked him down in the corner of the shop that they rather grandly called the office, although it was really just a desk tucked into a corner of the fourth floor where customers didn’t