Outside the library the woman is sitting at one of the tables and flicking through a newspaper. She has her back to me, but I recognise the straight hair and green mackintosh I saw through the café window.
My heart thumps in my chest as if I have been running. ‘Mum,’ I whisper. I step forward, close my eyes and breathe in the smell of her. For a few seconds she is returned to me.
When I look again, the woman is slowly turning around. She is my age, perhaps even younger.
‘Can I help you?’ she says, suspiciously.
This week I’ve written a blog post about the editing process I went through with my agent and the submission of my novel to publishers. Click here to have a read.