The Lost Bookshop(82)

‘You’re right,’ I said, closing my laptop and stuffing it into my bag. ‘It is the twenty-first century,’ I repeated, as though that made everything clear.

‘Wait a second,’ he said, reaching up to the top of my head and extricating a bright green leaf from my hair.

‘Oh, thanks,’ I said, giving my whole scalp a good ruffle through in case there were any more.

‘Spring is in the air,’ he said.

It was also in my flat. The trunk had begun to separate from the wall at the top and the branches overhead now hung over my bed, creating a kind of canopy. Buds had begun to grow and unfurl. I no longer thought about telling Madame Bowden. I liked it and didn’t want anyone to suggest cutting it. On a trestle table outside a second-hand bookshop I found a book on the hidden life of trees, which was interesting because it did feel like this tree was hiding in my basement. And because that was the kind of person I was now: the kind who picked up books on a whim.





Logan’s words buoyed me along, all the way to the front door of Henry’s bed and breakfast, but that was where I began to falter. Who was I kidding, really? Of course I still liked him and he’d know it straightaway. It was a stupid idea. Maybe I could find out more about Opaline myself – who needed someone with vast experience in this area anyway?

As I was thinking this all through and talking myself out of ringing the doorbell, I saw two little dogs hop up inside the net curtains of the front window and, on sight, begin barking furiously.

‘Shhh!’ I insisted, holding my hands up for some reason, as if they were armed. It didn’t work. Next thing the front door opened.

‘Hello, love, I’ve no vacancies tonight, I’m afraid,’ said the slightly harried-looking woman. She took a deep drag of her cigarette and sharply told the dogs to shut up or they wouldn’t get their treat, which weirdly worked.

‘No, I’m not looking for a room. I was just seeing if Henry was in but he’s probably out so I’ll just—’ I had stepped back off the kerb and was already making my exit.

‘HENRY! COMPANY!’ Her voice pierced the air like a foghorn and she invited me to step inside.

What could I do?





I was sat on a little velvet buttoned seat attached to a small desk with a landline phone on it in the hall when I saw his brown boots coming down the stairs. He looked puzzled to see me, as well he should have been.

‘Hi,’ I said. I also waved, even though he was right in front of me.

He said nothing, which was kind of weird and made me feel as though I shouldn’t have come.

‘No prizes for guessing why you came back from London so quickly,’ the landlady said, in better humour now and winking at me.

Henry bent his head and rubbed the back of his neck with the palm of his hand. ‘Do you want to come up to my room?’ he asked.

‘Now, now, Henry, you know the rules,’ she giggled, having a good old laugh at our expense.

I wanted the ground to swallow me. I got up and tried to think of an excuse to leave. ‘You know, this was probably more of an email thing, so I’ll just email you. Later. Sorry to disturb,’ I said, making a break for the front door.

‘Actually, I was just on my way out so …’

We walked down the street, exchanging pleasantries about the weather and both agreeing that global warming was terrible altogether. Strange how quickly you go from feeling like you can tell someone anything to feeling like two strangers meeting at a bus stop.

‘I wasn’t going to bother you again, you know, what with the way things are, but I was talking to my friend Logan and he said that, you know, it’s the twenty-first century and people can be friends …’ Jesus, it was coming out in the most awkward way possible. I sounded like a five-year-old.

‘Logan? He was the guy at your party?’

‘Yes! He’s become a good friend actually. We’re in class together.’ It still felt so cool, saying that.

‘I’m really happy for you, genuinely. It’s good to see you doing so well.’ He stopped walking and kicked some imaginary dust on the ground with his boot. ‘Thing is, I have to focus on my work now.’

‘That’s what I’m here to talk about. Opaline.’

‘Oh?’

‘The letter you showed me, to Sylvia. It mentioned a book. I think that maybe I have it.’

‘What?’

‘And I’m pretty sure Opaline wrote it.’

‘Hang on, what? How?’

‘I don’t know, I can’t explain everything, and I know it’s not the actual manuscript you’re looking for, so I wasn’t even sure if I should tell you—’

‘No, you absolutely should. I’m glad you did. I’m sorry if I’m being …’ He trailed off.

‘It’s okay. It’s weird for me too. But maybe it is possible for us to, you know, be friends?’

I stood there feeling a bit vulnerable and he took long enough with his answer, which wasn’t the one I was expecting.

‘Shit, I’m going to miss my bus.’





Chapter Forty-Five





HENRY





It was a terrible idea. I hadn’t a clue what I was going to do when I got to St Agnes’s and now I was going to have an audience. No word came from my companion, who was happily devouring the most foul-smelling packet of crisps, which threatened to pollute the entire bus.