Chapter Fourteen
MARTHA
I had no idea why he wanted to take me to a shop filled with pens I couldn’t afford. And what exactly was a propelling pencil? There was a sign outside the shop saying they stocked them, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask in case I ended up looking like a complete idiot. I remember somebody once saying it’s better to keep your mouth shut and look stupid, rather than open it and remove all doubt. Well, something like that anyway. Henry, on the other hand, had no such worries.
‘Ah, the old parliament buildings,’ he said, pointing to a large cream-coloured building that looked as though it had just landed there from ancient Rome. ‘Wonderful architecture, the Palladian style, I believe.’
He just said stuff like that, off the top of his head, as if it were perfectly normal. He wasn’t even from here and he knew more about it than I did. I stuck to my rule of nodding in agreement, whilst having no idea what he was talking about.
‘Where are we going, exactly? I have to be back to—’ I was about to say, to make her ladyship’s dinner, but I couldn’t bear how ordinary and mundane it sounded compared to him. ‘—to work on my application for university.’
‘Fantastic! Then we’re going to exactly the right place.’
It was nice to have the distraction. My back was still stinging from the new tattoo I’d had done the day before, adding the lines to the previous ones. It felt good while I was getting it done, as though giving the words permanence was a kind of release, but it hurt like hell afterwards.
We crossed the road, walked through some gates and then in through a giant arched wooden door that had a smaller door within. It suddenly occurred to me that he was taking me to Trinity and I reared like a frightened horse.
‘I can’t go in here!’
‘Whyever not?’
‘Because … I don’t know, don’t you have to be registered or something?’
He looked at me like I was some kind of simpleton.
‘Gosh, you’re right. I hadn’t thought of that. What if we get caught by the police?’
‘I’ve never been here before,’ I said, bumping into other people as I turned in circles to take it all in. The cobblestones, worn smooth over the centuries, were like the set of some historical movie.
‘Really? I’d just assumed. This is where I’ve spent most of my time since I got here – beats sitting in the bed and breakfast.’
Imagine, just wandering in here cos you’re bored. He inhabited a completely different world to me, that was for sure. Just knowing that he belonged, without question. I tried to ignore the jealousy that made my stomach tighten.
‘Down there is the Glucksman Library, the centre for cartographic materials. I’ve been trying to find a map with the bookshop marked on it, but no luck so far.’
‘There’s a centre for cartographic materials?’ My mind was blown. All of this existed and I knew nothing about it. ‘It’s like that movie … Narnia!’
‘You mean the C.S. Lewis books.’
I’d done it – I’d confirmed out loud that I was an idiot.
‘Exactly, that’s what I meant. It’s just like that.’ There was even a lamppost.
‘I suppose it is in a way. It has over half a million maps and atlases down there – a little labyrinth with underground guardians of overhead maps, keeping track of things in case we get lost. Still couldn’t find my bookshop though.’
‘Your bookshop?’ I arched my eyebrow.
‘Yes, well, we’re not looking for maps today, we’re going in here.’ He pointed to a sign saying ‘Book of Kells’。 There was a line of people in front of us, mostly tourists coming to see a very old, very famous book. My skin began to bristle – the only thing more intimidating to me than books was really, really old books. Who knew what kind of knowledge they held, the power they could wield? It didn’t make any sense. But with Henry, I felt like a tiny doorway had opened up inside of me and I found myself thinking, Maybe it wouldn’t do any harm to look?
‘I know what you’re thinking, who cares about the New Testament, am I right?’
No, he was not right and that’s not what I was thinking. My thoughts had flitted back to my first date with Shane （not that this was a date today, obviously）。 We had gone to the cinema to watch a film about a racing car driver, then went home with a bottle of wine and had sex in his single bed.
‘I’m not very religious,’ I said.
‘Just wait, you’ll see.’
He was so excited about going to see some old pages of a manuscript, written by monks hundreds of years ago. I didn’t understand it but I kind of liked it. I kind of liked him. But I knew his heart was elsewhere and this was clearly a fun little detour for him, exploring these literary delights before heading back to his real life. It felt bittersweet standing by his side and the feeling almost knocked me over – that sense of glimpsing a life that could have been.
And he was right. Once inside, I forgot about everything else. The darkness of the room and the light falling on the pages illuminated them like gold leaf. It felt as though I were witnessing something important, something beyond the fingertips of my understanding yet resonating within my soul.
‘It was written in 800 AD by Columban monks on the island of Iona, Scotland.’
I simply gaped and followed the people in front of me, peering into the glass cases that held the manuscripts.
‘How did they survive all this time?’ I whispered.
A smile spread from his eyes to his lips.
‘You’re getting hooked now, aren’t you?’
I just rolled my eyes, but he wasn’t far wrong. Of course I’d seen reproductions from the Book of Kells in books and even on tea towels, but seeing it in real life like this, the intricate drawings and the handwritten text, it was hard not to get sucked into its story.
‘It was stolen once in 1007 from Kells by the Vikings. They stripped whatever gold they could from the cover and left what they believed was a worthless manuscript under a sod of turf.’
I couldn’t help wondering about the lives of the people who wrote the text, all in Latin. Still, there wasn’t much time to ponder as the crowds kept coming and it was time to move on to the Long Room Library.
I don’t know what I expected, but my skin flushed with goosebumps at the sight of it. It was like a cathedral of books; wooden galleries arched upwards from floor to ceiling, filled with leatherbound books. I’d never seen anything like it. As we walked along the central corridor, marble busts lined the way; philosophers whose names sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t have said what any of them were known for. Surrounded by all of this learning, it was hard not to feel like, no matter how much you studied, you would never have an inch of the knowledge contained in this room.
‘Impressive, isn’t it?’ he said. I hadn’t been aware that he was watching for my reaction.
I turned to face him, ignoring the crowds pushing us ever forwards.
‘Why did you really bring me here?’
He took a moment, shoved his hands in his pockets and looked up to the highest mezzanines where conservators were working with gloved hands.