“I’m sorry,” she said. “I have to . . . I have to call a man about a thing.”
She walked past the strollers and the shopping bags and the steamed-up windows and the schoolchildren throwing things at one another and the crumpled bags of sugar and discarded plates and greasy cups, and she pushed open the door and walked into the wet street. Then, pulling up her hood, she pulled out her phone, knowing that if she didn’t do it now, she never would.
“Alasdair,” she said as he picked up. “Thank you for your incredibly kind offer. Yes please.”
Chapter Seven
Even Surinder’s enthusiasm for the plan had started to evaporate now that Nina had called around the authorities and been told that to get a license to sell from the van would be difficult bordering on impossible. Apparently it would be much easier if she just wanted to flog burgers and cups of tea and dodgy hot dogs.
She had pointed out to the man at the office that surely it would be much easier to accidentally kill a member of the public with a dodgy burger than with a book, and he had replied with no little snippiness in his voice that she obviously hadn’t read Das Kapital. She had to admit that she hadn’t and they didn’t get much farther than that.
But still, here she was on the bus again, armed with the Lark Rise to Candleford trilogy as well as the entire Outlander series to sink into on the journey.
It turned cooler the farther north they went, but it was still clear, that astonishing eastern light making Edinburgh glimmer like Moscow as they passed through. The great bridge felt once more like an astonishing gateway into the unknown; then farther north and north again, the cities and towns and traffic and people falling away, leaving long lazy red trains swaying alongside the twisting roads; tiny villages, endless birds soaring through valleys, and sheep everywhere in the lush green grass, under the long rays of the late-setting sun.
She ate cherry Bakewells from the service station as she lost herself in the pages of her book, and when she finally alighted at Kirrinfief, she felt like she was coming home, something absolutely reinforced by Edwin and Alasdair’s smiling faces when she pushed open the door of the pub.
“The book girl!” they said, pleased, and Alasdair poured her half a lager without waiting for her order. He must have noticed her struggling with the local beer last time. “What have you brought us?”
Nina had, of course, come well prepared, and unzipped her case to bring out a selection of thrillers and crime novels, which the men fell upon happily.
“So,” said Edwin finally. “You’re really going to fill this truck full of books?”
Alasdair was happily rooting around for the keys to the van. Nina had handed over the check that, when cashed, would represent, more or less, her entire severance payment.
“That’s the idea.”
It hadn’t been too bad going to work now that she had a plan. She had a few weeks’ notice to work out, but nobody was going to care very much if she took long lunches, or came in late, or carted home trunkfuls of books every night, which she was doing. She felt as though she was rescuing orphans from destruction.
Griffin had started wearing a shirt and tie. The beard was gone, too. He came in early and spent a lot of time in meetings, and was beginning to wear a harassed expression instead of his bored and annoyed one. One night he stopped her and said she needed a requisition form for all the books she was taking, and she’d said, “Seriously?” and he’d looked pained, and Nina had been happier than ever that she was going.
“Oh, it’s going to be great,” said Edwin. “You’ll have to go down to Carnie village. And over to Bonnie Banks. And Windygates. My sister lives there. They used to have a library bus, but of course that shut down. So you’ll be better than nothing. You can’t run it as a library?”
“Afraid not,” said Nina. “I have to eat.” She turned to face them. “You do know I’m not keeping the van here? I’m driving it back to Birmingham.”
The men’s faces looked confused.
“But it’s for here!” said Edwin. “That’s why we bought it!”
“No, I’m taking it down south,” explained Nina patiently. “That’s where I live.”
“But they don’t need books down south in a city,” said Alasdair. “They’re falling over themselves for bookshops and libraries and universities and all the rest of it. They’ve got as much as they need! It’s us that needs them.”
“Yes, but I live down there,” repeated Nina. “It’s my home. I have to go back.”
There was a silence.
“You could make a home up here,” said Alasdair. “Could do with some new blood around the place.”
“I couldn’t move here!” said Nina. “I’ve never lived in the country.”
“Yes, but you’ve never run a book bus either,” said Edwin with stubborn logic.
“Aw, I thought we were helping you out so that you could stay around,” said Alasdair. “I’ve told all my regulars.”
“I thought Edwin and Hugh were all your regulars,” said Nina.
“Aye, well, shows what you know. Everyone was delighted.”
“I’d love to,” said Nina. “But truly, I can’t. I have to get back and set up and start earning a living.”
There was a silence in the bar. Nina felt terrible for having misled them; she genuinely hadn’t meant to.
“But—” said Edwin.
“I’m sorry,” said Nina firmly. Her plan was to pick up the van and drive back to Birmingham that night. She couldn’t really afford to stay, even somewhere as cheap and cheerful as the pub. Plus Surinder had been very clear that if she didn’t find a home for the books without delay, either the floor was going to collapse or Nina was. So that was that organized.
“I have to go,” she said sadly. They all looked at the keys lying on the bar.
“It was very kind what you did for me,” she said again. “Thank you.”
The two men grunted and turned away.
Outside, it had finally gotten dark, the final rays of pink fading away over the western hills. As soon as the sun went, it turned instantly cold, and Nina shivered as she stepped toward the van. She pulled her coat around her and looked up at it, huge now in the quiet little cobbled square. She took a deep breath. She couldn’t remember feeling lonelier. Still, this was what she had to do. She was committed now. She was going to find a way.