But more than anything, she wanted to see Marek again. She wanted to see him so much. He was all she thought about.
So she made herself go for it. She was going to tell Lennox she was leaving for a few days, but she hadn’t seen him so reckoned there was absolutely no point, not that he’d give the smallest rat’s arse. She did buy Parsley a bone, though, so he’d know she’d miss him.
It was strange being back in the city. Nina realized she’d gotten used to everyone in the village recognizing her and knowing everything about her and her business. The speed with which it had happened had been both surprising and actually very touching; it was lovely being greeted by name at the post office, or in the bank, and being able to help out here and there.
Surinder, after flinging her arms around her, was frowning.
“It’s awful,” she said. “It’s sticky and too hot and every patch of grass has horrible fat men lolling on their horrible fat arms, looking like they’ve dressed in toddlers’ clothes. Three-quarter-length pants. Sandals! Hairy toes! It’s gross. I miss Scotland SO MUCH. At least you can sleep at night.”
“It smells weird here,” said Nina. “Did I really never notice before?”
“No, I noticed it, too,” said Surinder. “When I got back. It’s garbage cans and rotting food and unfresh air.”
Soon they were walking down the road. The tarmac was sticky and shimmered in the heat. The air was hot and still. People were sitting aimlessly on their front steps. The pub at the corner of the road was overflowing with outdoor drinkers, shouting and talking noisily. Everywhere was mobbed and hot and full. Nina frowned.
“I’ve just lost the habit of so many people. There’re too many people here.”
“Yeah, all right, all right,” said Surinder. “Could you get them to open a Kirrinfief branch of my business, please? I don’t think I can commute that far.”
Nina smiled. “Yes, that’s right, all we need up there is a great big city dumped right in the middle of it. You could move to Perth.”
Surinder sighed. “I don’t think so,” she said. Her tone of voice changed. “I’m not brave like you, Nina. I couldn’t toss my life up like you did. What about my mother?”
“Encouraged by you,” Nina pointed out.
“Yes, but I didn’t think you’d actually do it! I thought it was just leverage so I could get my hallway back.”
Griffin hailed them from across the horribly crowded bar, waving furiously. He looked strange without his beard, and was wearing a ridiculous T-shirt with a picture of a raccoon on it, and a weird beanie hat.
“Griffin?”
He came up with three bottles of cider and hugged them both.
“Oh, thank God. Grown-ups. Thank God.”
“What’s up with you?”
Griffin held Nina at arm’s length and looked at her.
“What’s up with YOU? You’ve changed.”
“No I haven’t,” said Nina. “Apart from being out of direct sunlight.”
Griffin shook his head. “No. It’s not that. You look . . . you’ve got roses in your cheeks.”
“Does that mean fat?”
“No! But you do look . . . sturdier.”
“Fuck off, Griffin!”
“That sounds wrong, but I don’t mean it like that. You look . . . stronger. More substantial. Less wispy.”
“I’m not a photograph from Back to the Future!”
“I don’t know what I’m saying. Ignore me. My head is being done in by my job. Take it from me, you look good. Better than good.” And Nina could see in the way he looked at her that he meant it.
“So do you,” she said, even though he looked a bit daft. He was obviously trying to fit in with his cool young team. He’d even had his ears pierced.
“How’s work?”
Griffin made a face and took a huge swallow of his drink.
“Don’t start,” he said. “It is so lovely to see you, but if you start going on about how wonderful your life is now and how you choose your own hours and have a lovely bookshop tootling around the country, I’m going to have to kill myself.”
“Okay,” said Nina. “It’s awful.”
“It isn’t,” said Griffin. “Surinder told me all about it. She says it’s awesome and gorgeous and she’s going back up next time she gets some vacation.”
“Or I might just pull a sick day,” added Surinder.
“Why don’t you come up, too?” said Nina.
Griffin shook his head. “No. I couldn’t bear it if it’s nice. I really couldn’t. I have to go in every morning at seven and start plowing through all the human resources paperwork, then go to county meetings about development access, then come back and fix all the computers that have broken down because they break down every day, then I have to show ninety-year-olds how to use them because they’ve shut all the rural banks down so they can’t do their banking. It’s like an entire generation has been thrown into a world they don’t understand and where nothing makes sense, and they’ve just been told, tough luck, learn how to type or you can just starve to death.”
He took another swig of his cider.
“Do you remember how nice it used to be when the kids came in?”
“You hated it when the kids came in!” said Nina, outraged. “They got sticky fingermarks on all your Frank Millers.”
“Yes, I said I hated it,” said Griffin.
“You did! You hated it!”
“Well, it was paradise compared to this. It was lovely. People coming in to share stories or books or things they liked. Now, it’s people coming in because they’re desperate. They’re cut off from the world because they don’t have the Internet or their benefits have been taken away and they can’t make ends meet, and nobody is left out there to care because they cut and they cut and they cut. I’m a librarian, and now I’m an IT support worker with a side order of psychology, addiction counseling, and social work. Plus I generally have a nineteen-year-old member of staff crying in the loo because they’re not feeling self-actualized enough.”
Nina fell silent. She wasn’t sure what to say.
“You should move there,” said Surinder.
“So should you!” shot back Griffin. “We’re not all as cool as Nina.”