‘Why?’ he asks, his voice hinting that he knows the reason.
‘Because you owe me an apocalypse.’
‘True,’ he says. ‘And I always pay my debts. Can I ask you for something?’
‘It depends what it is,’ I say, knowing I’ll give him anything.
‘Tomorrow night is the one Friday night we don’t go to dumplings. We host the book club instead. I want you to be there with me. It might be our last one.’
‘Agreed,’ I say, and we hang up. ‘Last’ hangs in the air.
Great Expectations
by Charles Dickens
Letters left between pages 508 and 509
11 February 2016
Michael
I know how upset you are about losing the bookshop. I’m upset too. But ignoring the sale won’t change the situation. As much as we both want the bookshop to do better, it’s not. Can we please talk?
There are developers making very generous offers. (See the paperwork I left on your desk.) We could also go to auction. If you won’t talk, will you give me permission to make all the decisions?
Sophia
Sophia
Frederick and I have been discussing the sale. Would you consider giving us some time to buy you out?
Michael
Dear Michael
I wish I could say yes. I know how happy it would make you. But have you looked into what the building is worth? Where would you get that kind of money? I don’t want to see you in that kind of debt and that debt would affect the kids. This is hurting me, too, but please accept reality for Henry and George’s sakes.
Sophia
Henry
I hold her hand tighter
The book club starts at seven on the second Friday of the month. Dad, Mum, George and I, usually, we’re always here for it. Tonight, though, Dad excuses himself and says we should order in whatever food we want, and pay for it out of petty cash. ‘I’m going out. Your mother’s not coming.’ Before I can say anything about anything to him, say that I’d like him to stay or ask him if everything’s alright, he walks out of the door, gets in the car, and drives away.
The shop feels empty without him, tonight. I feel empty without him. He looks crushed a lot of the time, now. Crushed and lost. I think back to the imaginings that Rachel made me do the other night. Dad will have done his own imaginings, I guess. I try to picture him away from the bookshop but I can’t.
‘Where’s Dad?’ George asks when she comes downstairs.
‘I’m not exactly sure,’ I tell her.
She stands next to me for a while, straightening the wine glasses and the platters, and then eventually she says, ‘I need your advice on something.’
George doesn’t ask my advice on anything, not even English essays. ‘It’s about Martin,’ she says. ‘And about the boy in Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.’
This is an exciting development. George is asking, which clearly means she’s open to the idea that Martin is the one for her, and this guy in the pages of Zombies, is not. Rachel walks back in from driving Martin home. I ask her to take over at the wine and cheese table so I can talk to George. ‘They’re a nice crowd,’ I tell her. ‘When they arrive, give them as much wine as they want, and stand back. George is about to tell me that she’s in love with Martin.’
I follow George into the reading garden. We take a seat and before I start offering advice, she launches straight into the problem. ‘I know you think that I should go out with Martin,’ she says. ‘I know you like him.’
‘He likes you.’
‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ she says. ‘We talk a lot. I went to his house last night and met his mums and his little sister and his dog, Rufus.’
She talks about the stuff that they’ve been doing together, all of which, I didn’t know. They went to see the new Tarantino film. They went to see a re-run of Aliens at the old cinema on Meko Street. They went to Lola’s garage, where Lola played them a song.
‘So this is all great,’ I say. ‘This is all brilliant.’ I’m about to tell her that she should clearly choose Martin, but I don’t get the chance.
‘There’s this other boy,’ George says. ‘And I know you’ll say he’s not here and he’s not real but I know who he is, and I’ve liked him for a long time.’ I can see her wondering whether to trust me, and deciding that she will. ‘It’s Cal,’ she says.
‘Cal?’ I ask.
‘Cal. Rachel’s brother.’
She adds in the bit about Rachel because I’m not saying anything, and she must assume that I haven’t put two and two together. I put them together the second she said Cal; I was just trying to buy myself some time.
George talks about how much she likes Cal, about how he’s smart and weird and sweet, and all the while I’m trying to get my head around what she’s telling me. ‘He’s been away from the city for three years,’ I say. ‘How would he get the letters in the book?’
‘Tim Hooper,’ she says. ‘Tim brought Cal’s letters in, and took my letters away.’
‘And it’s not actually Tim Hooper?’ I ask.
‘Tim moved to another state. And coincidentally, the letters stopped when he left.’
‘Which doesn’t disprove that it’s Tim.’
‘Henry, it’s him,’ she says forcefully. ‘It’s Cal.’
‘But he doesn’t write to you anymore,’ I say, careful not to give anything away.
‘Because he’s in France with his dad and without Tim, it’s all too hard. I want you to ask Rachel for his overseas address. I need to send him this letter.’ She holds out a sealed envelope. ‘If, for some reason, she doesn’t want to give me the address, she could mail it herself.’
I take the sealed envelope and put it in my pocket. It feels strangely heavy for a thin piece of paper. ‘Can I ask what it says?’
And without hesitating, she tells me. ‘It says I love him.’
Oh fuck. I could cry. I could actually cry, right now. She’s too late. He’ll never read it. It’s such a huge letter for George to write. George doesn’t make a joke and say nothing will happen because it’s a truth universally acknowledged that we’re all shit at love. She’s taking the first real chance of her life and the really awful thing is that she and Cal would be perfect for each other. Maybe even more perfect for her than Martin.
It’d be fair to say I feel slightly unhinged as we walk back inside. George is in love with a dead person and I can’t do anything about it.
‘What’s wrong?’ Rachel asks, and I want to tell her because Rachel makes things better. Even if she can’t do anything about them, she makes things better by being with me. But I can’t say the words. They’re too sad. Your brother loved a girl, and she loves him back, but he died before she told him. End of story.
‘Everything’s fine. George is feeling a bit confused about Martin. Can you stay here for a minute? I just need some fresh air.’
I walk out the front of the shop and Mum calls me while I’m taking some breaths. ‘You sound strange,’ she says when I answer. I can’t tell her about George, so I tell her about Dad. About how I feel like I’ve crushed him by voting to sell the shop. ‘He’s gone somewhere and it feels like I made him leave.’