I considered it. We spoke the same language. For heaven’s sake, it had been part of Britain until that business with the treaty.
‘Now that I think of it,’ Joyce said, snapping his fingers, ‘I’ve got a friend there who owns a nostalgia shop. A rare gentleman in these times, Mr Fitzpatrick. If you use my name, he’s sure to give you a job, might sort you out with lodgings too.’
‘It sounds like a bit of a long shot,’ I said.
‘What other option is there?’ Sylvia asked.
And that was that. Joyce was hurriedly scribbling the name and address of the shop, whilst promising to send his friend a telegram, so he could expect my arrival.
What he actually meant was that he would get Sylvia to do it.
Everything got lost in a blur of tears after that. I felt like I was breaking apart and no one was coming to put me back together.
‘Now, now, there’s no need for all that,’ Sylvia said, handing me an envelope with the address and my wages. ‘You’re a grown woman with a brain in your head, two good arms for carrying books and two strong legs to get you where you need to go.’
‘What will you do if my brother comes here looking for me?’ I asked.
‘Why, sell him a book, of course!’
Armand took me to the port and secured a crossing for me. As we stood together, waiting for my turn to embark, he removed a chain from around his neck. The golden, hand-shaped pendant sparkled brightly in the sunlight .
‘It is called a hamsa,’ he explained. ‘In my culture, we believe it offers the wearer protection from the evil eye.’
‘Like an amulet?’
‘Exactement. As long as you wear it, you will always be safe.’
It was time to leave.
‘You have my address – it is the safest way to communicate with Sylvia. Your brother knows nothing of me.’
I nodded. I hadn’t been aware that I’d been crying. I could now feel my tears drying on my cheek, or perhaps the sea air had caused them to evaporate. He took me in his warm embrace one last time. There was nothing left to say. He crossed the street and did not look back. I felt my heart descending rapidly, like an anchor into a bottomless sea.
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.