Page 29 of The Truth About You and Me
There is laughter coming from the group beside the door and I look over. Anything not to face the conversation that I know is coming.
‘I can’t.’ I straighten the already neatly stacked pile of bookmarks. ‘I’m needed here. Nell’s shift is over and I need to lock up.’
‘Oh I’m fine here,’ Nell says. ‘They’ll be nattering for another half an hour yet.’ She smiles oh so sweetly at me. Traitor.
‘But—’
‘Of course. I wouldn’t want to put your Nell out.’
I let out a sigh and dig my hands into my pockets. ‘She’s notmyNell.’
‘Apologies. Five minutes, son. That’s all I’m asking.’
‘Fine.’
He follows me up the stairs, chattering about the book that he’d signed for a fan while I was at Riz’s. ‘I can barely remember writing the ending to that one, you know. It was when…’
I’ve heard this story a million times. How it was when me and my siblings all had chicken pox and he’d had hardly any sleep for days.The subconscious?—
‘The subconscious at work.’
I click on the lights. At least the flat is tidier than the last time he gate-crashed my time.
‘Coffee?’ I ask heading into the kitchen.
‘No thanks. Already had one downstairs. She’s quite something, your Nell.’ I shake my head; he just doesn’t listen. He walks over to the bookshelf, fingers the pages facing the room. Charlotte, my little sister, had commented on this, layering over the real conversation that needed to be had with a smirk that did nothing to hide the horror as she looked at my flat. ‘Getting your Insta on?’ she’d asked. ‘I like it, very minimalist. Very Marie Kondo.’ I look to my shelves, each of my books facing the wrong way so that only the buff-coloured paper edges show. Dad runs his fingers along the pages, with a tight expression. ‘Very good with the customers.’
‘I know. That’s why she manages the shop.’ I can hear the snap in my voice, the irritation. I walk over to the window, focus on the lights outlining the bay in the distance.
‘Jack, pluck the thistles off your skin for a moment. I’m not here to attack you.’ I turn to face him as he looks to my reading chair; you can barely see it for the laundry hanging over it. He sits on the sofa instead.
‘No? Then what are you here for?’ I fold my arms.
‘You know why I’ve come to see you. The new shop is still only half renovated, Jack.’
‘I know. I’m working on it.’
‘Are you? Because from what I can see there has been no progress in the last four months. You’ve told the landlord that it would be open by the end of the year. You know the holding fee only reduces the rent until then.’
‘I’ve made my decision. I don’t know how many times I need to say it. I’m not capable of opening and running a new shop.’ I let out a long breath. ‘I’m going to sublet the space.’
‘Right. And your dreams for a chain of Chadwick’s bookshops?’
‘That was something I dreamed of before… I’ve tried to tell you this.’
‘How do you know if you don’t even try?’
I shake my head, turn back to the sea, imagining the waves crashing against the shoreline.
‘I know things have been… difficult for you.’
I turn around again. ‘No, you don’t. You don’t know.’ My voice is low but brittle, like it’s flaking away.
‘You’re right. How about you tell me?’ His voice is annoyingly calm. He was the same when we were growing up, would always de-escalate our sibling quarrels in the same calm and controlled manner. He never shouts, never loses his cool. It’s infuriating.
I look over to the bookshelves, to the drawer with the letter from the bank inside, then back to him. His eyes are soft behind his glasses, filled with love and concern, determination and curiosity.
There is no point trying to explain. My answer will still be the same. ‘I can’t do it, Dad.’
