Chapter 7
M irren had genuinely imagined this would be straightforward. She shouldn’t have just rushed out, she thought. She should of course have phoned first. She was just being too keen, after she couldn’t find it online. Plus, she hated phoning people. Her phoning-people instincts, it turned out, were pretty much spot on. It did not go well.
‘Excuse me . . . do you have . . .’
‘Dunno,’ came the lugubrious voice from one large place she tried in Dumfries.
‘Because you’re meant to have nine miles of books?’ Mirren said.
‘Because we have nine miles of books,’ came the voice back. ‘So.’
‘So if anyone wants to find something, they have to come and look through nine miles of books?’
‘Yeah,’ said the voice, sounding temporarily perkier. ‘It’s GREAT.’
She didn’t have any more luck elsewhere, and touring other local antiquarian bookshops over the next couple of days brought her no more success than at Palliser & Sons. If she was going to look properly, it became increasingly likely that she was going to have to actually go.
Then, a few days later, Nora called again.
‘It’s such a disaster,’ she was saying. ‘Waitrose is completely out of their Heston puddings and I don’t even know if I’m going to get a slot ... I mean, we could go to Tesco, I suppose ...’
Mirren was only half listening because she knew her mum found it soothing to be complaining about something. And Mirren found it soothing not having to think about her love life.
‘. . . oh, and of course Violet’s in hospital . . .’
She tossed this in at the end, as if Violet was really far down the list, behind the unexpected shortage of elderflower syrup.
‘Oh my God! Why?’
‘She’s very, very old ...’ started Nora.
‘Yes, yes, I know,’ Mirren said, but she was worried. ‘I’ll nip over.’
Violet did not look well at all. And she was in a single room at the hospital. That is never a good sign. If they sling you out with everyone else hollering all night, that shows they reckon you’re going to walk off sooner or later.
All the fire was out of her bright eyes, and she had an oxygen mask on and a drip in her arm. Mirren stroked Violet’s icy cold hand, its veins like a relief map.
‘Vi?’ she whispered.
Violet’s eyes cracked open painfully.
‘Vi?’
‘Have you ... have you got the book?’ Violet croaked. Mirren brought her over some water, and she grimaced, but managed a sip.
‘Not yet,’ said Mirren, and Violet’s face fell.
‘Oh,’ she said. And a single solitary tear rolled down her cheek.
‘But I’m going to look for it,’ Mirren promised, in a panic. ‘I am. First of all – where were you living when your mum sold all your stuff?’
Violet frowned.
‘Hereford,’ she said. ‘Before I went to Cambridge.’
‘Okay,’ Mirren said. ‘Well, look, I have some time ...’
She did, actually. She had a ton of annual leave to use up, post-bloody-Rob, after he’d made her book a huge holiday in the Maldives then chucked her too late to get her deposit back. So now she had time, but no money to go away with. Heartbreak and penury were quite the combination.
‘Please, go,’ Violet said, almost pushing Mirren with urgency. ‘I’ll give you some money.’
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t rather I just stayed here with you?’ Mirren said.
Violet shook her head.
‘Please,’ she said, suddenly looking very scared and pulling off her oxygen mask, taking in a big shuddering breath. ‘I’ve never ... I’ve never believed there’s anything after , Mirren. I just can’t. This is ... this is my last chance. To feel my dad again.’
She looked up at Mirren.
‘I know you love me, Mirren. I know you.’
And she squeezed Mirren’s arm, surprisingly hard.