Chapter 9
T heo, having (to his uncle’s unusual satisfaction) managed to find Mirren’s Instagram, turned up in Hay-on-Wye later, as the trains had groaned their way across the country, broken down, turfed him off, made him walk miles to a bus stop and hack the rest of the way. It seemed to him that starting in the biggest book town in the UK would probably make the most sense, but he was there after the shops had shut. It did feel slightly ridiculous, this cloak-and-dagger stuff.
On the other hand, what choice did he have? Theo had loved books all his life. The world of books mostly centred on London, but London was so expensive to live in, it was insane. It was either do his uncle’s bidding or, effectively, be homeless. All his friends were as strapped for places to live as he was. Not to mention that Philip had unpleasantly hinted about supporting his father. Theo sighed. He really didn’t have a choice but to do what his uncle demanded.
He glanced around at the ancient coaching inn he was staying in. It was half-timbered, the heavy beams coming down from the ceiling, the walls white limestone. A roaring fire was in the grate, surrounded by horseshoes, and his room had a little staircase up into what felt like a hayloft, where his bed was. Everywhere, of course, were books lining the walls; photographs, too, of people who he supposed were writers, or book people – black and white, holding books, and weathered with age.
At this time of year the inn was quiet, and, soaked through by the weather and quite freezing – London had been relatively mild – he was rather looking forward to an evening in front of the fire with a glass of malt and one of the many books around the place. There was already a black Lab lying in front of it, its tail thumping softly every time Theo made to give it a pat. The nice lady from reception said she’d bring him over a menu in a little while. Yes, this would do very nicely indeed.
He had just taken his drink, selected an old book of Waugh from the shelves and settled back in an extremely comfortable chair by the fire when he heard the loud voice.
‘Well, what are they saying? No, no, speak up, I can’t hear you ... the reception in here is just AWFUL ... Stupid low beams ... Sorry, I’m in the middle of nowhere.’
Theo closed his eyes. Oh lord, this was just what he needed. Perhaps a hen party.
A very wet person carrying two rucksacks and a plastic bag stood dripping in the doorway.
‘No, I didn’t have anything booked, she’s just ... No, I haven’t, I haven’t ... Can you hear me?’
Theo let out a low sigh, as did the Labrador. The woman glanced up from under her soaking hood and immediately turned her face away, but unfortunately didn’t stop hollering into her phone.
‘Okay, have a comfortable night ... I’ll call you tomorrow. Okay? You got that? As soon as I have news? Yeah? Okay? Goodnight.’
Finally, she rang off and blissful silence descended.
‘Sorry,’ said the woman, who looked to be about Theo’s age, and who also didn’t look sorry at all. ‘Trying to talk to the elderly. You know.’
The nice lady from reception came in.
‘We’ve found you a room,’ she said. ‘Sorry, we shut up a lot off-season.’
‘It didn’t really occur to me,’ said the girl. ‘I left in a hurry.’
Who doesn’t book a room on their phone? thought Theo, as the fire crackled. It wasn’t like she didn’t know how to use it.
‘Well, thank you,’ she said. ‘Thanks so much for fitting me in. If I go and dump my stuff, could I order a really ginormous gin and tonic?’