Chapter 13
M irren realised she had rarely been so pleased to see anyone. There was Theodore, his black eyes flashing with merriment.
‘Eh?’ said the man with the beard.
‘Well, it says you shut at seven, and I believe we are still ten of the hour?’
Mirren bit her lip to stop herself smiling.
‘You what?’ said the man.
‘I have business in this shop with your early Dickens,’ improvised Theo. ‘And this young lady requires use of the facilities.’
‘Which early Dickens?’ said the man, getting a sly look on his face.
‘I’m from Palliser she’d visited so many.
As she waited, she grabbed a few leaflets for bed and breakfasts from the rack; perhaps they wouldn’t mind if she used the phone to see if she could find somewhere to stay.
Theo was making very non-committal sounds in response to the bookseller’s very best books and glanced up and looked at her. She smiled straight back at him.
‘I think,’ said Theo, ‘I’ve seen enough. Thank you.’
As the bookseller rather huffily started locking the books away again, Mirren found herself staring at the pictures that lined every inch of the walls: writers and booksellers down the years. There were so many, faded by the weather, dusty.
As Theo turned to go, she saw it. She crept forward, not sure what she was looking at. A glint of something in her memory.
‘Perhaps I could close the shop now ?’ said the bookseller, something of his original grumpy tone sneaking back into his voice.
‘Of course. And thank you,’ said Theo, all manners back, and Mirren, glancing around, quickly took her phone, on its 2% battery, and snapped a photo of the picture on the wall, just as it died and the man more or less marched them to the front door, putting out the lights as they went.