Chapter 9
‘Why are we going to this place exactly?’
Kalpana had the same question, but Marcus got there first.
Sampath was twisted round in his seat. ‘I know it’s not a wedding venue, but I thought it would be good for you to take some photos there.
It’s well known in Colombo for being the best place for second-hand books.
There’s a whole load of book sheds – they’re amazing.
There are books everywhere, with tiny little avenues in between the stacks for you to shuffle through.
Some of the books in there are ancient. You’ll love it.
And it would give me the chance to talk to some of the owners of the book sheds and see how much it would cost for one of them to have a book stall at the wedding venue. ’
‘We are on quite a tight schedule,’ Marcus said, crossly. ‘I don’t think we have time to waste on cutesy little side projects.’
Kalpana gave him a sharp glance. This from the man who had disappeared for an entire afternoon to do an interview.
‘You did say to look out for photograph-worthy venues,’ Sampath said.
‘And you were interested in having a second-hand bookseller if you used the Park Street Mews venue. So this visit is killing two birds with one stone, really.’ He glanced down at his tablet.
‘Even if we don’t end up using it for wedding photos, I thought it would be good to photograph the two of you surrounded by books for your social media.
We can see if they have copies of your books and photograph that too. ’
‘And if they don’t have copies? Reflections has only been out for a few months,’ said Marcus. ‘There wasn’t a big push to Asia or anything. It might not have made it to the second-hand market out here yet.’
Kalpana wondered if her books had made it out here.
A few, maybe. Some Sri Lankan people she’d spoken to tended to look horrified at the idea of romance.
But then again, a lot of people liked to pretend they only read highbrow books like the ones Marcus wrote, but secretly enjoyed a good romp as much as the next person did.
So … maybe she would find copies of her books out there.
‘I’ve thought of that,’ said Sampath. ‘As you say, the book is quite new.’ He leaned forward and picked up a bag. ‘So I brought along a copy of yours and Kalpana’s last book to use as props.’
‘That’s great forward planning,’ Kalpana said. She should have thought to bring a copy of her book along with her everywhere they went.
Marcus sniffed. ‘I’m not sure I care much about the second-hand market,’ he said. ‘I don’t get paid for those sales.’
‘Oh, come on,’ said Kalpana. ‘Haven’t you ever discovered a new writer by buying a book in a charity shop? Or the library?’
‘The library and the charity shop are two completely different things,’ said Marcus. ‘We get paid for library borrows.’
‘That’s true, but …’ She wasn’t sure where she was going with this. It was important to her that people read her books, but if she didn’t get paid for her writing, she had to do other paid work and she couldn’t write as many books or write what she wanted.
‘See,’ said Marcus. ‘This is why you’re trapped writing the same old thing over and over because your publishers will only take the same book with minor variations.
You never get to do anything adventurous because you’re reliant on readers who will only pay 99p for a book and even that reluctantly. ’
She couldn’t argue with that. Her royalties had been falling steadily in the last few years. ‘But I still think fostering a love of books is important.’
‘Books are art,’ said Marcus.
‘I can see I’ve touched a sensitive topic,’ Sampath interrupted.
‘I think that the row of book sheds would provide a colourful and interesting backdrop and would be in keeping with both your brands. We don’t have to stay long.
Just hop out, take some photos. Maybe talk to the guys who run the shops, if you want – you don’t have to. Then share the photos on social media.’
‘Yes,’ said Kalpana, before Marcus could go full grump again. ‘I think that’s a great idea.’
Sampath gave her a grateful smile. ‘The McCallum Road bookshops are a bit of a local institution. Some of them have been there for over fifty years.’
‘A hidden gem,’ Lal added. ‘Only locals go there. It’s not very touristy.’
Marcus’s expression changed. ‘I see.’
‘McCallum Road?’ said Kalpana.
‘Technically, it’s DR Wijewardena Mawatha now,’ said Lal. ‘But everyone still calls it McCallum Road.’
‘Why do they use the old colonial name?’ asked Marcus.
Sampath seemed at a loss and looked at Lal, who shrugged. ‘No idea. Habit?’
Kalpana gave a little laugh. Sometimes habit trumped everything.
When they got there, it felt sticky and dusty from the road nearby, but it was definitely colourful.
The row of small, boxy sheds had books crammed into every conceivable space.
The hoardings were hand-lettered. Each shop had one or two chairs outside with a man sitting in it, some were reading, others having a chat.
‘Oh, wow,’ said Kalpana.
They approached a shop. It felt like everything was made of books – walls, counters, dividers – there were books everywhere.
The elderly gent who was sitting outside, reading, put down his book. ‘Welcome,’ he said, in lightly accented English. ‘Is there anything in particular that you’re looking for?’
Marcus peered into the interior. ‘I think we’ll just browse,’ he said and carefully sidled into the narrow gully between two walls of books.
Kalpana stepped in behind him and took a deep breath. Outside smelled slightly of petrol fumes from the road and dust, but in here, it smelled of old paper. There didn’t seem to be any lighting apart from the daylight that filtered in past the piles of books.
‘This is amazing,’ she said.
At the front was a yellow stack of old National Geographic magazines and a couple of even bigger stacks of Reader’s Digest. Then there were strata made from paperbacks stacked on their side.
There didn’t appear to be any order to the books at first. After a while, she realised that all the books around her had some sort of political angle to them.
The Hunger Games filed next to 1984. It wasn’t how she would arrange it, but it made sense.
Outside, she heard Sampath say, ‘Uncle, do you have a copy of Reflections by Marcus Lloyd-Howell?’
She took a couple of steps sideways and came back out into the sunshine.
The old man pondered for a moment. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said.
‘That’s a fairly new book, no? Let me see if my friend has one.
He gets books that people leave in one of the five-star hotels.
He might have a copy.’ He turned in his seat, put his fingers in his mouth and blew a piercing whistle.
A boy popped out from somewhere. The man said something in rapid Sinhala.
Even though she couldn’t understand what he said, Kalpana could tell the boy was being sent on an errand to look for a copy of Marcus’s book.
‘The reason I ask,’ Sampath said. ‘That gentleman there …’ He gestured to Marcus who was exclaiming about something he’d found. ‘He’s Marcus Lloyd-Howell.’
The older man turned and peered in. ‘Oh. Is he?’ He smiled. ‘We do get authors coming in here from time to time. They always want to know if we have their books.’
‘This lady is an author too,’ said Sampath.
Kalpana immediately felt self-conscious.
‘This is Kalpana Jay.’
‘Ah. Now your books, I have,’ said the old man. He stood up, slowly. ‘Let me see … They are quite popular. We have a few books of yours, I think. Ah. Here.’ He pointed to a section where pastel colours and swirly writing dominated the spines. ‘Popular holiday reads.’
She didn’t know what to do with that information. Was she supposed to buy them? She didn’t need that. So she glanced at Sampath, who beamed at her.
‘Would you like me to sign them for you?’ she said. ‘Would a signed copy be worth more to you?’
The old man assessed her. ‘Yes,’ he said, slowly. ‘It might. Let me get them.’
‘No, uncle. You sit down. I’ll get them.’
He gave her an approving smile and sat back down.
She pulled out the books one by one, taking care not to topple the stack.
There was a pen in her bag, clipped to her, still unused, notebook.
Taking that out, she clicked it open. ‘It’s probably easier to sell if I just sign it without a dedication, though.
’ She knew from experience that bookshops preferred to have just her signature.
‘Yes, please. This is very kind of you.’
‘It’s nothing, really.’ She opened the book and signed.
While she was doing that, she heard the man say to Sampath, ‘Are you adding my little shop to your tour?’
‘I’m not really a tour guide,’ said Sampath. ‘I’m a wedding planner. I just thought they would like to see this area because they’re both bookish people.’
‘Two writers getting married,’ the old man said. ‘I imagine they have fascinating conversations.’
‘Yes,’ Sampath said, faintly. ‘I imagine they do.’
‘And what about you? You’re not local, are you?’
‘No, uncle, I’m based in England. I’m just helping Marcus and Kalpana plan their wedding in Sri Lanka.’
‘People often photograph this street. It is very interesting.’
‘I think it would be good to take a photo of them with all the books in the background,’ Sampath said. ‘Actually, I was wondering …’ He explained about the idea of having a temporary shop inside the wedding venue and the shop owner said he’d think about it.
Kalpana finished signing all four books. ‘Here you go,’ she said. ‘Shall I put them back in the stack?’
‘No, just leave them there. I will put them away later,’ said the old man.
Her eyes fell on the book he was reading. It was a fantasy book. ‘Oh, I’ve read that one,’ she said. ‘It’s good, isn’t it? A bit dark, but really compelling.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I think dark, but compelling is a good description. The characters are very interesting.’
‘They’re all very different, but at their heart, they all miss home.’
They fell into an easy discussion about the book and other books written by the same author. The old gent gave her some recommendations.
The boy returned from his errand with a new copy of Reflections and was sent into the stacks to find copies of the books they’d talked about.
‘Look, Marcus,’ Kalpana said. ‘They found a copy of your book.’
Marcus emerged from the shop, clutching a handful of books. He glanced at the copy of his own book that she was holding out to him. He seemed at a loss for what to say.
Kalpana felt sorry for him. She had written more books than him and she understood that her books were, at some level, just objects to people.
They read them, then they moved on. People were too busy to re-read books and their homes were too cluttered for them to keep them all.
Marcus only had two books out, and both had been lauded for their prose.
He still thought all his readers should care for his books the same way he did.
The shop owner was looking puzzled at Marcus’s lack of enthusiasm.
‘You should sign it,’ Kalpana said and thrust the pen at him. ‘I signed all of mine,’ she said and gestured with her eyes towards the old man. ‘You should sign yours too.’
‘Ah. Right, yes.’ Marcus put his stash of books down and signed the copy of Reflections.
The shop owner asked Marcus about the books he’d picked up. More book discussion followed. For the first time since the start of the trip, Kalpana forgot her foreignness and relaxed. Book people, it seemed, were book people wherever you were in the world.
***
That evening, as they were returning to the hotel, Marcus announced that he was going out for dinner.
‘What? Why?’ Kalpana asked. That meant she would have to eat dinner alone in the hotel.
‘Nirmala has arranged for me to have dinner with another one of her journo friends to see if we can build some connections,’ said Marcus. ‘It’s a nice opportunity.’
Kalpana frowned. Ever since he’d started working with this PR woman, he had been distracted.
He was supposed to be focusing on planning the wedding.
They’d paid for a wedding planner to come out here and travel around with them, looking for venues and things for the wedding, yet Marcus was suddenly not taking any of it seriously.
Besides, she really didn’t want to eat alone this evening. ‘Can I join you?’
Marcus gave her a puzzled stare. ‘Why would you want to?’
‘He’s a journalist. He might want to interview me about my books.’
Marcus made a face. ‘I’ll ask. It seems a bit strange to invite someone along …’ He typed a message out. ‘Besides, he’s … you know, an arts journalist.’
She folded her arms. ‘And? Are you suggesting that I can’t talk about the arts?’
‘No, no. Of course not. I just didn’t think you’d want to spend your holiday discussing work when you don’t need to.’
‘Because we’re on holiday together, you mean?’ she snapped.
His phone buzzed. He looked at it, then returned his gaze to her face. ‘Are you seriously upset about this?’
Kalpana sighed. She was acutely aware that everyone in the foyer could hear everything they were saying. ‘It’s just that … I don’t really want to go to the hotel restaurant all by myself …’
‘You could get room service.’
‘That’s not the same. This is supposed to be a holiday as well as all these wedding-related things.’
Marcus studied her face for a moment. ‘You’re right. It’s thoughtless of me.’ He bent his head over his phone again. ‘There. I’ve told Nirmala that I can’t come tonight. We’ll eat together in the hotel. How about that?’
That wasn’t exactly what she’d wanted. She didn’t mind him doing stuff, but he should have thought to ask if she could come. She was his fiancée after all. And she was a writer too. If she was going to meet a journalist for dinner, she would definitely have asked if he could join them.
Marcus was looking at her expectantly. ‘I’ve cancelled it. Just for you,’ he said.
Oh. Right. She should probably be grateful.
‘Thank you,’ she said. But she couldn’t help thinking that meant he would rather pass on the opportunity to butter up a journalist than share the contact with her. She chided herself for being uncharitable.
He reached for her hand and gave her a smile. ‘We should go to the beachside restaurant rather than the indoors one today. Eat dinner by the sea.’
‘That would be nice,’ she said. Except, she was still irritated with him. Now she had to swallow that down and pretend she wasn’t.