26
26
I N THE DAYS THAT follow the London museum trip, Bobby calls you every evening. During these calls, he speaks to you at a rate of knots. What does he speak to you about? Whatever he wants. You are a good listener. He is a good talker. And both of you are children with nowhere to be.
One evening, he speaks to you about his Spanish class and reels off reams of Spanish vocabulary. Huevos. Ojos. Chicos. Another day, he speaks to you about his French class and reels off reams of French vocabulary. Table. Moustache. Ordinateur.
On still another day, he changes tack.
‘What was that book your mum said you’re interested in?’
‘Huh?’
‘At the lunch. Your parents said you really like this one book.’
‘Oh. The Voynich Manuscript.’
‘Say again?’
‘The Voynich Manuscript.’
‘Can you spell that?’
‘V-o-y-n-i-c-h. M-a-n-u-s-c-r-i-p-t.’
‘OK. And why do you like it?’
‘Oh, it’s very cool,’ you say, unsure if ‘cool’ is the right word.
‘Really?’
‘Well, maybe not cool. But it’s interesting and fun. That’s why I like it.’
A few days later, Bobby calls you at his usual hour.
‘So, the Voynich Manuscript is in America,’ Bobby is saying, as if you didn’t already know this. ‘It’s in a library in America.’
‘OK,’ you say, as if you didn’t already know this.
‘And it’s in this library in this university, this super-weird library and it has lots of books that are all super rare…’
In the space of days, Bobby has decided to become an expert on all things to do with the Voynich Manuscript. You have three main feelings about this. First, you are alarmed. Where did Bobby get the time to swot up so much? Did he do extensive reading under the desk at school? Second, you are pleased. You like the idea you’ll have someone to talk to about your interest or hobby and maybe he will want to read your essay when you’re done with it. Third, you are annoyed. Bobby is smart enough to grasp everything you know and more. He will overtake you in no time.
‘… and apparently this man travelled all the way to Italy to see the Manuscript. He didn’t even want to look at anything else. He just went straight to the Manuscript even though—’
You swap phone hands but keep the same phone ear. You are lying on your bed.
‘… so we can’t go there because it’s far away and I don’t think they’d let us on planes alone, or at least not without a really, really good excuse. Like maybe if we said our American relative was in hospital and…’
You look at the big light. It’s far too bright. Its white light beams at you aggressively, hurting your eyes but also your mind.
‘But we could go to London.’
It takes you a while to register Bobby has stopped speaking. But even when you do register this, you still don’t quite understand what he’s saying about London.
‘Sorry, what did you say?’
‘So, we could go to London to see it.’
‘But why would we want to go to London if it’s America?’
‘Because it’s on loan. Weren’t you listening? You know about library loans?’
You are mildly insulted by this question. ‘I know about them very well,’ you say. ‘I get things out on loan all the time.’
‘All right, then.’
‘When is it there?’
‘Like, now.’
‘Now?’
‘Yeah, till February, apparently.’
You can hear Bobby type something on his keyboard. You wonder if this is how he’s been learning about the Voynich Manuscript – if he’s been using his computer to access information on the internet.
‘It’s not a copy or a fake or anything?’
‘It’s the real thing. What would we want to see a copy for anyway? We can probably see a copy anywhere.’ He types something else, then corrects himself. ‘Well, I dunno about anywhere. I mean, have you actually ever seen a copy?’
You think about the times you have seen the Manuscript – or rather, pictures of the Manuscript.
‘I’ve seen pictures of it,’ you say, eventually. The phone is warm against your left ear, so you switch to your right.
‘It’s kind of weird that you like this thing so much but you’ve not seen it yet. You should’ve seen it by now, I mean—’
‘Maggie found pictures of it online and she showed me them and printed them off for me.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well, I’m just suggesting we actually see it. The real thing. Cos seeing a printed-out copy isn’t seeing the real thing. And you can write about it for your essay. It’ll make your essay so much better.’
You think about it. ‘I don’t know if my parents will be up for going to London again. We’ve just been there, if you remember. And my mum’s gone a bit, you know, a bit weirder this past week actually so I don’t know.’
‘No, we can go ourselves. We don’t have to ask anyone to take us.’
‘We can’t go to London by ourselves. We wouldn’t know how to get there. It’s miles and miles away. We’ll get lost.’
You get up from where you were lying on your bed, pick up a tennis ball and then proceed to throw it up and down.
‘Yeah, we can,’ Bobby says.
‘How?’
Another pause ensues. You can hear Bobby typing again in the background.
‘Do you get any pocket money?’ he asks eventually.
‘Only sometimes.’
‘Birthday money?’
‘Yeah, I get birthday money.’
‘Do you have fifteen pounds, then?’
‘Probably.’
‘Then we can probably take the train.’
Even though you’re on the phone and Bobby can’t see you, you shake your head and pull a face. You find the idea of making your way into the world without adult supervision frightening. Things might go wrong. It’s new and uncharted territory. As a general rule, you don’t mind new territory. But you tend to prefer when it’s charted.
‘But why do we even need to go there?’
‘So we can present our ideas to the custodian.’
‘Custodian?’ You wonder if Bobby knows what that word means.
‘Yeah, like there are probably loads of, like, people who guard the Manuscript. We can speak to them. They can help us publish our paper maybe. Or let us touch it.’
‘Paper? Do you mean my essay?’
‘Yeah.’
‘But I haven’t written it yet. And we haven’t written anything. So there is no our essay .’
‘Not yet, but we will.’
‘We will?’
‘Sure, we will.’
‘What will it be about?’
‘It’ll put forward our translation and our ideas and stuff. We can co-author it after you finish your first solo one.’
You let out a sigh, flop yourself back onto your bed, lying on your back. ‘I guess it might be cool to see it at last.’
‘It’ll be so cool,’ Bobby says. ‘We will be basking in the light of, you know, the thing we’re really interested in.’
‘It was the thing I was interested in first, though.’
‘I know,’ Bobby says, typing something again. ‘But sharing is caring.’
Even though you are speaking on the phone and Bobby cannot see you, you nod. Sharing is caring. How you could have forgotten this is unclear.
‘All right,’ you say, nodding. ‘So, what do I have to do? What do you want me to do?’
‘You just meet me at the train station tomorrow. Tell your parents you’re going to mine, I’ll tell my mum I’m going to yours, then we’ll take the train to London instead.’
‘How do I get to the station?’
‘The train station? You can walk. You know the way?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Good. It’s literally by your house, so I was hoping you’d know the way there.’
As if on cue, a train whooshes past your house, its speed rattling the windows. You can tell from the time of the day and the intensity and length of the noise that it’s a freight train.
‘And I’ll meet you there? At the station? You’ll be there?’
‘Yeah,’ Bobby says. ‘Don’t forget to bring your money, though. We’ll need to buy the tickets when we get there.’
‘OK.’
Sensing your continued doubt and lingering unwillingness, Bobby offers you some reassurance. ‘Don’t worry,’ he says. ‘I go to London all the time on my own. I know what I’m doing. It’ll be fine.’
Further reading:
London A–Z Street Atlas