Junk (34 page)

No, that wasn’t the case, so what exactly was his excuse for feeling this bleak? He’d just exorcised all those pent-up feelings about his mother. Wasn’t that cathartic enough?

Jasper sighed and turned back to the taped-out rooms. He tried to remember how big the hoard had been before he started sorting. Carroll had emailed him photographs, hadn’t she? He’d have to check on his laptop later. But the hoard couldn’t have been that much bigger than it was now. Over a month, and this piffling progress all he had to show for his time.

When he remembered how quickly he’d whizzed through the piles that week before Lewis left him… Well, when he remembered that, it made him…mad?

Mad, not sad. Jasper felt the sensation build behind his sternum, that coal flaring back into life. He started to pace. Felt like his body had had an injection of adrenaline. All those little reasons for keeping the books melted away. Why bother? They were only holding him back, keeping him stuck here in this rotten excuse for a warehouse. He should burn the lot of them.

A vision of a pyre of books burned behind his eyelids. Oh God, that looked like a totalitarian nightmare. No, okay, he wouldn’t burn them. But he had to do something.

Even if Lewis never came back after his self-imposed exile.

Even then, Jasper didn’t want to spend the rest of his life sorting through this never-ending pile of books. He could do it. He could get it done and put it behind him.

He could move on.

He strode over to the landing area where his empty trolley waited. Genre fiction. Right. That should be an easy place for him to start, as he didn’t even read much of it. He picked a pile at random. A historical saga on the top, with a gushing recommendation from the
Daily Mail
.

The
Daily
-pigging-
Mail
? Right, that was reason enough to send it back to where it came from. He chucked it onto the trolley. The next was a lurid horror novel. Why had he brought this home? He didn’t even like horror. The following book was one of those recent depressing Scandinavian thrillers riding on the success of
The Girl with the Something-Something
books. Well, he’d read the original and didn’t think it was all that great, so why would a rip-off be any better?

Onto the trolley.

A Mills and Boon romance. Like he was ever going to read one of those.

Onto the trolley.

An Agatha Christie? That should be with the classics, surely? Oh, but then again, he’d read this one, and it wasn’t like he wouldn’t be able to pick up another copy somewhere should he get the urge to read it again someday. Christie wouldn’t ever go out of print, right?

Onto the trolley.

Three hours later and a record twenty trolley trips over to the dispatch zone, the landing area was almost half clear, and Jasper was one hundred percent knackered.

Chapter Thirty-Four

“So exactly how far up the hill is this bloody café?” Lewis grumbled to Brandon. They were walking along Upper Maudlin Street, past the vast complex of hospital buildings on their right, and he was already heartily sick of the cold November drizzle and noise of traffic whooshing over wet tarmac. Seeing ambulances going past was never particularly cheery either. “You realise I could have driven here? I’ve got the Duchess back on the road. The coffee had better be as spectacular as you say it is.”

“Or what, exactly?”

“Or…or next time I come round, I’ll bring you Fosters instead of that fancy continental beer you like.”

“Ooh, you fight dirty, mate. Well, Jos reckons it’s the best coffee he’s ever had in this country. You know I can’t drink the stuff. Thought it might cheer you up now you’re being too chickenshit to visit that Turkish bloke’s café.”

“I’m not being a coward. It’s just completely out of my way now I’m not working with Jasper anymore.” Anyway, that wasn’t really why he was so upset at his self-imposed exile from Yusef’s. The man did make great coffee, but it wasn’t the best he’d ever tasted. No, it was more the whole package he was missing. The bits like sitting opposite Jasper and listening to his voice as he explained just what was so wonderful about some old book he’d acquired, knees brushing so they were joined under the table. Those were the things he really craved, and no matter how good a mate Brandon was, he couldn’t give him any of that.

“Right, so you turning into a miserable fucking bastard and you stopping working with this Jasper fella have absolutely nothing in common, right? Even though they happened at exactly the same fucking time. Fuck, Lewis. You’re such a fucking twat sometimes.”

“Think you could stick a few more profanities into that sentence? I think you let a few nouns slip out without an F-word in front of them.”

“F-word? For fuck’s sake, mate. You’re such a prude sometimes. And stop changing the subject. You’re depressed, and it’s all coz you’ve been a stupid, stubborn bastard.”

“That’s not why.” Okay, it was, but he didn’t want to admit it. Lewis kicked a bunch of leaves under one of the trees, but they just squelched, and one stuck to his wet boot. “I’m just sick of this dreary, cold weather. I hate November.”

“Yeah, don’t we all, but you started this pity party months ago.”

“Okay. I hate having to walk up this bastard hill.”

“That’s an even worse excuse. Come on. I want my friend back. You.” Brandon stopped and grabbed Lewis by the chin. “Weird, emo doppelganger, what have you done with my best mate?”

“Gerroff,” Lewis twisted, but he couldn’t help smiling. “I’m not even remotely emo. Look, I’m all colourful.” He indicated his outfit of tastefully coordinated shades, even if it was all very last season now. He hadn’t had the heart for shopping lately. Every last penny had been put aside for getting the Duchess back on the road and saving up for his future studies. “Not a hint of black.”

“I dunno. Purples and greys seem pretty emo to me.”

“Piss off. This is lavender and pewter.”

Brandon screwed up his nose. “Now that just sounds gay.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Yep. So my boyfriend tells me.” Brandon grinned. “Hey, maybe you are Lewis after all.”

Lewis raised his eyebrows and was about to make a smart retort, when he spotted the shop behind Brandon’s shoulder. An antiquarian bookshop. He’d forgotten all about it, if he’d ever noticed it in the first place, it being so long since he’d walked up this godforsaken hill. He stepped around Brandon, walked up to the condensation-fogged glass and peered inside. He couldn’t see much, but there was a welcoming glow of halogen spotlights around the display, so he went to the door.

“Hey, this isn’t it,” Brandon said, but Lewis pushed on in anyway.

“Just want to have a quick look.”

A wave of heat hit him when he opened the door, and a small bell jingled. He stepped in, wiping his wet feet on the sisal mat. Wooden bookshelves lined the lower halves of the walls, and above them were glass display cabinets with the more precious books on show, yellowing pages open to show the ornate illuminations and fancy text. An elderly, white-haired gent walked out from the back room marked Staff Only and wished them both a good afternoon. He fit the place perfectly in his mustard-coloured suit, complete with red bow tie and matching handkerchief sticking out of his pocket.

Jasper would love it in here.

Pain gripped Lewis’s heart so fiercely he almost gasped. What he wouldn’t do to have Jasper standing next to him, holding his hand as they browsed the shelves. Well, there was one thing he wouldn’t do, which was back down from his plan before Jasper had had a chance to recover on his own. To prove to himself how strong he was.

And it might not happen. Even now, Jasper might be bringing back the old books and papers from his library and piling them up again, constructing a barrier between him and the real world.

But Carroll had assured him that wasn’t happening, and Lewis couldn’t give up all hope. Stopping at that spot and noticing this place felt like a sign. An omen of some sort. He just had to pray that it was the good kind.

He walked up to the counter, amazed to see one of those really old-fashioned cash registers with the little tabs that popped up on top. There was an iPad and a calculator sitting next to it, though, so perhaps it was ornamental rather than functional.

“Can I help you?” the shopkeeper asked, peering shrewdly over the top of his half-moon glasses.

“I certainly hope so.” Lewis mentally ran through the contents of his bank account. Sorting out his beloved Mini with a new engine had used a lot of funds, and this looked like the kind of place where a book could set you back a fair whack. “Do you have any classic children’s books, by any chance?”

“Of course. Quite a good collection too. I found a box at a house clearance recently. What an absolute goldmine, that was. It’s staggering the way some people don’t recognise the worth of what’s sitting right under their noses.”

“Reminds me of someone not a million miles away from me,” Brandon muttered and pulled a book off a shelf. “Whoa! There’re some crazy pictures in here. Hey, mate, don’t suppose you sell any vintage erotic books do you? Bet they’re good for a laugh.”

“As a matter of fact, young man, I do, but they’re not out on display for obvious reasons.” The shopkeeper appraised Brandon with beady eyes and obviously liked what he saw, if the quirk of lips was anything to go by. “Would you be interested in a private showing? I have some photographs too. Of course, they’re mostly of heterosexual couples or young women, but I do have a few of a more
specialist
interest.”

Brandon’s eyes almost popped out of his head. “Nah, thanks, I don’t want to put you to any trouble. Anyway, we’ve got somewhere to be.” He leaned in closer to Lewis and whispered, “Did he just offer to show me his
etchings
or what? Dirty old man.”

“Shut up. If you can’t be useful, just try not to break anything. I’m shopping, and I don’t want any distractions.”

Because sometimes, just sometimes, shopping was something he didn’t have to feel guilty about, and this was most definitely one of those times. He intended to savour every moment.

The trouble with putting books back on the shelves was in choosing the perfect order. Jasper sighed at the copy of
The Portrait of Dorian Grey
in his hand. Should he be alphabetising all the authors or separating the nineteenth- from the twentieth-century books before he alphabetised them? Would anyone other than him even care?

He was too much of a perfectionist, that was his problem. That and never being able to make a simple decision without seeing every single side of the problem first. Lewis had told him those things could be strengths too, but it was hard to see how when he still had a living room half full of boxes and two whole walls covered in empty shelves.

Coffee. That was what he needed. A trip down to Yusef’s and some company.

As he entered the hallway, Jasper marvelled at the sensation of space. Almost four months since the clear-out, and it still caught him afresh every time. It wasn’t that echoey, hard emptiness that had freaked him out at first, though. The shelves lining the wall opposite the staircase were now full of books. His unread paperbacks, which for some reason he hadn’t felt the need to alphabetise. There was something comforting about searching for a new book to read on the unordered shelves. It reminded him of charity-shop browsing and helped keep a lid on the urge to go shopping for more.

He took a moment now to trace his finger along the spines, and when it came to rest on
Life of Pi
, he recalled how Lewis had described it to him. Yes, he’d take this one out with him. Reading it now would give them something more to discuss when Lewis had got over his cold feet and come back to him.

Cold feet? Where had that idea come from? Jasper held the book, his gaze sweeping over the bright cover but not taking in any of the details. He felt down inside himself for the tightness, the anger and resentment at Lewis for abandoning him. No, it was gone. At some point over the last week, it had melted away.

Strange.

Still lost in his thoughts, Jasper automatically reached for his coat and scarf, and the woolly hat Yusef had given him as a house-clearing present. December had settled in with a chill, and now the house was properly heated on the inside, the transition to outdoors could be dramatic.

The book forgotten on the hall table, Jasper made his way out and down the garden path. It was lighter now the trees had been pruned, but that wasn’t what made him dawdle at the gate. He turned back to the house. What would Lewis see when he came back to him?

Because he was coming back.

Even if Jasper had to drag him back, kicking and screaming. He wasn’t about to let the man run away from true love. That was what this was. It must be, if it had the power to inspire him to better things.

The house was definitely more cheerful than it had been, what with the freshly cleaned windows. He’d meant to paint the front door, though, hadn’t he? As Jasper ran his gaze over the exterior, more and more ideas crowded into his head. Oh yes. He could prove to Lewis that he was ready now. All recovered and eager to move on.

To move on together.

As he strode down the hill, Jasper began whistling. He needed to start a shopping list, and it was going to be a long one.