Henry closed the door behind us. “Do you like reading?”
I nodded, even though it was a hobby I’d neglected in recent years. My mum hadn’t been able to afford to buy me books, so I’d made good use of the school library. But after I’d dropped out of school, I hadn’t been able to go anymore, and I’d been too busy trying to make money to find time to register at the public library.
“What’s your favourite book?” Henry asked. His voice was low even though we were alone—the room exuded a kind of serenity.
I had my back turned to him as I browsed the books, but I could still feel his eyes on me. My skin prickled. “The Brave Cloud Princess.”
“Isn’t that a children’s book?”
“Yes, by Evelyn Fairchild,” I answered, thinking about the tattered copy I had in my rucksack. The cover was stained, the paper water-damaged, and some of the ink had run in the rain, but I wouldn’t exchange it for a new copy even if I could afford it. “My mum used to read it to me, and it was also the first book I read by myself. Although I was cheating a bit, because I knew almost the whole story off by heart.”
“Perhaps I should read it too.”
I turned to him, and our eyes met. The warmth in my stomach returned. “You definitely should. It’s great. Do you have a favourite book?”
“Not really.”
“That’s a shame.”
Henry sat on an armchair and looked around the room. “My granddad always tried to get me excited about books. He hosted alot of readings here, and he was a real fanboy when it came to his favourite writers. He had told us at least thirty times about the time J. R. R. Tolkien stayed at the hotel and read fromThe Hobbit. But for some reason, his passion for books never rubbed off on me. I think I read my last book when I was at Oxford.”
I wandered over to Henry and sat in the armchair next to his. I sank deep into the upholstery. “Your granddad and I probably would have got on well. I’ve not read very much in the last few years, but I love reading. It used to be my biggest wish to be a children’s book writer, because I wanted to be like Evelyn Fairchild.”
“You don’t want that anymore?”
“No, it was just a brief phase.”
“What would you like to do instead?”
“No idea,” I answered honestly. I really didn’t know and hadn’t thought about it for a long time. Manifesting self-fulfilment was a luxury I hadn’t been able to afford until now. “When I was a teenager, I wanted to do some kind of social work and help people living in precarious situations, but instead, I became one of those people.”
“I’m sorry,” Henry said, and for a brief moment it seemed as though he wanted to reach out his hand to comfort me. I wished he would. Instead, he picked a bit of lint from his hoodie.
“What about you?” I asked, making an effort not to let my disappointment show. The part of my face Henry had touched with his thumb earlier was still tingling pleasurably.
“What about me?”
“Have you always wanted to run The Darlington?”
“Yes, only I imagined the job being pretty different. And it would have been nice to get into it under different circumstances. I guess you can’t always choose how things pan out.”
“No, you can’t,” I agreed. If I’d had any agency when it came to my life, I’d definitely have opted for a different version. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course, Pumpkin.”
I grimaced. “Nope.”
Henry knit his brow. “Why not? It’s cute.”
“I don’t want to be a vegetable.”
“So Sweet Potato is also a no-go?”
“Totally.”
“Shame,” Henry said. I heard his phone vibrate in his hoodie pocket. He retrieved it and sneaked a glance at his display, before returning it. It was by no means the first message of the evening. “So, what did you want to ask me?”
“Who was that?” It wasn’t the question I’d wanted to ask.
