He’d ignored every other eviction notice, but something about this one had changed something inside him. He’d hoped that by ignoring his problems, they would go away. Whenever he faced something uncomfortable, he ran away from it. Quinn, the man who never stepped one inch out of his comfort zone. He had no intention of doing that. Not when it involved the man in the castle.
But Noah’s words rang in his ears like tinnitus.
Emboldened, possessed by something he couldn’t explain, he entered his shop and picked up the final eviction notice letter. Even looking at it made him shake. He took a deep breath. Could he do this?
Looking around at his shop, the sanctuary, his creation, told him what he needed to do.
He had to at least try.
After stumbling onto the pavement, he went through the castle walls’ archway and onto the castle grounds. He paused to admire the bookshelves against the stone wall, which were unspoiled by the weather. He began his slow climb to the castle itself, trying his hardest not to crash to the ground with all the elegance of an ice-skating giraffe.
When he reached the castle doors, he pushed them open and headed into the hallway.
I can do this, I can do this, I can do this.
The castle had always been grand, but for years, it had survived by being propped up with scaffolding. The place needed serious work, and at one point it had seemed like all hope to restore it was lost. Richard Booth, a man who proclaimed himself as the King of Hay, took this castle to live in. It was because of him that the town became known as the town of books after he spotted an opportunity to make Hay stand out from the crowd.
Rest his soul,Quinn thought.
He remembered stories his father had told him about Richard Booth. Like the time he strutted down the high street wearing a crown, or how he once declared his horse the Prime Minister of Hay. His father had even been a member of C.I.Hay, the secret service agency. When Quinn asked his dad what they did, his dad replied, ‘Get pissed a lot.’
Quinn looked at Hay Castle, destroyed in a fire in the seventies, and thought of the many parties Richard Booth had held there when he was alive. Bonkers and raving, according to his mother.
Development work had now almost restored the place to its authentic glory. The roof, once caved in and the place of multiple bird nests and cobwebs, was now rebuilt, towering tall above them. Old stone carvings had been saved, and any shred of historical evidence preserved. The old stairway had been replaced with a reinstated structure and reupholstered with a red carpet. But the work wasn’t quite complete yet. From somewhere in the castle came the sound of drills.
‘Look who it is.’ Harold Morgan headed towards Quinn, a hard hat and a high-vis jacket on his burly frame. His wild beard was flecked with white paint, as were his arms. ‘Come to see the place?’
‘I’ve come about this.’ Quinn held up the eviction notice letter.
‘Finally acknowledging them, then?’
‘I acknowledged the other ones.’ Quinn hoped Harold wouldn’t challenge him. He ignored the other ones by dropping them in his desk drawer and pretending they didn’t exist. Technically, he registered their existence. It wasn’t his fault if he ignored them.
Okay, so maybe it was. But what else was he supposed to do? Eviction notices for a shop he loved were not something he could face. How could he, when someone else was handling his fate like a chess piece? Until now, there had been survival on the board. Maybe Harold would make a wrong move or change his mind. But with this letter that he held in his hand, and the word ‘final’, it felt like checkmate.
‘So why the fuss?’
‘It’s scaring me.’
Harold waved a dismissive hand, as if nothing happened. ‘It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.’
‘You’reevictingme!’
‘Now, it’s not an eviction…’
‘Looks like an eviction to me.’
‘You knew the risks,’ Harold said. ‘Come on, come look around.’
‘No.’ Quinn shook his head. He wanted to shout, but he knew his voice would carry through this gorgeous echo chamber. ‘This is my livelihood. My entire world. And you want it gone so you can build some crappy information centre?’
‘I’ve offered you a new shop here.’
Quinn watched his stepdad cross his arms, a grim expression on his face. ‘The shop you’ve offered me is a box. It’s not a shop. There’s no way I could sell what I sell now and still make a living. It’s a huge downsize.’
His voice wavered, and he was stumbling over his words. Why was it so hard to say what he felt, to stand up for himself? That confidence that gripped him earlier was crumbling around him.
‘You’re making things more difficult than they should be,’ Harold argued. ‘That church is a development opportunity, and will be a fantastic resource for us. Business is business. You should know that, if that rainbow shop is a business.’
