‘I won’t have a job.’
‘You have options.’
‘What options?’
‘That job offer in London,’ Harold said. ‘Time is running out for a career.’
‘I’m twenty-eight, not sixty-eight.’
‘You can’t be thirty and selling books,’ Harold said. ‘You’ve been here your whole life. Don’t you think it’s time for a change?’
Two men carrying a ladder went by, their eyes averted.
This was Quinn’s whole life. He was comfortable here, safe. People born in Hay rarely left Hay. When they did, they changed. Quinn didn’t want to change.
‘So have you. You’ve never left.’
‘Haven’t had to.’ Harold held out his arms. ‘This is my empire.’
‘The castle?’
‘The development firm.’ Harold winked.
‘Quinn!’
Quinn turned around to find his stepcousin.
‘Gordon,’ Quinn said, turning away from him as quickly as possible. ‘Please. Reconsider.’
‘What’s going on?’
Quinn closed his eyes. Out of all the people to arrive now, Gordon was the last person on his list. ‘This is between us.’
‘He’s my business partner.’ Harold put an arm around his nephew. ‘He should be involved in all business discussions.’
Quinn forced the letter onto Harold’s chest, summoning all the courage in the world. ‘There is no discussion. You’re not having my shop.’
He stormed away, gritting his teeth. The drumming in his chest seemed to echo in his ears.
‘The deal is almost done, Quinn,’ Gordon shouted. ‘You’ve had your final notice. It’s just business!’
The cold hit him hard, and he shivered. He winced, the day bright, and the street came alive with people slipping and sliding on their way to the festival. The snow remained undisturbed by cars and had only been touched by footprints. Quinn couldn’t help but look at his shop, dreading the day ahead and having to pretend everything was alright. Quinn wanted to cry, but he couldn’t. Crying wouldn’t solve anything.
He could only blame himself for thinking the letters would go away. He’d hoped his stepdad would see sense. To get the final eviction notice was devastating. These weren’t strangers from a faceless corporation; these were people that should look out for him. Corporate greed had tangled itself in family ties. This was just business to them.
Well, it wasn’t just business to Quinn.
They couldn’t have it.
If Quinn lost his shop, he would lose himself. He looked at his apartment, peeking above the castle walls, where his income kept a roof above his head. The locals, who all waved hello, who had known him since he was a kid, would become memories. Quinn would lose his community.
As the snow fell, and Quinn made the steep descent down to the castle walls, he thought of telling someone. What would his mum say? Maybe she already knew.
After Harold had entered her life, he couldn’t deal with the fact that his mother had moved on. Then he’d ignored it so much that he had refused to tell anyone, even his mother.
Quinn took out his phone, and after failed attempts with a gloved hand, he called his mum.
‘Quinn? How’re you?’
