information about him and George. ‘Nothing’s going on,’ he keeps saying, but that’s not true. There’s quite a bit of flirting going on. Quite a few letters, too. ‘She still likes the other guy,’ Martin says, crouching in front of the non-fiction shelf. ‘He’s pretty much all we talk about.’
‘That’s a bit shit,’ I say.
‘Yes, Henry. That is a bit shit.’
I’ve been looking in the Letter Library for any clue of George’s mystery guy, but so far, I’ve found nothing. Rachel’s cataloguing is really coming along, though, so I distract myself on Tuesday by looking through the database. There are so many people in the Library, so many people who’ve left parts of themselves on the pages over the years. Some afternoons, I lie on the floor next to Rachel, and share the lines that I love, almost all of them marked by strangers before me.
‘You have been in every prospect I have ever seen since – on the river, on the sails of ships, on the marshes, in the clouds,’ I read. It’s Pip’s speech to Estella, and I know my dad underlined it. The copy I’m holding is the copy he gave Mum. He’s written a note to her on the title page.
‘The speech, it’s all about Pip, isn’t it?’ Rachel asks. ‘She’s part of him. There’s nothing about who she is.’
‘My dad’s love for my mum isn’t all about him, though,’ I say, and Rachel tells me that’s not what she means.
‘I was thinking aloud, that’s all.’
‘People’s love is always about themselves isn’t it?’ I ask. ‘I mean, pretty much?’
‘Maybe. It’d be nice if it wasn’t though,’ she says, and I think about Amy, and find myself agreeing. It’d be really nice if it weren’t.
On Wednesday, in an effort to distract myself from Amy and Rachel and Martin and George and Dad’s failed great expectations, I challenge Frederick and Frieda to a game of Scrabble. They’re playing together against me, and we’re sitting at the counter in case a customer comes in.
As it turns out, George told them earlier that Rachel kissed me, so my plan to distract myself fails early in the game when Frieda asks if we’re a couple now. ‘We’re not. But it’s confusing, because it was good and I don’t know what that means.’
‘Sometimes kisses are just good,’ Frieda says. ‘And they don’t mean anything.’
Frederick studies the tiles. ‘Yes. However, in this case, Henry has known Rachel for a very long time.’
They go into quiet discussion before placing account on the board.
‘But I like Amy,’ I say.
‘I don’t like Amy,’ Frieda says.
Frederick remains neutral.
I look over at Rachel. If she hadn’t kissed me, everything would basically be the same. I just have to forget that she kissed me.
To distract myself from thoughts of her kiss, I ask Frederick if Dad’s given him any information about the sale. The two of them are good friends. Chances are, Dad will run things past Frederick before he tells us.
‘There’s some interest, but I don’t think your mother and father quite agree.’
‘Because the price isn’t high enough?’ I ask, putting my tile down to form blind.
‘I’m not entirely sure. I don’t think your father wants to sell to developers.’
‘Mum wouldn’t sell to developers,’ I say, and then there’s a run of customers so I take a break from Scrabble. Frederick and Frieda keep playing the game, against each other now. By the time I’m done serving, they’ve moved into the reading garden and Lola’s taken their place at the counter.
It’s the first time I’ve seen her since Sunday morning. She didn’t say much then, but the gist of it seemed to be that Hiroko felt Lola was being unbelievably selfish in asking her to stay. ‘Music obsessed’ was the phrase Hiroko used.
‘Do you think I’m music obsessed?’ Lola asks. ‘I mean, obsessed to the point where I care more about music than people?’
I make a movement with my head to avoid answering. ‘Have you spoken to her since then?’ I ask, and Lola shakes her head.
‘What? Not even to apologise?’
‘Maybe if she’d told me she was applying, I might have applied as well.’
‘You’ve never wanted to study.’ As long as I’ve known Lola, she’s had one dream – being on stage, playing her own way.
‘She’s ruined everything,’ she says.
Sure, if the roles were reversed Lola would tell me I was sounding like a self-centred dick. But fuck it. Lola’s lost her dream, and I’m not telling her that.
‘Hiroko won’t play the last gig on Valentine’s Day. We’ve