stuck here forever. Anyway, youâre the one off on wild goose chases to look at crazy buses. Iâd say youâre closer to it than I am.â
Nina had known heâd been secretly pleased when sheâd come back from Scotland empty-handed. Sheâd resented the implication of that: that he was worried that if she could get away, pathetic as she was, what did it say about him?
âI know,â she sighed. âIt was a ridiculous dream.â She looked around. âI just donât know . . . I mean, after that . . .â She shivered, remembering Cathy Neesonâs smile, which hadnât reached her eyes as sheâd stood up to leave, before the end of the allotted interview time but after the entire thing had clearly come to a close.
Nina hadnât slept well since sheâd returned from Scotland. The atmosphere had been muggy and gray, pressing down on her relentlessly. Things sheâd once likedâthe buzz, the city noiseânow made her feel like she didnât have enough space to catch her breath. Sheâd read lots of books about people finding new lives, which hadnât helped her mood either, had made her feel more and more trapped and stuck where she was, as if everyone except her was managing to get away and do interesting things.
Sheâd trawled the job Web sites, but it seemed there was no place for librarians anymore. Information officers, yes. Play advisers and local government PRs and marketing consultants, but nothing that seemed to have anything to do with what sheâd done her entire life, the only job she wanted: finding the right book for the right person.
She found herself missing the fresh air, the long views, the clear sunlight bouncing off yellow fields, lush green rolling hills and the sparkling, dancing, beguiling North Sea. It felt very odd that somewhere sheâd spent such a small amount of timeâand which had ended up so badlyâhad had such a profound effect on her.
She stared at her coffee again. A large woman barged past her, almost clubbing her in the face with her gigantic, expensive, directional handbag.
âI donât know,â Nina said again.
âOh, Iâm sure youâll have gotten the job,â said Griffin, incredibly insincerely. Nina realized for the first time that heâd cut off his ponytail.
Her phone rang. They both looked at each other and froze.
âTheyâll be calling the successful people first,â said Griffin immediately. âWell done. Itâll definitely be you. Congratulations.Maybe they wanted a way back to the old-fashioned style all along.â
âI donât recognize the number,â said Nina, looking at the phone as though it were a live snake. âBut itâs not Birmingham.â
âNo, it wonât be,â said Griffin. âItâll be centralized in some Swindon office or something.â
Nina picked up the phone and carefully pressed the green button.
âNina Redmond?â
The line was crackly and unclear, and at first it was hard to hear anything in the noisy coffee shop.
âHello? Hello?â
âAye, hello there,â came the voice. âIs that Nina?â
âYes, itâs me.â
âAye, listen. Itâs Alasdair McRae.â
The name meant nothing to Nina, but the Scottish accent was familiar. Her brow furrowed.
âHello?â
âAye, the landlord, you know. Of the Rob Roy.â
Nina couldnât help smiling. âHello! Did I leave something behind? You can keep the book.â She hadnât had the heart to take it away in the end.
âOh, it was brilliant, that book. Edwin passed it on to me when he was done with it.â
âIâm glad to hear it.â
âThen I passed it on to Wullie.â
âOh.â
âAye, well, he was in, looking glum.â
âWell, books are for everyone,â said Nina, trying to be charitable.
âAnyway, listen. Me and the
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