“They were just so heavy. And I couldn’t compete against the young, fit salespeople. But with these, I think I’ve finally found my calling. Even you have to admit that this time I’m onto something special.”
She tossed a tiny book onto the table. I picked it up and gaped at the title.
Cat Language – a Cat-to-Human Dictionary.
I flipped the book open. It was a dictionary, all right. Only it translated the language of cats into English. Apparently, ‘mew-mew’ meant ‘I am hungry’ and ‘meeeeorrrrw,’ was ‘feed me now, or I’ll claw your face off.’
I stifled a laugh. “Mum, these are… um…”
“I know, they’re genius! Everyone has a pet they want to understand. And all those cat videos on the internet mean I can try some search engine marketing. Plus, the animal behavioral doctor who put these together has no idea how to run a successful business, so it’s an absolute steal. I’m not locked into purchasing a certain amount of books. I lease the rights to the dictionary file, have the local printer make up the copies, and then I get to keep all the profit.” She dumped a box on the table. I winced as hundreds of books spilled out – not just cat dictionaries, but dogs and hamsters and mice and goldfish. Goldfish? What noises do goldfish even make? “I thought you could set up a display on the counter at Nevermore Bookshop, maybe push them to anyone who buys pet books.”
“Mum, no.”
“But you work at a bookshop. Mina, it’s perfect.”
“I’m not taking these to Heathcliff. No one will buy these.”
“I’ve got ones for dogs and gerbils and mice, too—”
“I said no. Can we drop this?” I slid two pieces of bread into the oven and turned on the grill. “I’ve got a lot of reading to do tonight. I’m hosting a book club meeting at the shop and I need to finish the book they’re studying. If you need me, I’ll be in my room.”
Mum frowned, flicking through the cat dictionary. I knew I hadn’t heard the last about it.
* * *
I managed to shower and crawl into bed without getting into it with Mum again. Our flat was technically only a one bedroom, but we’d blocked out the windows in the tiny conservatory off the living room and added a cheap standing wardrobe Mum found on the side of the road. The room was barely big enough for my bed and clothes, but I’d managed to cover every spare surface in band posters and ticket stubs and Polaroid pictures of Ashley and me as rebellious teens pouting and making rude hand gestures at the camera. Mum hadn’t changed a thing since I left for New York City. Looking at the walls now gave me a weird feeling in my gut. I felt like I hardly knew the person staring back at me. She was another Mina, from another world.
I jammed my headphones in my ears, cranked up a playlist of Nick Cave and The Sisters of Mercy, and opened Of Mice and Men. Bugs slammed into the windows outside, attracted to the too-bright bulb hanging over the bed.
Halfway into the first chapter, I lost touch with the outside world. The words and the music carried me away, and I forgot that I was Mina Wilde, failed fashion designer and soon-to-be blind bookstore assistant sleeping in her old childhood bedroom in the dingy flat she swore she’d never return to. Instead, I was on the cotton fields of southern America with migrant workers George and Lennie as they toiled and dreamed of a future where they owned their own plot of land. A dream so remote and impossible it clung to them like a shroud.
I knew what that was like.
One thing that jumped out at me in the book was how loneliness shaped many of the interactions between characters. George and Lennie’s friendship came about because of loneliness. Candy lost his dog. Everyone had aspirations that drove them from true human connection. Even the nearby town in the story was called Soledad, which a quick Google search revealed means ‘solitude’ in Spanish.
All that loneliness reminded me of myself and the guys. I’d carried loneliness with me my entire life. I thought I’d found a real friend in Ashley, but New York City and her own greed and a knife in the heart had put paid to that. Like me, Heathcliff, Morrie, and Quoth each bore their own loneliness. Heathcliff wore his like a badge of honor, Morrie buried his deep and covered it with cocky jokes and power games, and Quoth… Quoth used his as a shroud.
Loneliness… and powerlessness. Every character in Of Mice and Men suffered from some lack of power, and each had a scheme by which they could attain more power and status. By the end of the book, every one of those schemes had been torn down and dashed to pieces. Even Lennie, the strongest physical character in the book, had his inherent power stripped away by his intellectual disability. There was no way to halt to march or time or the inevitability of the natural order.
I finished Of Mice and Men around midnight, tears streaming down my cheeks as (spoiler alert) George gives into the futility of his powerlessness and kills Lennie. The TV still blared in the living room. I desperately wanted to pee, but I didn’t want another confrontation, so I turned the light off, lay down on the pillow, and stared at the ceiling.
I must’ve fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew, grey light streamed through the gaps in my moldy curtains. Rain pattered against the glass, and a cold chill nipped my bare skin. I crawled out of bed, tiptoed to the bathroom to relieve my now bursting bladder, pulled on some clothes, and snuck out of the house before Mum could bug me about cat-language dictionaries again. I opened my bag to throw in my phone and found she’d stuffed three inside. I tossed them on the sofa where she was sure to see them, and left.
I hurried through the empty streets. The early hours of the morning were some of the most pleasant on the estate. If I squinted hard enough, I could pretend I didn’t see the hollowed-out cars on the neighbor’s lawn or the windows covered with sheets at the dealer’s house, and that I really lived in a picturesque American candy box suburb.
Not that I’d have to squint much longer.
And just like that, the grief and panic hit me, rolling through my body like a wave. How much longer would I be able to see the world? How many more days would I be able to put together a killer outfit like the cuffed red tartan pants, white sleeveless shirt, and leather suspenders I now wore? How many nights would I be able to stay up late reading in bed? How many more times would I be able to stare into the icy depths of Morrie’s eyes, and see him staring back?
I opened my eyes as wide as I could, and took in every detail of the passing flats. Would I miss their drab, peeling paint and the rows of overflowing bins lining the footpath? I didn’t want to find out.
But sooner or later it would happen, and I… I wasn’t ready. I felt like I’d created a little world for myself inside the bookshop – the kind of family I’d never had when it was just my mum and me, the friends I’d been so desperate to have back in secondary school. But then I remembered why I was back in Argleton in the first place, and the dread settled on me and took away all the happiness I’d managed to claw back.
And when you added in all the messed-up feelings I had for the guys… For Morrie, whose touch made my body sing but whose criminal escapades terrified me. For Heathcliff, whose dark heart begged me to save him but whose story I knew contained another that he would always love. For Quoth, whose kind heart melted mine but who would never be able to lead a normal life.
All perfect guys, and any relationship I had with them was doomed to fail. The inevitability of that failure hung in the air between us, unspoken, like the characters in Of Mice and Men. It left us with what Morrie and I had – fuck buddies, friends-with-benefits. It was fun… the most fun I’d ever had in my life. But how long was that going to last before it destroyed all our friendships?
What the hell am I doing?
You could just not sleep with any of them, a voice inside my head reminded me.
I almost laughed. Yeah, because that was an option. Clearly, my conscience had its eyes closed whenever I entered the shop because hot damn, I wouldn’t be saying no to any of them.
You could be with all of them, the voice offered. Quoth said�
�
Also not an option. That just would never work.
Wouldn’t it? Why not?
I reached the village and crossed the green toward the shops. Quoth’s words from a month ago reverberated around in my head. It was after he saw Morrie and me together, and he’d followed me and told me how they all wanted me to be happy and safe, about how none of them wanted to compete for me. As if they’d discussed it, as if they were okay with it.
Obviously, Quoth knew about Morrie and me, and I had to assume Heathcliff did, too. We hadn’t exactly been quiet this last month. But neither of them had said anything about it. In fact, Quoth flirted with me the other day. Heathcliff was a big grump, but that was no different from usual. In fact, he’d even gone out – of his own volition – and brought back lunch for me last week. So maybe they really did want to share me. Maybe it really could work.
This is insane. I’ve got to stop thinking about this as if it’s an actual option.
The bakery across the road from the shop wasn’t open yet. I could see Greta – the German girl who owned the bakery – through the window, sliding trays of pies into the ovens and dusting her cream doughnuts with powdered sugar. I waved at her and she waved back. I couldn’t help but grin. Back in New York City, you’d never wave to shopkeepers or bakers, because everyone was a stranger.
I slid my key into the front door and pushed it open. The floorboards creaked under my feet as I entered the darkened shop. I fumbled along the shelf and flicked on the small lamp I’d installed by the front door the other day. It was shaped like an old, bent pipe, with a funky Edison bulb to illuminate a small circle around my feet. Heathcliff hadn’t noticed it.
“Meow?”
“Hey, Grimalkin.” I bent down and brushed my hand over her soft fur. She leapt into my arms, butting her head against my chin.
“Fine,” I laughed, stroking her under the chin until her body vibrated with purrs. “I can see no one else is up yet. I’ll get you something to eat.”
I walked into the main room, flicking on the lights as I went. Behind Heathcliff’s desk was a bowl for Grimalkin and one for Quoth, who liked to snack on berries during the day while he was in his raven form. I filled Grimalkin’s bowl with a packet of wet food, and she chowed down hungrily.
“Did you catch that mouse yet, girl?” I asked her as I stacked the papers on Heathcliff’s desk and made a new line in the ledger for the day’s sales.
Grimalkin looked up from her bowl and gave me a pained look. Don’t ask me about that bloody mouse, she seemed to be saying.
“Oh well. I couldn’t catch it, either. Better luck next time.” I rubbed her head. She purred against my hand. “See? I don’t need a cat dictionary. We understand each other perfectly.”
The World History room was behind the main room. It had probably been the ballroom during the Victorian period of the house, judging by the expensive flocked wallpaper, baby piano piled with books beside the imposing fireplace, twin chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling, narrow doorway leading off to what had once been the kitchen, and the original chaise lounge and Chinese tea table in the pentagonal alcove. Two rows of shelves along the center of the room held volumes on archaeology, military history, and British/Scottish/Welsh history. A small display in the corner held popular conspiracy theory books – Heathcliff’s idea of a joke. Random chairs and haphazard stacks of books lined the walls.
If we rearrange the shelves so they run the opposite way, we’ll have more room in the pentagon for some extra chairs and a table for the Banned Book Club. My mind whirred at the possibilities. In fact, the dimensions of the room were much more generous than I remembered. If we pushed the shelves right back against the walls, we could hold other events in here… book readings, exhibitions, even a gallery opening for Quoth—
“You know, for sleeping with the world’s foremost criminal mind, you need to work on your breaking and entering skills.”
I whirled around. Quoth perched on the edge of the chaise lounge, hugging his feet to his chest. A couple of black feathers stuck to his hair, which caught the light streaming in through the windows, shooting jets of color through the obsidian strands.
“Technically, I’m just entering,” I held up my key. “I didn’t even hear you come downstairs.”
“You must have been lost in thought, because I’ve been tapping on the chamber door for a while now.” He rapped his knuckles against the doorframe.
“You’re so funny. Hey, do you have to poop on yourself for quoting that poem?”
“Nope.” Quoth stepped into the room and came up beside me. Today he wore a black singlet speckled with paint, and a pair of black cargo pants, also paint splattered. On any other guy that would’ve looked scruffy, but Quoth made it appear dark and mysterious. “So what are you doing?”
“I wanted to get the room ready for the Banned Book Club tomorrow. I know Heathcliff doesn’t want it to succeed, but I think we should give it a shot. This bookshop could be a really amazing community space. It’s already brighter with your artwork on the walls. Imagine if we had book clubs and author readings and art shows as well?”
Quoth gave me a sad smile that broke my heart. “I’m sure Heathcliff would just love all that.”
“I’m hoping to convince him.” I grabbed the end of one of the bookshelves. “The first step is to make this book club go off without a hitch. Can you get the other side of this?”
“Only if you tell me why you’re really here.”
“I told you. I want the meeting to—”
“Mina.”
I groaned. “Fine. I wanted to escape my mum.”
Quoth tilted his head to the side. He didn’t ask me to elaborate, but something about the way his silence filled the space between us made me desperate to fill it.
“My mum is…” I tried to think of the words. “You’d have to meet her to understand.”
“I’d like that.”
I shook my head. “Not happening. I need my home life and my bookshop life to remain separate. Mum is… she’s amazing and so selfless. She did everything for me so I’d have a better life and opportunities she never had. But I think deep down she believes she failed. I think she feels responsible for my eyesight. It’s hard because I want to make her feel better, since it’s not her fault, but also… sometimes it feels like everything is about her. I can’t be upset about it around her because it makes her feel bad, and right now I’m so upset I want to scream all the time.”
Quoth didn’t say anything. We shoved the bookshelf against the wall and started on the other. The silence welled up between us, and more words tumbled out of me before I could stop them. “Mum grew up in Liverpool, in the worst house in the poorest neighborhood. Her father was in and out of jail for aggravated assault and drug dealing. Her mum was a junkie. She stopped going to school at fifteen and got pregnant a year later. Mum decided she didn’t want her parents’ life for us so she ran away, followed my dad to Argleton, and cut her parents off completely. My Dad abandoned her shortly after, but she never went back to them. She said my grandmother came to look for us once, but she told her to piss off.”
“I’m sorry,” Quoth said.
“Don’t be. At least I had a family. I had Mum, and she’s always been there for me and she’s always done the best for me, but… she hasn’t been able to throw off her past. She’s uneducated. She can’t hold down a real job – instead, she reads tarot cards for the rich ladies on the hill, the ones with more money than sense. She’s obsessed with the idea of being wealthy, but she thinks she’s entitled to the perks of being a CEO without the work. She encouraged me to go to fashion school because she believes I’ll make us millionaires, which is the complete opposite of what most parents would’ve done, especially since I also had scholarship offers from Oxford and Cambridge for English.“
“Your mum sounds fascinating,” Quoth laughed.
“She’s got a new get-rich-quick-scheme – selling dictionaries of cat and dog language, can you b
elieve it? They’re completely ridiculous. The dumb thing is, I think she’s chosen it because I work in the bookshop. Like, she thinks these stupid books she gets made at the local printers are the same thing as this.” I held up Of Mice and Men.
Quoth said nothing.
“It’s probably that I’m too old to be living at home, but she’s been winding me up lately. She’s got a bee in her bonnet about my job and you guys. She keeps trying to see you when you drop me off, and asking me hundreds of questions. I bet she’ll start dropping by the shop just because she’s ‘in the neighborhood’.” I used air quotes. “Why can’t she just leave me alone?”
“Do you want me to come inside and meet her?”
“No.” The word came out harsher than I intended. I imagined my three intelligent guys meeting my ditzy, riches-obsessed mother, and an old, deep shame flared on my cheeks. “I mean, thank you for the offer, but there’s no point.”
“We could meet her, you know. If it would help.”
I snorted. “Yeah right. ‘Hey, Mum, here are my friends, the grumpy antihero, the supervillain, and the bird.’”
Quoth looked away. Regret swelled in my chest.
“Quoth, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
“Yeah, you did.” His voice was small.
I sighed. “Look, it’s not that—”
“Let’s just get this room cleaned up.” Quoth avoided my eyes as he reached for the shelves. As he placed his hand on the top, a white streak darted down his arm, launched itself into midair, performed a perfect series of somersaults before landing on all fours, and disappeared into the stacks.
“Bloody hell.” Quoth leapt back, feathers exploding from his cheeks.
“You haven’t taken care of that mouse yet!” I wailed.
“Morrie put down some traps,” he mumbled, trying to rein back his forming beak. “But apparently our mouse friend doesn’t have the palette to appreciate a fine French Bleu d’Auvergne.”
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