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‘Can’t stand him.’
‘Oh. Okay then. You might like this – a nice clean copy, and signed, too .?.?.’ Dan handed over the hefty hardback, two and a half inches thick.
The man read the blurb on the back cover, turned back to the title:A Place of Greater Safety.
‘Nice title,’ he said, weighing the book in his hand. ‘It’s a whopper, though.’
‘Worth it.’
At the cash desk, the man didn’t bat an eyelid at the price of the book, just handed over an Amex black card and carried on chatting.
‘So, how long have you been in Paris?’ he asked.
‘Fifteen months. It was supposed to be only for the summer last year, but stuff happened and .?.?. well, I really like it here.’
The man gave him what could only be described as a knowing smirk. ‘Let me guess,’ he said. ‘A woman?’
A bit intrusive, Dan thought, but the man’s forthright interest was disarming. ‘Yeah,’ he admitted, glancing involuntarily at his notebook.
‘You’re a writer?’ The man had followed his eyes to the page of handwriting.
‘When in Paris .?.?.’
‘What are you writing?’
‘Nothing. It’s all just – ah, you know, wishful scribbling about impossible dreams.’ Dan closed the notebook. ‘I’m not really a writer.’
‘Nothing’s impossible,’ said the man.
‘This is.’ Dan put the notebook in his jacket pocket. He wasn’t sure why he kept talking, but there was something about the stranger that invited confession.
‘I managed to do half my law degree remotely,’ he said. ‘I have to go back now or they’re going to kick me out. I shoulda been back there at the start of the month, but—’
‘She’s the one, eh?’
Dan nodded his head and smiled ruefully. ‘Yes. I believe she is.’
‘Is it mutual?’
‘I can’t tell.’
‘Did you try asking her?’
‘She’s not that straightforward. I haven’t even told her that I’m leaving in nine days.’
Dan put his head down and busied himself with adding the shop’s signature stamp to the book’s title page and tucking a bookmark inside the cover.
‘Would you like a paper bag?’
‘No, no. I’ll take it like that. Listen, you want some advice from a guy who’s made plenty mistakes?’
‘Why do I think I know what you’re gonna say?’
‘Well, yeah, it’s obvious, isn’t it? Whatever it is you’ve been writing in that notebook of yours – those wishful scribbles, your heart’s desire, your dreams, all that you ache for in the dead of night, you’ve got to tell her about it.’
Dan laughed. ‘Is that from a song or something?’
‘If it was, would it make it less true?’
