The Man Who Wanted to Smell Books by Elspeth Davie

Author:Elspeth Davie [Elspeth Davie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781847674975
Publisher: Canongate Books
Published: 2001-02-15T16:00:00+00:00

‘I never told you the other things. Some day he’ll simply disappear.’

‘We’ll all disappear some day.’

‘It could even be his last trip. This one or the next.’

‘It could be mine too. All that fearful jolting and those clouds of dust. I’m getting too old for it. Maybe they’ll just have to visit me after this.’

‘You know what I mean. I mean his last trip anywhere. He’ll do away with himself, sooner or later.’

‘He told you that?’

‘And much more. Physically and in every way, he feels he’s done for. His life is all in pieces.’

The older woman smoothed out the bit of tablecloth in front of her with a capable hand, examined her pudding spoon carefully and put it back again. ‘So what are you supposed to do about it?’

‘I am worried about tonight.’

‘I don’t think you need to be.’

‘If he doesn’t turn up soon, I’m going to look for him. If I can’t find him right away, I shall tell the driver.’

‘I think you’ll find him in his room the same as every other night. On the bed or on the floor.’

‘I don’t care where he is as long as he’s all right.’

‘You know where his room is?’

‘I’m going now.’

‘Before your apple pie? They won’t keep it for you, mind – nor your coffee.’

The younger woman stared hard at her companion, who returned the look with a shrewd glance. ‘Let me know if you need me,’ she said at last.

‘No, I shall tell the driver. I’m not looking for trouble – only to set my mind at rest.’

‘To set your mind at rest!’ said the grandmother, smiling grimly at the cleared space before her. ‘And when was ever a mind at rest?’ But she nodded affably enough, calling after her, ‘Have you your torch with you?’ and following with her eyes as the other moved quickly down the long table and out through the door, which opened momentarily on a black wedge of night.

The quietness was still upon those at table. But some conversations, though subdued, had begun to revive. ‘The whole night will be put out of joint,’ murmured the man whose forehead still showed the line of a tight elastic band. ‘This great gap between courses on top of arriving late. By the time the prizes get going, it’ll be nearer eleven. And I’m whacked, I don’t mind admitting it. The point is I’m no use for another day in the bus unless I get a good eight hours on my back.’

‘Don’t talk about it,’ said the cardinal’s wife. ‘I’m terrified of a Morning Head – what with a late meal and all the rest of it. And I don’t mean an ordinary headache, mind you. When I say head, I mean a Sick Morning Head. And only those who’ve had it can know what that means. Yes, my God, if I get that, they can just count me out. They could set me down all alone in the middle of a saltpan and leave me there for

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