Page 19 of The Best of Times

Paul nodded. He pulled the old door open. Instantly a bell rang as they walked inside. Aron inhaled. There was nothing quite like the smell of a musty old bookshop. Especially one in London. They held such promise amongst their shelves.

It all appeared very haphazard but Aron knew better. Jolyon Whittaker had owned this shop for twenty-five years and he would know every single tome in stock.

“Be right with you,” came a familiar voice from the back of the shop.

Aron browsed. He’d visited this treasure trove many times over the years. He smiled when he remembered his first visit. A surly teenager who had got talking to a neighbour about Oliver Twist. This man had opened up a whole world to Aron. Now Aron was about to become this man’s step-grandson. His eyes welled at the beauty of it.

In no time, Jolyon appeared. He must be in his early fifties by now and as handsome as ever. Aron had had the biggest crush on him as a teenager. Then when he’d hit his twenties, they’d had one night together.

Jolyon stopped dead in his tracks. “Aron Wimpole. Now this is a blast from the past. How are you doing? Ah and Mr Higgs. Will you be stepbrothers soon?”

Aron didn’t even try to fight the grin. “Actually, Paul will be my step-uncle.”

Paul instantly bristled. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Oh I had.”

He carried on inspecting books. This was the kind of shop that he could spend a serious amount of money in. He might champion the cause of libraries, but that didn’t mean Aron had conquered his book buying addiction. His apartment in New York was bursting at the seams. One day he might read them all. Yet this seemed increasingly unlikely with the amount he kept purchasing.

“So very good to see you, Aron,” Jolyon said. “You look well indeed.”

Judging by the way Jolyon scanned him, he remembered the night of fun they’d had together too just as vividly as Aron did.

“Thanks,” Aron said. “You do too. Still the most handsome bookseller in London, I see.”

Jolyon made a face. “Of course. At your service.”

“Erm, Mr Whittaker,” Paul interjected, “I’ve come to pick up my order.”

“Ah yes,” Jolyon said, tearing his eyes away from Aron. “It took quite a few favours but I’ve got it. One second.”

He went into the back again.

“You two are very well acquainted,” Paul said.

The tone in his voice was pure jealousy.

I love it.

“You know me and books,” Aron replied, mock innocently. “They do strange things to me.”

“Have you and him…?”

“What?”

“You know.”

“I fail to see how that’s any of your business.”

Paul opened his mouth to form a reply but was silenced by Jolyon coming in carrying something like a fragile newborn.

“Here it is,” he said, laying it carefully on the counter.

He unwrapped the tissue paper. Aron’s legs almost buckled beneath him.

“Is that what I think it is?” he blurted out.

Jolyon nodded. “A first edition ofNicholas Nickleby. It’s the original publisher’s binding of the instalments that Dickens released. You can even see the stab holes where they brought them together.”