Mist & Whispers Read Free Page B

Can’t we just watch something good for once, something that isn’t a crappy cartoon?’
    ‘This isn’t a crappy cartoon, and can’t you wait so I can hear this? I never get to watch TV or use the internet. Between work and exams, I literally have no idea what’s going on in the world.’ She purposely didn’t mention all the time she’d spent trying not to think about her break up with Michael, despite how much it factored in to her distraction from the real world.
    He snatched the remote from her hands, spilling some of his cereal on his lap. ‘Now look what you made me do, all because you still can’t do as you’re told!’ He plonked the bowl down on the coffee table and angrily brushed the wet cereal from his jeans onto the floor. ‘Seriously, I hope Mr Scott has the patience of a saint, otherwise you won’t keep that job very long.’
    ‘You’re the one who snatched the remote from my hand!’ she snapped back, her jaw dropping in indignation.
    ‘Just go find something to do, will you. Stop irritating people all the time.’ He sat back on the sofa and switched the channel over to Discovery. Bear Grylls was clambering down the side of a waterfall with only a few hanging vines keeping him from a forty foot drop onto jagged rocks.
    Huffing as loud as possible, she stormed out of the day room and grabbed her shoes. How could he be bored of a recent news story – one so recent she had yet to hear about it – but still be happy to watch Bear Grylls drink his own urine for the thousandth time?
    Well, if he wasn’t going to let her watch it, there was only one thing she could do.
     
    THE WALK INTO town was warm and wet, and the smell of the rain on the pavement made her nose twitch. She hated that smell almost as much as she hated her surname.
    The crowds from the TV were still at Chronicles when she arrived outside, but the news people had already left. The cameras were all gone and she could see the man from the interview inside the shop, walking around like a celebrity with starry-eyed fans at his heel.
    Before she reached the entrance, she spotted someone making a bee-line for her from across the street. Her heart clenched. Talking to him hadn’t got any easier since her first morning at Scott’s, some three weeks ago.
    ‘You’re not going in there , are you?’ Michael said. He was dressed in his finest shirt-jumper combo and holding a stack of papers.
    She tried to keep her cool, not wanting a fight between them to draw the attention of the crowd. ‘I was curious what was going on; they were on the news this morning.’ She looked down at the papers in his hand. They looked like flyers for the bookshop. She could see the word Scott’s and a big, red 50% OFF plastered across the middle. ‘What are those?’ she asked, pointing at the flyers.
    ‘Stephanie’s idea. We are having a half price sale. We’ve not had a single customer over the last few days, what with all this Weaver business, so she thought a sale would entice people back into the shop. She thinks halving the prices will “ defo double the customers.” ’ He rolled his eyes at his own impression of their boss. ‘It’s not working though. Every time I approach someone they ask if we’re selling any of the Weaver’s books.’
    ‘Who is this guy, Weaver ?’
    ‘Seriously, Anya? Where have you even been?’
    ‘Doing exams,’ she said, her eyebrow arching in disdain.
    ‘Hmm. Well personally, I think it’s some clever marketing scam. You know how they make things go viral just to boost sales? Well the story goes that four really old handwritten and hand-bound books were found in some abandoned manor house in North Yorkshire, and these books were so amazing, they’ve sold over ten million copies in the last eight weeks! The thing is, nobody knows who the author is. I mean, the books are so old he’s probably dead now! They did those carbon tests, but no one seems to be able to determine how long ago they were actually