Page 166 - The Midnight Library
P. 166

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                   e fan burst into hysterics. ‘You’re  so funny! is is why you are my idol!

                I love you so much! Do I know “Beautiful Sky”? at’s brilliant!’
                   Nora  didn’t  know  what  to  say.  at  little  song  she  had  written  when  she
                was   nineteen    years   old   at   university   in   Bristol   had   changed   the   life   of   a
                person in Brazil. It was over whelming.

                   is, clearly, was the life she was destined for. She  doubted that she  would
                ever  have  to  go  back  to  the  librar y.  She  could  cope  with  being  adored.  It  was
                better  than  being  in  Bedford,  sitting  on  the  number  77  bus,  humming  sad
                tunes to the window.

                   She posed for selfies.
                   One  young  woman  looked  close  to  tears.  She  had  a  large  photo  of  Nora
                kissing Ryan Bailey.
                   ‘I was so sad when you broke up with him!’

                   ‘I  know,  yeah,  it  was  sad.  But,  you  know,  things  happen.  It’s  a  .  .  .  learning
                cur ve.’
                   Joanna    appeared    at   her   arm   and   gently   guided   her   away,   towards   the
                hotel.

                   When      she    reached     the    elegant,   jasmine-scented        lobby    (marble,
                chandeliers,  floral  displays)  she  saw  that  the  rest  of  the  band  were  already  in
                the  bar.  But  where  was  her  brother?  Maybe  he’d  been  schmoozing  the  press
                somewhere else.

                   As   she   started   to   move   towards   the   bar,   she   realised   that   ever yone   –
                concierge, receptionists, guests – was looking at her.
                   Nora  was  about  to  finally  seize  the  opportunity  to  ask  about  her  brother’s
                whereabouts  when  Joanna  beckoned  over  a  man  who  was  wearing  a  T-shirt

                with  THE  LABYRINTHS  printed  on  it  in  a  ret ro  sci-fi  movie  font.  e  guy
                was  probably  in  his  forties,  with  a  greying  beard  and  thinning  hair,  but  he
                seemed  intimidated  by  Nora’s  presence.  He  did  a  tiny  bow  when  he  shook
                Nora’s hand.

                   ‘I’m Marcelo,’ he said. ‘ anks for agreeing to the inter view.’
                   Nora    noticed   another    man   behind    Marcelo    –   younger,   with   piercings,
                tattoos and a big smile – holding recording equipment.
                   ‘We’d reser ved a quiet space in the  bar,’ Joanna said. ‘But there’s . . . people.

                I think we had better do this in Nora’s suite.’
                   ‘Great,’ said Marcelo. ‘Great, great.’
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