The Reading Group – Part 1: The Book Nobody Finished

The reading group met on the first Thursday of every month in the back room of a bookshop on Dawson Street, in the warm light of a single lamp and the smell of old paper and Earl Grey tea. Niamh had joined in September, looking for company and something to do with her evenings that didn't involve a laptop.

The group had been reading the same novel since March. Nobody had finished it.

"We're stuck on chapter eleven," said Marjorie, the group's founder, with a small sigh. "Again."

"Because it's dreadful," said a man by the window. He was lean and dark, with a fine face and reading glasses pushed up into his hair. He had a copy of the book on his knee with every page bent and marked. "The author's in love with his own metaphors."

"You haven't finished it, Declan," said Marjorie.

"I finished it in April. I'm waiting for you lot to catch up."

Niamh laughed out loud. Declan turned his head, surprised, and his eyes found hers across the circle.

"You think it's funny?" he asked.

"I think you're rude," said Niamh. "But I also think you're right about the metaphors."

"Finally," said Declan. "Someone who reads."

The argument went on for an hour. The others gave up one by one, drifting off to their tea and biscuits, until only Niamh and Declan were left in the lamplight, arguing about the book's ending, its clumsy symbolism, and whether a character who never once apologised could ever be forgiven.

"She doesn't need forgiveness," said Declan. "She needs to leave."

"Everyone needs forgiveness," said Niamh. "Even the ones who leave."

He stopped, and looked at her differently. "That's a very sad thing to believe."

"It's a very practical thing to believe," said Niamh. "I'm the one who left a job and a man in Galway, and I'm still waiting to be forgiven by my mother."

Declan was quiet for a moment. He closed the book on his knee, very gently.

"Can I ask you something?" he said.

"Yes."

"Would you have dinner with me, one night, and argue about the rest of this book? Properly. With wine and the bad jokes and the metaphors. And if you win, I'll read the chapter you hate, aloud."

Niamh's heart gave a sudden, wild jolt. "Yes," she said. "But only if you promise you're not going to read the ending aloud to me in that dramatic voice."

"That's the only way to read it," said Declan. "Green?"

"Green," said Niamh, laughing. "Very green. Now tell me what happens in chapter eleven, Declan, and don't spoil the forgiveness."