The Lost Bookshop

Chapter 32

Chapter Thirty-Two

MARTHA

I woke before dawn. I had tossed and turned all night and it sounded like the house had too. Something caught my eye in the morning gloom. The ceiling. I reached over to turn on my bedside lamp and looked up. Where the light pendant used to be, at the centre of the room, were now roots. A knot of tiny tendrils was growing out of the hole in the ceiling, like a chandelier. I stared at them for a while, until all I could see was their intricate beauty. Each root was made up of tiny, smaller roots, which broke into smaller roots again. All playing a vital role. Suspended, they seemed to search the air for something of value to nourish them. I wanted to reach out and touch them but jumped when my alarm rang.

* * *

‘I feel like I’m going to vomit.’ I stood behind Madame Bowden, brushing her hair, as she sat regally at her dressing table.

The room was gloomy, as she kept the curtains closed to the cold, grey morning. Today would be my first day as a student in Trinity (albeit an evening class in literature) and I was, frankly, shitting myself.

‘Dry toast.’

‘I thought that was for pregnancy?’

‘Good God, you’re not pregnant, are you?’

‘Of course not!’ I stole a glance at her reflection in the mirror. It’s strange how people can look so different in a mirror – the features seem to shift around, like shadows as the sun passes overhead.

‘Listen to me, Martha – if you’re not scared, then you’re not living.’

I wasn’t sure I wanted a weird pep talk at that moment, but it was what I got. I pursed my lips, gave her a withering look and hurried downstairs to make us both some toast before I set off.

My mind was frazzled and full of doubts. What if I humiliated myself by not knowing anything? Would I make any friends or end up sitting alone for the entire term? What if, what if, what if … The thoughts were endless. Where had the feeling of strength from the other night disappeared to? Why did my life always feel like two steps forward and three back? I grabbed my jacket and my new backpack from the hook in the hallway and stopped short by the spot where Shane had tumbled over the bannister. I reached out and touched the wooden newel post. It felt smooth and solid under my hands. I tried to breathe deeply into my belly like that yoga girl on YouTube said. Apparently it helped to calm anxious thoughts.

I counted one … two … three.

The house creaked softly and I closed my eyes for a moment. I had an image of a cradle being gently rocked in a bough. Madame Bowden’s words returned to me. If you’re not scared, you’re not living. Up to now, I had never associated fear with anything positive. But maybe there were different kinds of fear.

‘There’s only one way to find out.’

My eyes flew open wide. She was there, again, sneaking up on me.

‘What?’

‘You’re going to miss your bus at this rate, now shoo!’

I didn’t move and looked at her with pleading eyes. ‘What if I can’t do it? What if everyone else is smarter than me?’

‘I don’t recall you having any doubts about your abilities to work here – and, frankly, you were mediocre at the start.’

‘Thanks. That really helps,’ I replied flatly.

She pursed her lips and sighed heavily.

‘Tell me, that book you’ve been reading in the kitchen when you think I’m not looking …’

‘ Normal People ?’

‘Yes, that one. Do you like it?’

I considered her question. It wasn’t at all what I expected. I don’t know if I liked it as such, but I couldn’t stop reading it. Connell and Marianne had also come to feel like real people to me. I was completely invested in their lives.

‘It’s good because I feel like I’m a fly on the wall, watching everything happen. And I like that Connell is a country boy, applying to Trinity.’ I smiled.

‘So, the characters are relatable.’

‘Yes! That’s it. But I get so angry with Marianne. I mean, why would she let people treat her that way?’

‘Maybe she thinks she deserves it.’

The realisation was cold and hard. Even I couldn’t see why someone would feel so unlovable that they’d accept abuse. I’d been uncomfortable reading her story all along but at the same time I felt like I wasn’t going through this alone. If it could happen to someone like Marianne, who was wealthy and intelligent, it could happen to anyone.

‘I think it’s easy to get confused about what love is when you’re young. Even the title kind of suggests that we normalise bad behaviour in relationships, or assume that being normal is the most important thing, so we hide all of the ugly stuff that happens to us. I mean, who even is normal, anyway?’

‘Congratulations. You’ve just delivered your first critical review of a book. Now off you go and no more of this nonsense.’

As I walked down the steps of 12 Ha'penny Lane, I looked back to see her fading reflection in the glass of the living-room window. That was how it was when I tried to read her; she was always obscured by the light, rather than illuminated by it. Like an overexposed photograph. She was unlike anyone I’d ever met and maybe that was a good thing.