Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
I love the library, I do, but there are moments when I don’t and that’s right now.
I’m here on my own at night and, because of my overactive imagination, I worry that the ghost of a Georgian noblewoman who was tragically strangled to death by her cheating husband is going to appear and start haunting me, asking me to avenge her death.
That’s the problem with having a library in an old building that creaks and has corners that seem to suck the light out of the room.
I keep wrapping the books on the table next to me, looking at the pile that seems to be growing, not shrinking.
I was right. This idea of the book drive was great in theory and spirit but I have overwhelmed myself with the task.
I over-advertised and people have flooded me with their old books.
And not just good books, we get bags of random free books people got with their Happy Meals, colouring books that have already been coloured in, Shakespeare that’s been annotated.
It’s sorting the wheat from the chaff, wrapping each book and then preparing for these events I’ve planned.
I did not think this through, at all. I rest my head on the table, trying to work out how I’ve let this snowball, but then hear a squeaking sound in the depths of the library.
Maybe we have mice. Not friendly Cinderella mice, urban mice who will come and eat my face.
I grab a pair of scissors from next to me on the desk.
I should have asked Olga to stay. I should really learn self-defence.
To protect me from urban mice and Georgian ghosts.
A knock on the door raps loudly, piercing the silence, and I scream, holding the scissors aloft.
I pop my head through to the foyer and see someone standing there, holding something large and pointy.
I squint a little, another sign I think I might need glasses, but then realise who it is.
You? New Nick? I don’t recall us arranging a meeting and this is the second time he’s done this, pop up when I least expect it and when I haven’t had time to plan an outfit.
Today I’m in a jumpsuit with Converse, what Olga calls my ‘fun mechanic’ outfit.
My curls are bundled on my head, my lips and skin dry and tired from a day of work and the central heating in this place.
He knocks again. I put down the scissors and quickly get lip balm from my handbag before scurrying over to unlock the door.
He waves at me through the glass panels.
‘Hi?’ I say as I open the door, the cold prickling my face.
‘You look surprised,’ he says, his tone deadpan, his face scrunched that I’m not happier to see him.
Why must you always be so good-looking? Have a day off or something. ‘I am. Did we arrange to meet?’
‘No but I rang and told your colleague Helen that I would be here to deliver the trees,’ he says, his arms rested against the tree next to him. ‘She said it’d be alright. There’d be someone here to receive them.’
I smile faintly. Helen and Olga were especially quick to take their leave tonight and I see a plan in motion here, one that will mean I will not be bringing in nice cakes for them tomorrow.
‘I must have missed that message. Come in,’ I say, opening the door fully and allowing him to enter.
He seems dressed for work today. He’s wearing a fleece with the company logo, heavy-duty yellow work gloves, dark-blue jeans and brown work boots, that same grey woolly hat on his head.
It’s not just one tree, he seems to have three that he hauls in with ease and they’re not tiny.
They’re at least seven-footers, majestic in relation to the dinky five-foot plastic ones we have.
‘I brought stands too that you can borrow. I figured you’re a library, you’d be good at getting them back to me,’ he says.
‘Will there be fines if not?’ I joke.
‘No. I trust you,’ he says. I stop for a moment, accepting the compliment. I lead him through to the main part of the library so we have space to open up these trees. As soon as he gets through, he looks around. ‘Where are your workmates?’ he asks.
‘Only me,’ I say a little shyly, hoping he’s not figured out Helen’s ruse.
He looks me up and down. ‘You’ll have to help me erect them then.’ I bite my lip; he said the word ‘erect’, but nothing. He’s totally straight-faced, looking at me and waiting for an answer. I nod. ‘Where do you want me to put this one?’
I lead him over to a space nearest the desk. I watch him as he lines up the stand and then takes a cutter to the nets around the tree.
‘Any random women wrapped up in there?’ I joke.
‘Hope not,’ he replies. ‘Right, I’ll get the trunk in and then you do the screwing.
’ I look at him, begging him to at least smile so I don’t appear puerile and inappropriate if I react, but nope.
‘Get on the floor so you can line it up.’ I do as I’m told as he lifts the tree and places it inside the holder without straining or discomfort.
I, however, seem to be in that familiar place of being attacked by pine needles again. ‘Is the trunk central?’
‘Uh huh,’ I say, my hands going to the wingnuts on the stand and tightening them as hard as I can. I’m glad he can’t see my face but this is taking effort.
‘Screw a bit harder.’
Well at least I can giggle to myself under the foliage.
He then does a strange thing, shaking it to see if it’s secure enough, and pine needles flood me again.
My hair won’t survive this. I crawl out and stand up, looking up at the tree.
‘Woah, that’s a big boy.’ The problem is I’m not delving into innuendo here, that is an impressive, majestic tree.
It’s the way the branches curl up at the bottom, as if it’s doing a little curtsey.
‘It’s a silver fir. Put a little water in the tray to keep her healthy,’ he says, looking on proudly. ‘That way you won’t lose too many needles.’
‘That’s good advice, thank you.’
He smiles and then comes over to me, using his massive gloves to reach out and brush my face. He’s unfeasibly close. ‘You’re covered again.’
‘Seems to be a theme with me,’ I say, grinning awkwardly. ‘Any other Christmas tree tips for me?’
‘Put the lights on from the bottom.’
‘Noted.’
He looks at the tiny fake tree next to the desk which looks a little sad in comparison. ‘What’s with those ornaments?’ he asks me.
‘Oh, we get the kids to make them. I did a workshop and they wrote the name of a book they want for Christmas on there and then went a bit crazy with the glitter,’ I explain.
He doesn’t say a word, but I have that same feeling Old Nick gave me when he seemed to be judging my library activities.
I am a grown woman who should really be doing more with her life than arts and crafts.
Nick goes over and reads a few. ‘Thank you for the tree. Shall we get the others up?’ I ask.
He nods but is also looking around the library, intrigued. ‘That’s a lot of books…’ he says, nodding to the table I was working at, piled with books, rolls of brown paper, tape and Christmas ribbon.
‘You have no idea.’
‘Oh, is that for your book drive thing?’
I nod. ‘This is just a small fraction of the books.’ I walk him over to a storage cupboard and turn on the light.
At the last count, we were at a little over four hundred and more come in every day.
‘I’m wrapping them with little tags and stuff…
’ I say, hoping my panic at the task in hand doesn’t show.
As my name is attached to the drive, I want things to be done well, I want the books to be presented nicely.
His eyes scan the room and then back to me. ‘You’re going to wrap all of these books yourself?’
‘I’m an over-achiever.’ Who doesn’t mind the occasional paper cut. Helen takes a box home every night to help but I don’t let Olga near them as she really can’t wrap for shit.
‘Well, I mean it, I can help,’ he says, his tone warm and authentic. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the flyer I gave him last time we met. ‘I also looked at my calendar and I can be free when you need me.’
I think about our last meeting and the way he had offered help.
I guess the problem is when you do voluntary endeavours, people can be quick to offer their assistance but those promises are often reneged on quickly.
The man has staying power. Don’t overthink that. ‘Well then, that is very kind of you.’
‘You’re welcome, Kay.’
And he looks at me intently and smiles. That is a good smile and those eyes are very, very green. I feel a breath catch in my chest, everything around him stopping for a while. It’s so intense, I have to remember to exhale.
‘Can I get you a cup of tea for your efforts? One of our customers baked us a Christmas cake? It’s a bit boozy but edible?’ I say, trying to find words and clarity.
‘Yeah. Then we can get those other trees up. I can help here as well?’ he says, pointing at the books and wrapping paper.
‘You don’t have anywhere to be?’
He shakes his head.
‘How’s your wrapping?’
‘Learnt everything I know from Dr Dre.’
‘You made a joke,’ I say, surprised.
He looks at me curiously, seeming slightly insulted that I’ve pointed that out. He takes off his hat and puts a hand through his hair. Don’t stare, Kay. ‘Better cut me a slice of cake then. We’ve got our work cut out, eh?’
Did the Xmas Tree Man arrive? Enjoy! Hope he gets his wood out! X