Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
I wait inside the library, the doors locked to the outside world, looking for signs of life outside.
An hour ago, Santa Nick told me to meet him here.
I don’t know how he feels about me, about us, if you can even call it that, but there was an emoji and emojis are all about playfulness and fun, so I’m going to take it as a sign that he doesn’t completely hate me.
I’m sitting behind the desk waiting when his figure appears at the door and I feel my pulse quicken to see him.
He’s not dressed as Santa which throws me a little but he’s wearing the same coat he was wearing when we went for hog roast that time.
I shouldn’t be remembering little details like that.
He waves at me through the door and I shuffle towards it to let him in.
‘Hi,’ I say, pushing the door into him, almost taking him out.
My tone is also not natural. It’s high and filled with too much fake jollity, trying to cover up the fact that we shared the sweetest moonlit kiss earlier in the week and then the most awkward moment pretty much straight after.
He steps back and stares at me curiously, the same look he used to give me when we first met and he was trying to work out if I was a complete idiot.
‘Evening. I’m sorry. I know it’s late-ish but I just… I should have just called and done this on the phone.’
Oh no. Does he want a moment to find closure?
A conversation. I guess that is owed. Maybe this is a chance to sit down and not skirt the issue anymore.
You’re handsome, I’m confused. Thank you for helping me give out all these books.
I’m sorry for kissing you when I shouldn’t have.
Please don’t hate me. This could be done in ten minutes and then I could go get noodles.
He comes in and inhales deeply. ‘You can smell the trees when you come in now,’ he says, admiring the tree in the foyer. ‘The pine.’
I nod. Olga moans at us every day because of the extra hoovering but I won’t tell him that.
I let him follow me into the library as he looks around at the strings of lights illuminating the place.
I feel his presence so closely that I can almost hear him breathing, the warmth of his body.
I offer him Helen’s seat behind the counter.
‘Did you want a cup of tea or anything? I have some of Helen’s Christmas cake here.
She went a bit heavy on the marzipan but it’s edible. ’
‘I’m good. How are you?’ he says, turning to me.
‘I’m OK. I’ve been with my nana. How are you?’
He sighs deeply. ‘Can I ask you a question? Are you married? Kids?’
I shake my head. ‘No. God, no. I… before I met you, I’d just reconnected with an old boyfriend, and there’s…’
‘Overlap,’ he says. He takes a moment to let that sink in. ‘Damn him for getting in there first, I guess.’
I stop because that infers he had been interested. ‘I should have been more honest from the start. I like you, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, the book drive.’
‘I would have done that anyway. It’s been nice to have been involved, to have got to know you. You’re…’ He pauses and looks around the library. Please finish that sentence. I’m what? ‘You should open this place at night you know? Serve wine and people can connect over books.’
‘That’s not a terrible idea, you know,’ I reply, trying to help him carry on the conversation.
We both sit there awkwardly in silence and I have the overwhelming urge to hug him, to hold him, in a way to let him know that I’m sorry, that deep down, I felt something too.
For him. For the sake of transparency, I don’t want him to feel as though I was dishonest about any of that either. There was something there.
He sits there trying to rearrange his thoughts, his words.
I know he’s not here to help me nurture library-based business ideas or check up on his Christmas trees.
There was something to be said in person to each other.
Maybe this is drawing a line formally, like proper adults. Maybe it all starts with an apology.
‘You know I’m really glad you wanted to meet up,’ I say, trying my best to catch his eye. ‘I wanted to say—’
But he doesn’t let me finish my sentence, I see panic in his eyes that I would even want to talk about us, or discuss anything emotionally charged.
‘So yeah.’ He reaches for his phone and it’s strange to see him so hesitant and unsure of himself.
‘Look, the reason I’m here is… remember those letters we found in one of those books.
I told you I put some posts out on local community groups? Well, someone replied.’
Oh. I stop in my tracks to have been cut off.
He scrolls through his phone and shows me a post from a few days ago.
‘This person said they knew a Kelly whose husband’s name began with N and they lived locally to here.
Last name was Snowden. I was thinking that perhaps we could check your members and see if that computes? ’ he says.
I sigh warmly, knowing that in the background, this has still been a little project for Nick – the idea that while he may feel disappointment and sadness over us, he still held on to some belief in the story those letters told.
I feel the emotion well up in me at the goodness of his intentions. ‘What’s her husband’s name?’
‘Nathan.’
I turn on the computer and log in, to look at our members and cross-reference the names. I find her: Kelly Snowden. She’s a member, and so is her husband and all their kids. I smile to see her name and address there. ‘She’s here.’
Nick grins, looking satisfied that this story at least may have a happy ending. ‘Is there an address? A phone number? Could we give them a call?’ he asks, leaning over the desk.
I shield the computer from him. ‘GDPR prevents me from disclosing that information but I can give them a call.’
I pick up the library phone while looking at Nick, the excitement in his face that we’ve managed to do something right here, that this will make him unfeasibly happy to get these letters back to their rightful owners.
Maybe this is how I put this right. I put the phone on speaker and it rings three times before someone answers.
‘Hello?’
‘Hello, is this Mrs Snowden? This is Kay Redman from Hampton Grove Library.’
There’s a pause as she tries to work out if this call is spam and why it’s coming to her at 6.30pm. ‘The library? We haven’t been to the library in years,’ she says bluntly. ‘Is this a marketing call?’
I’m a little panicked by the curtness in her tone. ‘Umm, no. We just… some books were donated to us recently and one contained letters that we thought might have belonged to you.’
Again, she pauses. ‘What sort of letters?’
‘Handwritten letters between you and possibly your husband.’
She laughs, almost a little too hard. ‘Is this a joke? My husband left me two years ago for a tanning technician called Savannah.’
Nick pushes his chair back in horror at the way this phone call is turning out.
‘I don’t think I even got as much as a birthday card from the tosspot when we were married. Letters? Unless they were letters about child support? Christmas next week and I’ve received absolutely nothing from that twat.’
Nick and I stare at each other in horror. ‘Mrs Snowden, I am so very sorry. It was just to check so we can reunite someone with their lost property. I didn’t mean to offend.’
‘Are we done?’ she says.
‘Yes, again, I’m sorry. You and your children are very welcome in the library this Christ—’ But before I can finish my sentence, she hangs up, the monotony of the dial tone letting us know how much we flatlined there.
Nick looks at me blankly. ‘Oh.’
‘Sorry, that was—’
‘She was so angry. Shame on that man for hurting her so much.’ He looks down at the floor for a moment.
I feel bad to see Nick’s disappointment that this didn’t work out as it should have, that the story still doesn’t have an ending. Or maybe because it means there’s no reason to be here now.
‘Well, maybe Facebook will come up trumps with other suggestions,’ he says. ‘Thank you for checking.’
‘A pleasure.’
‘One more book-drive stop in two days?’ he says. ‘I’d still like to help out if that’s alright. It would feel strange not to.’
I smile at him. ‘I would really appreciate that, sincerely. I can meet you there?’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ he says. He’s a different Nick to the one I’m usually around. He almost looks a little defeated. ‘Are you spending Christmas with your boyfriend?’ he asks me. It seems almost painful for him to get that word out.
‘No. I’m with Nana at home. I get her on day release. You?’
‘We all get summoned to my mum’s.’
‘Bet she cooks up a storm.’
‘You know it,’ he says softly. He fiddles with his hands, still avoiding eye contact.
‘Well, I’ll be on my way, Kay.’ There’s a way that he says my name which still resonates deep in me, a light growl in his voice that trails off into a whisper.
I watch him turn and a feeling surges up in me; somehow I already miss him and I want him to stay here, with me.
‘NICK!’ I say that too loudly, we’re the only people here, but he smiles when I’m so clearly shocked at my own volume. ‘I… I just wanted to say thank you for buying all those copies of my book.’
He pauses. ‘Did my mum…?’
‘No, I was in your office and I saw the boxes. I don’t quite know what to say.’
‘I have a lot of nieces and nephews and friends with kids,’ he says, putting his hands in his pockets.
It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him blush.
‘I heard you chatting to the manager of the care home about money and in the back of my mind, I just thought it was a nice way to support you, to help you out. I can sell them in the farm shop if you want.’
I pause for a moment to hear him say this, struck by how authentic and genuine he is with his care, his consideration.
‘But really, why?’ I ask, looking him in the eye.
He looks straight back at me, as if I’m all he can see.
‘I’ve just never met anyone like you before, Kay.
’ His words make me stand still on the spot, piercing a part of my heart that was almost desperate to hear them.
‘You radiate this energy, this kindness, I see it in your eyes. I don’t really smile a lot.
I bloody sell Christmas trees but I’m not sure I always like Christmas.
But then there’s you and you’re just… you’re like light.
Your book drive, the way you invest all that energy into it, for nothing else than to make people smile, to give them a small gift, that’s what drew me here, to you.
I hope you don’t mind me saying that. That I like that, I like you. ’
‘Nick…’ I whisper, emotion soaring wildly through me.
‘I like how mildly ridiculous you are. I like how your wild red hair looks like it belongs on a Disney character, I like that you laugh at your own jokes, I like how you eat and it ends up everywhere instead of inside your mouth. I like you. All of you. I need to say that out loud.’
‘Please…’
He puts his hand up in the air. ‘It’s OK.
I get it. I do. I’m not one to cross a line.
Your boyfriend is a very lucky man,’ he says, almost punctuating his sentence with that statement so I can’t add any more.
He turns to go and I want to throw myself in his path – but I know I can’t.
What about the other Nick? I can’t think straight – everything feels a blur, a mix of flashbacks of being in my teens and thinking I was in love, images of kissing this Nick the other night and statements of love, commitment, labels, Nana telling me to look for the one person who’ll raise me up.
I just can’t see who that is. I can’t breathe.
It’s like being surrounded by this massive ball of big Nick energy and I feel defeated by it, unsure how to take it all on.
‘I’ll see you in two days, Kay.’ And with that he heads towards the door and leaves the library, pulling the collar up on his jacket to shield himself from the cold before walking away into the bleak icy night.