Chapter 34
THIRTY-FOUR
‘I think the man on the right is a tad sharp,’ Helen whispers as we all wince slightly to try and work out where the bum notes from this choir are coming from.
Is it the man in the penguin jumper or the woman who refuses to take off her gloves?
My bets are on the man whose trousers look a tad too tight. That would affect your alto.
‘Can I ask them to stop?’ Olga mutters.
I elbow her in the ribs. ‘Look how enthusiastic they are, they’re all wearing antlers.’
‘Which is ironic because they sound like dying deer,’ Helen says out of the side of her mouth.
I stifle my laughter as the choir gear up for their final notes. God, my car used to make that sound when I went over 60mph. But they’re here, they’re making merry for our amusement and they’re doing this for free. I clap enthusiastically and wolf whistle, encouraging all around us to do the same.
The lady in the front wearing a reindeer dress comes forward. ‘Would you like us to do another?’ she asks.
Helen steps in front of Olga before she has a chance to ruin this with her bluntness. ‘We would ordinarily say yes but we’re closing in about an hour. It was so lovely though, you are all so joyful.’
Bless Helen and her diplomacy. ‘Please stay for biscuits though, and tea,’ I say, so Olga won’t complain that she had to get the urn out again for nothing.
There are hums of approval from the crowd as we allow them to disperse.
I always love a crowd at the library. It makes me feel as though people are investing in their community again, that the arts are important.
There are cold, rainy days behind this desk when you get just one or two dropping in, to return books or find a place for their toddlers to be that isn’t home.
And that silence, though enforced because hey, we are a library, makes me sad, doubtful for this place’s survival.
Today, however, is different. That buzz, even if provided by a tone-deaf choir, is everything.
‘Olga, I love your nails by the way,’ I say as she stands next to me at the desk, eyeing up a man who’s taken one too many biscuits. Olga has invested in nail art for the season, it’s red and sparkly and I force her to let me examine the artistry.
‘It is Christmas. I treated myself because we’re going out for Christmas Day, to a nice hotel,’ she says.
‘Fancy schmancy,’ I say.
‘Who is this schmancy?’ she asks.
I laugh. ‘No one, it’s a saying.’
‘Your rich boyfriend is taking you out too, no?’
‘On Christmas Day, no… But we talked about going to Paris in the New Year,’ I say to the girls. ‘And technically, not a boyfriend.’
‘Oh-la-la,’ Helen says. ‘So a lover?’ Her eyes light up at the thought.
‘We’re just… seeing how it goes,’ I inform them. Both of them look at me with a mix of disappointment and confusion, so much so I feel the need to explain. ‘Remember this love story started eight years ago. If I’m picking it up again then I want to be sure, certain.’
‘You don’t feel that already?’ Helen asks, frowning.
And I pause. There is something there. But more importantly, this is someone who could fit into my life, my future, and Nick ticks many boxes in lots of ways. We were brought back together for a reason, bumping into him a month ago must mean something. ‘I feel something.’
‘And that is how all good love poetry starts. I’ll see how it goes… you make me feel… something,’ Helen jokes.
‘For someone who writes books, your words about this man are very bland. Like potatoes,’ Olga says. ‘Boiled potatoes.’
‘And you want a man who’ll inspire your best words,’ Helen says.
She studies my face. She’s been a quiet witness to the past few weeks, seeing how this story will pan out.
I think she’s hoping for a particular ending.
Looking at her now, I’m not sure if this is the one she was rooting for though.
‘And what of the other Nick?’ I haven’t told these girls about the other night, about the other Nick’s declarations and kindness, because they’re romantics and would have slapped the sensible right out of me.
‘That’s a man who could inspire poetry.’
‘Most likely a dirty limerick in your case,’ I jest.
She laughs heartily. ‘Does he have any other costumes? We could put on events all through the year and get him to dress up for us. I’ll find a kilt for Burns Night, a toga for Valentine’s Day. I bet he has lovely legs.’
He does. Because I’ve seen them. I look down to hide my smile, trying to snap my attention away from him. That’s done now, Kay. I need to move on from him to give the other Nick a chance. It’s no longer a game of comparisons because that’s not fair on either of them.
‘Excuse me, I was wondering if you could help me?’ a voice suddenly pipes in softly from across the desk.
Amidst the crowd of library goers and choir members, an older woman stands there in a fluffy parka and hat, pulling her gloves off at the fingers, her eyes drawn to the ceiling, looking around this place.
‘Of course,’ I say, stepping forward, leaving Helen and Olga to tend to other duties and people.
‘I’m sorry. I’m not a member here,’ she says softly. ‘Did you need to see a card?
I shake my head, chuckling. ‘We’re not a country club. It’s all good. Would you like to be a member? I can sign you up, it’s all free,’ I say, getting the form and a leaflet about the library service ready for her.
‘Oh no. It’s just… I was on Facebook and someone showed me a post about letters that had been found in some books. I think they might be mine.’
I stand there, looking into this woman’s sweet face, the creases around her eyes and the softness of her curls. ‘You’re K?’
‘Keira.’
‘And the man who wrote them to you?’
‘Nick.’ Of course it was. It had to be. ‘I was moving house and that book got put on the wrong pile. I’m so sorry.
I don’t even remember putting them in that book.
He must have done that. And then…’ I reach down to a drawer under the counter where I’ve kept the book, all the letters, and when I put it onto the desk the relief in her face is palpable.
She puts her hands to her chest. ‘Did you read them?’
‘Some of them.’
‘Then I am very embarrassed,’ she says, blushing slightly.
‘Don’t be. We have a whole section dedicated to erotica – this was mild in comparison,’ I joke.
I can’t seem to wipe the grin from my face that the mystery K is here and that we seem to have succeeded in this quest to find the authors of these letters.
I say we though – there is another person who needs to see this, someone who made this happen, who was adamant from the start that this become a mission of sorts. He’d love this so very much.
Keira runs her fingers over the cover of the book, laughing, and then flicks through the pages to find the letters, carefully pressed and flattened out.
She scans one of them and emotion overwhelms her, a single tear rolling down her face.
I come around from my desk and instinctively go to put an arm around her.
‘We have an office, a quieter space if you want to go there for a moment?’ I say.
‘Oh no. I’m… it’s a happy tear. He always wrote a very good letter.’
And for a moment, I realise why she might be crying, why her Nick isn’t here, claiming these letters with her. ‘He wrote?’
‘He passed away two years ago. Heart attack.’ I tilt my head to one side, emotion rising up in my chest. ‘Which was ironic as he had the biggest, kindest heart.’
‘Were you… married?’
‘Twenty-five years, three kids.’
‘I’m very sorry.’
She smiles. ‘Don’t be. He was the most perfect man and I was lucky to have had that time with him.
Some don’t ever get that, at all. And now I have these which I thought I had lost forever.
You know how many bins I went through trying to look for them?
How many charity shops I rang? So, this is more than you’ll ever know.
The perfect Christmas gift to be reunited with these.
I will forever be grateful…’ She pauses, waiting for me to say my name.
‘Kay.’
‘See, it’s a sign. Keira begins with K. Are you married, Kay? With anyone?’
I shake my head. I can’t even begin tell her about signs, about my Nicks. ‘It’s complicated.’
She laughs. ‘You youngsters all say that but in reality, love is the simplest feeling in the world.’ I feel my eyes tear over to hear those words.
‘I hope you have a really lovely Christmas, Kay. I don’t know how to thank you.
’ She reaches over and gives me a very big hug before stepping back to look at me.
Her eyes seem to have almost started glowing again to have these letters back in her possession, to be talking of her husband so fondly.
‘You could join the library?’ I joke.
‘Deal. I’ll bring my grandkids next time they’re around. I saw a poster for a story-time session?’
‘Every Tuesday and Thursday.’
She nods. ‘Merry Christmas.’
‘Merry Christmas.’
She exhales deeply but with a grin on her face, her eyes closing briefly, before walking away, that book clutched to her chest. I follow her figure to the door and then scramble around to find my phone.
I have to tell him. He started this, he looked for her and she came.
He did a good thing and made that woman’s heart glow again with joy and remembrance of a great love.
But that’s Nick. She spoke of a man with a big and kind heart and that is him, as if the universe has connected him through that same energy.
That wondrous Nick energy that’s taken over my life.
I laugh to myself, almost in realisation about what this all means, something in me almost fizzing with excitement.
I hold my phone in my hands. I have to call him.