Chapter 19
Thursday 26 October
It was an unusually busy morning at St Luke’s Road Community Library. Many visitors had come in seeking shelter from the rain, and a damp smell of wet clothes overlaid the usual musty odour of old books. When she wasn’t at the circulation desk helping customers with their enquiries, Kay was engaged in her annual job of weeding out old books – a painstaking task in a library of some 16,000 volumes. She’d found one or two that hadn’t been borrowed since the 1970s, but usage statistics weren’t the only criteria. Some of the books were simply out of date, especially in the science, health and IT sections. She also had to assess the books’ physical condition: several had torn-out or defaced pages. She’d found one caked with beach sand and another stained with wine. One classic children’s novel had been vomited on – perhaps the most honest and succinct book review ever, she thought.
At eleven o’clock, Kay took a call from local author Professor Blane Hibbert, who was due to give a talk at the library next month on his latest book, The Films of Luc Besson . He’d written down the date, he said, but he couldn’t read his own handwriting. Kay gave him the date, and reminded him to email her a PDF of the cover so she could start promoting the event on social media. He promised he would, and said he’d also chase down the publisher for copies so there’d be books to sign on the night. He asked about likely numbers, and she said, “Maybe about fifteen, but we can’t guarantee it.” A Wednesday evening in November was never propitious, and she had no idea how many French film fans there were in Bush Hill Park – probably not that many – yet whatever the book, they always seemed to get around fifteen for these events, one of whom would always be Mrs Hilda Dunning who’d always ask for a free copy.
The rain continued to pour during her lunch hour, so Kay went and sat in the back office and ate a sandwich. On a whim, she decided to call her mother. These whims tended to strike whenever she felt remotely proud of herself. Maybe it was a masochistic impulse, a desire to have cold water poured over her achievements, or maybe she genuinely thought her mother might react positively for a change.
“I’ve met someone, Mother,” she said after they’d greeted one other, and before her mother had a chance to update her on her sciatica. “You remember I decided to learn to drive. Well, that didn’t work out so well, but the good news is I’m now going out with my instructor.”
“I see,” said Barbara. “So you spent money on driving lessons and ended up with a boyfriend. Well, I suppose it follows a pattern: like achieving three As in your A-levels and ending up handing out books for a living.”
“He’s rich,” said Kay. “It’s his own business. And he has a big flat in the heart of Winchmore Hill.”
“How nice. So I suppose you’re going to give up your career then are you, such as it is, and become a kept woman – one of those ladies who lunch ? It sounds so much less onerous than doing something worthwhile with your life.”
“Of course I’m not going to give up my career, Mother – or if I do it won’t be because of him. Look, I’m not like you. I don’t have a calling or a vocation or whatever. I just want to be happy. I know you’ll never be proud of me, but I was hoping you’d at least be pleased for me.”
“Don’t be so melodramatic, Kay. Of course I want you to be happy, I just don’t believe you’re going about it the right way. As for feeling proud, you told me the other day you were earning money from your photography. I’d say that’s something you should feel proud of.”
“I’m already proud of myself, Mother. My hope is that one day you’ll be proud of me, too, but I doubt it’ll ever happen, unless I donated my heart to a sick child.”
“If you donated your heart, you’d be dead.”
“Exactly! I’d have to do something really extreme, like die for someone. Your standards are so high, I can’t be myself around you. No one can. They end up doing extreme things. Did you ever wonder why Dad ran away?” The line went quiet. “Mother?”
“I’d rather you didn’t speak about your father, Kay. It’s a difficult subject for me. He had issues, serious issues, which I don’t wish to go into.” She sighed. “As to my so-called high standards, if I have them it’s only because I know what you’re capable of. You’re a bright girl and it’s hard sometimes to stand back and see you wasting all that potential. But, I’ve learned to live with my disappointment. You are what you are and that’s all there is to say.”
The conversation had wound its way to the usual place, like a river seeping into the desert sands. They said their goodbyes, and Kay got up and threw away the crusts of her sandwich.
The afternoon was less busy, and she was free to get on with her weeding duties while Sondra dealt with customers at the desk. Sondra didn’t enjoy weeding as much as Kay did. To her, it felt like a failure of the library system whereas to Kay there was something quite romantic about it. Over the decades, these elderly, dishevelled tomes had done the rounds of Bush Hill Park. They’d been in people’s homes and back gardens, they’d hung out on bedside tables, been read in baths, and been used as shields to peep at strangers in cafés or to whisper secrets behind. They’d been handled by lovers, mothers, children, policemen, alcoholics and killers. They had the stink of the world on them. If they could talk, they’d tell tales stranger than anything printed on their pages.
Reggie, one of the regulars, was in this afternoon, smelling mildly of beer. He was tall and quite good looking in a seedy sort of way, and as always he was dressed in a suit. Kay wondered what he did for a living, and how he was able to take so many afternoons off. Sometimes, she caught him watching her, especially if she had to stoop or bend to place a book on a lower shelf. Whenever he spoke to Kay, his eyes would start on her face, then drop down towards her chest.
Sondra believed him to be in his late thirties, but Kay reckoned he was pushing fifty – his jet black hair looked dyed. Sondra would never admit to it, but she obviously had something of a crush on him. She was always super friendly when he enquired about a book, and would escort him to the relevant shelf even when there was no need. Kay didn’t have the heart to tell her that she found him a little creepy.
Towards closing time, Reggie approached the desk with a book, which Sondra scanned for him. Seated on her little footstool in the Biography section, Kay spied on them as he lingered there and they started to chat. Heyho! she thought. Is Reggie making a move on her? Sondra flushed all the way down to her neck as Reggie smiled wolfishly, leaned in closer and handed her what looked like a business card. After a few more minutes talk, he nodded farewell and strode out of the library.
Kay immediately put down the book she was holding and hurried over. Sondra was still quite a deep shade of pink. “What was that about?” asked Kay.
Sondra broke her usual rule about chairs and slumped down on one without wiping or spraying it first. Her knees were trembling. “He asked me out on a date,” she said.
“You’re kidding me!”
“No, I’m not. I still can’t quite believe it. He asked if I cared to join him for a drink on Saturday evening.”
“And what did you say?”
“I was so shocked I didn’t know what to say at first. I just stood there gaping at him like a fish. Then I said I’d have to think about it. He gave me his card and told me I could call him any time. What should I do, Kay?”
“What do you want to do?”
“I think I want to have a drink with him.”
“Then do it. Give him a call tonight.”
“But do you think he’s a nice person – someone I can trust?”
Kay pondered this one. If she told Sondra what she really thought, it might put her off calling him, and there was no telling when something like this might happen to her again. And what if Kay was wrong about him? Maybe he was a nice guy. So what if she’d caught him eyeing her up a few times. Lots of men did that, though maybe not quite so blatantly. As for the age gap, she’d always thought Sondra was twenty-six going on fifty. An older man might suit her.
“I have no idea what he’s like, Sondra. You have to trust your instincts on this one. Why not give him a call. It’s only a drink. Just make sure to meet him somewhere public. It’s safer that way.”
“Of course, I wouldn’t agree to go to his home or anything. We’ll meet in a pub or a wine bar. Probably a wine bar. He’s a wine bar sort of person, don’t you think? And it’s only a drink, you’re right. People go out for drinks all the time. I shall be very relaxed and casual about it.” She looked up, eyes widening. “Oh Kay, I haven’t a thing to wear.”