Chapter Fourteen
I was thinking about mine and Mum’s conversation as I made my way into the city centre this morning for my first day at work – mainly because I love and care for her, and worry about how she’s coping without Dad, but also because I definitely needed some distraction. I was ridiculously nervous.
I parked my car in the huge concrete monstrosity of the multistorey and cast an anxious glance in its direction as I abandoned it to enter the stairwell, which was damp and smelled terrible.
My car was by no means a prized possession and wasn’t particularly expensive or even clean, come to that, but I did want to be sure I had a way of getting back home this evening and I wasn’t entirely convinced that I wouldn’t find my wheels stolen or my windows smashed when I returned from my shift.
‘You’re being ridiculous,’ I muttered to myself, car keys held pointing out between my fingers as I descended the echoey levels, just in case someone came to assault, rape or murder me and I had the presence of mind to remember to stab them in the eye.
‘People park here every day. People come into the city to work, they park their car, they do their job and they return home, safe and sound, just like you’re going to. ’
Thus reassured, I emerged from the stairwell through a heavily graffitied fire door and found myself on a sodden pavement accompanied by multiple other human beings and their umbrellas as they dodged the rain on their way to the station, the shops, or their office blocks.
‘You’re one of them now, Hattie,’ I thought.
‘A city worker, a cog in the machine of commerce and trade’ (although I’m not sure that library services strictly fall into this category).
It wasn’t far from the multistorey to the library, which was situated in one of the main civic buildings next to the station.
It had clearly once had an impressive frontage, but the stone facade was now stained with the black streaks of gutter run-off and two of the concrete paving slabs near the entrance were cracked and broken.
A low brick wall, evidently placed with the aim of providing a secure cycle rack, was covered in graffiti and stickers – not the artistic Banksy type of graffiti either, more the cock and balls variety that had adorned the pencil cases of spotty boys in my youth – and the bicycle fixtures had been wrenched from their sockets, the metal brackets now hanging limp and useless.
In addition, the neighbouring shop windows were all boarded up with similar graffiti adorning their shutters and faded signage indicating the tattoo parlours, off-licences and kebab shops that had once graced their interiors.
One of the units was gamely still trading as Kathy’s Cosy Cafe but there was no sign of Kathy through the smeary windows, just a very large man scowling at the passers-by.
It was quite a relief to enter the central foyer just to get out of the rain.
On my return from the spa yesterday, I’d spent about four hours choosing my outfit with care but had made the mistake of going for pale linen wide-leg trousers and a floaty scarf, thinking it gave off a bookish vibe.
My trousers had sucked up the rain and were now damp to mid-calf with a greyish puddle tinge and my scarf was plastered to my neck like a bandage.
My nose was running, and I was sweating under my woollen duffle coat (again chosen with a bookish Paddington theme in mind).
I decided the best option was to head for the communal toilets that we shared with the council offices upstairs and spent the next twenty minutes steaming myself in various contorted positions underneath the hand drier, resulting in a lot more sweating and no discernible drying of my garments.
Still, at least I wasn’t late. I’d left the house this morning with over an hour to spare, so nervous that I might lose my way or get stuck in traffic and arrive to find hordes of customers thumping their books against the library doors and baying for entry while David tapped his watch with disappointment before pointing at me, Apprentice-style, and shouting ‘You’re fired!
’. Never let it be said that I can’t build an anxiety-inducing scenario with minimal material.
I walked in through the side door to the library at five minutes to nine and was greeted by a young man with a smiling face, who was waving at me from behind the main counter.
‘Hello,’ he said, still waving. ‘My name is Colin. How are you today?’
‘Hi,’ I said. ‘My name’s Hattie. I’m new. And I’m a bit nervous.’
‘Hattie.’ Colin gave an emphatic nod. ‘Hattie. Bit nervous. Right. David said, Hattie Harper is starting today.’ He beamed at me. ‘No need to be nervous! I’ll help you.’ He extended his hand to shake mine, pumping it up and down enthusiastically.
‘Is, uhm, is David here?’ I said, peering between the shelving units to the far reaches of the library. I had been given a brief tour following my interview but needed a refresh as to the various zones.
‘Yes.’ Colin nodded. ‘He is.’
‘Good. Right. Is there anywhere I can put my coat?’
Colin looked doubtfully at my duffle. ‘It’s wet,’ he said.
‘It is. Could I hang it in the office do you think?’
‘Yes,’ he said, pointing between the stacks. ‘It’s down there with the kettle and the biscuits.’
‘That sounds promising.’
Colin laughed. ‘Promising,’ he said. ‘Some of my friends are coming this afternoon. Friends from where I live.’
‘That’s nice. Where do you live?’ I started to shrug off my coat.
‘I live in the Mackenzie housing association,’ he said.
‘It’s an assisted living facility for adults with a whole range of complex needs.
’ He opened his arms wide to indicate the range.
‘It’s for people who can live independently but sometimes need a bit of help.
I have a garden. My friends come on the Mackenzie bus.
Our driver is called Derek. Sometimes Julie. ’
I wondered whether Derek and Julie were two separate people or whether the driver of the Mackenzie bus changed their name depending on how they were feeling at the time. Each to their own, after all.
‘Well, I’m looking forward to meeting them,’ I said. ‘I’m going to go and hang up my things and maybe put the kettle on before we open up.’
‘It will be two minutes,’ said Colin glancing up at the large clock above the desk. ‘Nine o’clock is in two minutes, which is a hundred and twenty seconds.’
‘I’ll be super quick.’ I flung my damp coat over my arm and turned to head in the direction Colin had pointed. ‘And I’ll try and find David.’
‘Nineteen forty-five,’ said Colin in an urgent semi-whisper.
I stopped walking. ‘Sorry?’
‘Nineteen forty-five. It’s the code. It’s from the war.’
I processed this. ‘Ah! For the office?’
He beamed again. ‘Right the first time!’ he said. ‘Hattie Harper wins the prize.’
‘I think I’m going to like working with you, Colin,’ I said.
The office was located at the back of the library, its entrance hidden in a corner between a deeply recessed window and a wall-fixed display cabinet featuring archive documents and photos of the building that looked to be from the early twentieth century.
Not that I can fully get my head around the fact that the twentieth century now seems to be considered practically on a par with the ancient days of yore.
There’s nothing quite so sobering as relating a tale of university high-jinks or an anecdote about your first office job and having some whipper-snapper come back at you with, ‘Was that during the last century?’.
The door was propped open with one of those sturdy metal chairs you find in the foyer of old secondary schools, low seated and topped with a dralon wipe-clean fabric, so I didn’t need the code after all, and when I squeezed past the chair I found David pouring water from the kettle into a large brown teapot with a chip in its spout.
‘Hattie,’ he said. ‘Glad you made it.’
I wondered just how low the bar was for attendance at work if my making an appearance on my first day in the job was worthy of comment.
‘I did,’ I said. ‘And I’m raring to go!’ It was true. My nerves had completely vanished.
‘You’ve met Colin?’ He took a couple of mugs off the draining board.
‘Yes, he was very friendly and very helpful. He said we’re opening in two minutes.’ I looked at my watch. ‘One minute.’
‘He gets a bit obsessive about the time,’ said David, pointing to one of the mugs. ‘Tea?’
I nodded. ‘Yes please.’
‘He won’t let me open up a fraction before nine,’ David continued as he poured milk into the mugs. ‘But if I’m not there on the absolute dot with my key in the main doors then he gets quite agitated.’
Sure enough – we both stopped as a querulous ‘Da-vid!!’ drifted through the office door.
David smiled benignly. ‘I’d better get on it,’ he said.
‘Do you want to come with me? I think Colin would be reassured to see that you are being taught all the important stuff. He’s never been confident enough to open the main doors himself but if he knows there’s someone else here who can do it, it might make him feel a bit more relaxed. ’
I followed David out to the main reception area where Colin was rubbing his hands together and staring anxiously at the clock. ‘It is thirty seconds past nine, David,’ he said. ‘It is now nearly forty seconds past nine…’
‘It’s okay Colin.’ David waved the keys in the air. ‘I’m right on it. And Hattie’s going to learn what to do so we’ll always be on time.’
‘That’s good,’ said Colin, visibly relaxing. ‘We open at nine on Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. We open at eight-thirty on a Saturday because of shoppers. And we open at ten o’clock on Sundays because of church. God likes books but only after church. Amen.’
‘Got it,’ I said as David led me to the double-fronted glass-panelled doors that opened into the main foyer a few metres from the side door I’d used to come in earlier.
‘It’s literally just a double lock and the two bolts,’ murmured David as he made a point of demonstrating the unlocking mechanism and getting me to repeat the action myself.
‘But you’d think I was trying to gain access to the vaults of Coutts.
’ He raised his voice a fraction to call over to reception.
‘Colin is very protective over the library, aren’t you Col? ’
‘Yes, David,’ said Colin seriously. ‘The computers are expensive. Hattie, have you seen the computers? I can show you now that the library is open. Have you seen Pilot, Hattie? He’s a dog. He likes to sit by the big radiator in the children’s reading section. I can show him to you if you like?’
‘Why don’t we grab a mug of tea and then we’ll get Hattie settled in?’ said David. ‘You show her the booking system and I’ll bring the drinks over.’