Carmel glances up from Alfie. ‘Pardon?’
‘Two. For the bowling. Me and Wally.’
‘Rocco,’ Wally corrects, shooting me a frown. He extends his hand to Carmel. ‘Rocco Ryan.’
I think Carmel is going to protest, but instead she takes his hand. ‘Rocco Ryan?’ She stares at Wally for a moment, then shakes her head. ‘I, er, fine. I’ll put you both down. But Fern, the dog has got to go.’
I pretend not to hear her. ‘Good luck with the meeting,’ I say to Wally.
Carmel and I both watch Wally walk away. He looks nice in his suit. I get the feeling, from Carmel’s odd behaviour, that she has noticed too.
‘I’ll look forward to bowling,’ I call after him on a whim, realising, despite the multitude of reasons I shouldn’t, that it’s true.
I have a secret at the library that no-one knows about, not even Gayle. I found out about it several years ago, while Janet was still the manager. I’d been at the front desk that day, because Linda and Gayle had both been off work with a hacking cough that had done the rounds of the library staff (which I’d escaped due to my disinclination to shake hands). A council meeting had taken place in the circular meeting room that afternoon and, afterward, tea and cakes had been served. I hated it when tea and cakes were served to the council workers, because it meant dozens of fat, balding, middle-aged men were hanging around, nursing cups of tea and pieces of cake, and taking up lots of space, physical and emotional, the way fat, balding, middle-aged men did. Their small talk hummed around the building, bouncing off walls and making me feel squidgy. Lots of questions like, ’Scuse me, love, where’s the bathroom? and You couldn’t clear this plate away, could you, darl?
I’d give them blank stares and scurry away, but wherever I went, there were more fat old men with more questions. Worse, this time, one of them had located the little bell at the front desk that I had hidden in a drawer, and was it pinging every few seconds.
Ping.
‘’Scuse me.’
Ping.
‘Is anyone here?’
Ping.
Ping.
Ping.
It was hard to describe what that particular kind of noise – trapped noise – did to me. It filled my brain like a scream, until tears itched at my eyes and my heart threatened to burst from my chest. I’d been hiding among the travel books at the back of the building when Janet, my old boss, found me.
‘Bad place to hide,’ she whispered. ‘These guys all fancy themselves as world travellers – they’ll be back here soon, looking for books about Egypt so they can point out all the places they went on their last vacation.’
‘Crochet section?’ I asked.
‘I’ve got a better idea,’ Janet said. ‘Follow me.’
I followed her to the very back of the library, the older part beyond the archive area. There, in the red brick wall, was a door that I had not noticed before. Janet opened it with a key.
‘This is a little treasure I found a few years back,’ she said, opening the door to a tiny windowless room filled entirely by a shabby armchair and a small side table. It had a slanting roof where the stairs went overhead. ‘I call it the secret cupboard. I use it sometimes to make phone calls, or go through payroll, or do something where I don’t want to be interrupted. But I think perhaps you could use it more than me.’ She handed me the key. ‘This is the only key that I know of. It’s yours now.’
I looked at the small gold key.
‘Use it whenever you like. But don’t ever tell anyone of its existence. It’s too precious to be shared.’
I agreed. Far too precious.
I had been in the secret cupboard earlier this year when Janet had a massive stroke in Junior Non-fiction. Dead before she hit the ground, apparently. A perfect place for her to die, people said later. Surrounded by books, in the place she loved most.
All these months later, I can’t figure out if I feel guilty for being in the secret cupboard when it happened, or glad.
I spend most of the afternoon in the secret cupboard with Alfie. He is very happy. I set up some newspaper and his water bowl and he remains there cheerfully even during the short periods when I have to dart out and be seen by Carmel on the floor. I am doing one such trip when Gayle spots me.
‘Fern, there you are! There was a man here to see you earlier, but I couldn’t find you.’
‘A man?’ This is most peculiar. ‘Wally?’
She shakes her head. ‘No. A different man.’
I frown. I don’t know many men and, apart from Wally, I don’t know any who would pop in randomly to see me at the library.
‘Well . . . what did he look like?’
Gayle thinks about it. ‘Good-looking. Thirties, probably. Clean-shaven and nicely dressed.’
I’m stumped. ‘Are you sure he wanted to see me?’
‘He asked for Fern. He said he was a friend.’
I assume it must be a mistake. He probably asked to see someone else. Or maybe wanted to borrow a book on ferns. ‘Did he leave a message?’
‘No. He said he’d come back another day.’
‘Oh. Well, then I expect he will.’ If he was actually looking for me.
I’m distracted from the clean-shaven mystery visitor when I spot Wally walking into the library. He mustn’t see me, because he walks quickly past me, headed toward the shower room.
‘How did the meeting go?’ I say, running to catch up to him.
Wally keeps walking. ‘I can’t talk right now.’
He pushes through the door into the vestibule and I slow my step. I usually stay out of there in the afternoon, as it tends to get a little stinky. But today, I decide I’ll brave it.
Wally whirls around. ‘Are you planning to follow me into the shower?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘I thought you’d stop before we got there. And you did.’
