He doesn’t sit, but I walk to the nearby cart anyway. A copy of Michelle Obama’s new book is waiting to be reshelved. ‘How about this one? You’re lucky it’s here, this one has a lot of reserves on it.’
He doesn’t appear to be listening, but it’s amazing what people pick up, even while distracted. People with ADHD, for example, retain information better if they read while walking or engaging in simple play. I open the book. ‘When I was a kid, my aspirations were simple,’ I read. ‘I wanted a dog. I wanted a house that had stairs in it, two floors for one family.’
The library has cleared out, I notice, as I read. Carmel is still beside me, a little too close if I’m honest. The man continues to pick at his fingers. I notice they are red raw and make a mental note to recommend aloe vera once I finish reading.
After five minutes, he finally slides into the beanbag. He rests the pocketknife on the floor beside him. I pull up a second beanbag. We are sitting like that when the police arrive. As they handcuff him, he says loudly, ‘But we were reading a book!’
I shove it between his handcuffed hands. ‘Keep it.’
When I turn around, Carmel is standing there.
‘I’ll pay for the book,’ I start, but before I have finished talking Carmel has enveloped me in a suffocating hug.
‘That was very brave,’ Carmel says later, as we sit side by side in the stationary ambulance. Both of us are unharmed, but the ambulance officers have wrapped blankets around us in case of shock. I’d feel far more comfortable if I could get back to work in the library, but the ambulance officers – and Carmel – have been quite insistent.
‘Do you think that man was on drugs?’ I ask Carmel.
‘Yes, I do. The police think it was methamphetamines.’
Janet once told me that, in her previous job, due to the location of the library, she had come across a lot of drug addicts. The library, being free and cool in summer and warm in winter, became a sort of refuge for them. People complained about it, apparently, but Janet was their biggest supporter. The library is for everyone, she used to say, but some people need it more than others. She told me about a young woman – barely a teenager – who died of an overdose inside that library. The girl was a regular, apparently. Janet said she was sad that the girl was gone, but happy that the library had been a safe place for her for so many months. She had attended the girl’s funeral and erected a little statue in the garden for her. That was the kind of person Janet was.
‘I wish you’d had a chance to meet Janet,’ I say to Carmel.
Carmel smiles. ‘I heard you and Janet were close.’
‘I learned so much from her,’ I say. ‘Not just about books. She taught me about people. How to help them, respect them, and how to enrich their lives through books.’
Carmel looks at me. Her eyes, I notice, are a marbled blue with yellow edges. ‘Perhaps you can share some of Janet’s wisdom with me sometime? And your own, for that matter. It’s clear that you are very good at what you do. Not to mention beloved in this library.’
Beloved. I’ve never thought of myself as beloved before.
‘Maybe I could even shadow you as you work, to see what I can learn?’
I frown. ‘Shadow me?’
‘Follow you.’
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘With your cart?’
She smiles. ‘No. No cart.’
I think about this for a moment. And then, it might be because of the kindly way Carmel is looking at me, I nod.
Carmel looks pleased. ‘Wonderful. And then, maybe you could shadow me? I could even show you how to use the printers and the photocopiers?’
I sigh. ‘I understand that you are making an effort, Carmel. And you have shown interest in Janet, which I appreciate. But I cannot and will not learn the printers and the photocopiers.’
Carmel laughs. ‘All right, I accept that,’ she says. ‘For now.’
After work, I stand at my living room window waving at Wally. He is sitting in the driver’s seat of the van, reading a novel and it takes him a moment to notice me. When he does, he waves back. He doesn’t come up and I’m glad. I’m already overwhelmed by the day and I know further interaction would push me over the proverbial edge. But I enjoy him being within sight, where I can wave to him whenever I want. It makes me feel content, this little interaction.
My phone rings and I look away from the window. Rose’s name is on the screen.
‘I knew the name Rocco Ryan sounded familiar.’ Her voice is high-pitched and excited. ‘I googled him. He is the Rocco Ryan who founded Shout!’
‘I know,’ I say.
‘Fern, it is a HUGE app. HUGE!’
‘I know,’ I repeat.
‘You know?’ Rose sounds disbelieving. This irritates me. To think she would know more about my friend than I do.
‘Of course I know. Wally told me.’
A pause. ‘Fern, do you know what Shout! is?’
I roll my eyes. ‘An app,’ I say. ‘Something to do with ordering drinks.’
‘According to the article I read, Rocco and his partner sold it in 2016 for a hundred million dollars. A hundred million dollars, Fern! The article also said that Rocco is one of the most promising computer programmers the world has ever seen. He was in Silicon Valley before he came to Australia. He’s been compared to Linus Torvalds and Steve Wozniak! Apparently, people were lining up to work with him when they sold Shout!, but then he just went off the grid. It was quite mysterious. People assumed he was living it up on a private island or something . . .’
I glance around the room, noticing a spiderweb in the corner that I really must take care of.
‘Fern, your friend is a gazillionaire. Does that interest you even
