‘I told him I don’t introduce just anyone to my girls, but as he is such an old friend–’
‘Enough of the old!’
They both laughed. It was so strange. Mum even looked different. Her eyes danced. She looked . . . beautiful. Her hair was in a ponytail and it looked thick and shiny and she was wearing a white-spotted purple sundress that swished about her ankles.
‘So . . . I was thinking maybe Daniel could accompany us to the playground this afternoon. What do you say girls? It’s completely up to you.’
Another bizarre thing. Mum never asked our permission. About anything.
As for the playground, I had a handful of memories of going to the playground when we were five or six, but it had been years since Mum had taken us. She said that perverts loitered in public parks and that we must never go there.
Fern and I were silent for so long that Mum laughed. ‘My girls like to think these things over. They don’t make rash decisions.’
‘You’ve taught them well,’ Daniel said.
‘It’s okay with me,’ Fern said eventually, and Daniel whooped and tried to give her a high five, but Fern just stared at his hand silently. I simply nodded, because what else was I supposed to do? I’m not sure if it was because Mum noticed my hesitation, or maybe because she didn’t notice it, but as I made my way to the car, she intercepted me and started swinging me around like she’d done to Fern a few minutes earlier. I may have even drawn some comfort from the interaction had I not noticed Mum glancing over my shoulder in Daniel’s direction as she swung me, making sure he was watching.
FERN
On Monday morning, I go to work as usual. After the weekend of high drama with Rose, I derive some comfort from the normalcy of it, thinking a typical day is exactly what I need. However, I am sorely let down when I arrive in the staffroom to find Carmel sitting at my desk.
‘It’s shadow day,’ she says brightly. ‘I’m going to follow you as you work today.’
I had completely forgotten about ‘shadow day’. And though I’m not opposed to it, per se, I fear it will present an issue when it comes to ducking off to the secret cupboard intermittently for a nap. Which is a shame, because I’m tired today.
‘You don’t have to perform for me, Fern,’ she says when I don’t say anything. ‘You should act as you would if I weren’t in the library at all. Imagine I’m out of the office and you are in charge,’ she says, with a little laugh.
‘All right,’ I say when I see no viable way to protest. I place my backpack in the filing cabinet’s empty bottom drawer and lock it, then quickly scan my schedule and emails. After that, I head for the floor, Carmel hurrying after me.
Out in the main library, I make my way to the children’s section.
‘I thought you were on the front desk this–’ Carmel starts, but instead of finishing her sentence, she gives herself a little shake. ‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘Carry on.’
I nod. My eye has already been drawn to a group of mothers in yoga pants sitting cross-legged on the floor, drinking coffee and chatting. A few metres away, their toddlers happily pull books off the shelves and drop them in piles. I make a beeline for the kids.
‘Would you like me to read you a story?’ I ask a little boy with red hair and pale blue eyes.
He nods eagerly as a couple of the mothers glance over and start to apologise half-heartedly for the mess. I ignore them, pick up a copy of Incy Wincy Spider and sit in a small wooden chair I’ve grabbed from a nearby aisle. One by one, the other kids plant themselves at my feet. When I finish, a small girl hands me another book and I read it. I read two more books before an elderly lady with a walking frame approaches.
‘Excuse me, Fern, I’m sorry to interrupt while you’re reading but I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed Cat’s Eye. I was utterly transported from start to finish.’
The yoga mums have finished their coffee now, and they begin to load their kids back into their strollers. Amid a flurry of bleary-eyed thankyous from the mothers, I take the opportunity to stand, and Carmel, who has been sitting quietly nearby, does the same.
‘I thought you’d like it, Mrs Stevens,’ I say. ‘Now that I have earned your trust, would you consider reading Margaret Atwood’s 2000 novel, The Blind Assassin? Follow me, I’ll see if we have a copy in.’
Mrs Stevens had been turned off by the title The Blind Assassin, and refused to read it so I’d had to lure her into the delights of Margaret Atwood the back way. I was still hopeful that she might enjoy Alias Grace or even The Handmaid’s Tale if she was introduced slowly. ‘Ah, here it is. Why don’t I borrow this for you right now?’
The day goes quickly and most of the time I don’t even notice Carmel hovering. It’s rather nice, not even having to check my schedule for where I need to be. I simply roam the floor and go where I’m needed. To my surprise, Carmel doesn’t stop me, not even once. She is a true shadow.
At the end of the day, she sits on the edge of my desk and lets out a long sigh.
‘Wow. I never realised what a gift we had in the library.’
I replay the sentence in my head, trying to make sense of what she is saying. Still, I come up blank.
‘You, Fern,’ she explains. ‘You are the gift.’
Unlike the shadow analogy, which I had come to respect, the gift analogy
