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The Library Page 7

by Bella Osborne

*

  The church hall was cavernous. At one end there was an open gap through to the kitchen, in front of which were three tables, one of them was occupied by a couple of the other book club regulars. Betty beckoned them over.

  Maggie gave them a brief greeting. There was little else to say when you’d just spent two hours together. Tom followed her to the counter where three eager-looking women hovered in matching aprons.

  ‘What can I get you,’ trilled one of them. ‘Tea or coffee and a slice of cake for two pounds. It all goes to charity.’

  ‘After we’ve taken out the money for the tea, coffee and milk,’ muttered the lady to her left. She reminded Maggie of the person delivering the terms and conditions on the radio.

  ‘What cakes have you got?’ Maggie asked. She could sense Tom peering over her shoulder.

  ‘Chocolate, coffee and walnut, carrot cake, which I made fresh last night, or blueberry muffins.’ It was a sorry offering to Maggie’s mind.

  ‘A tea and a piece of carrot cake for me then,’ said Maggie, getting out her purse. ‘Tom?’

  He was studying the cakes intensely. ‘Chocolate cake please.’

  ‘And what would you like to drink? We have squash,’ said the woman behind the counter.

  Maggie felt a little insulted on Tom’s behalf.

  ‘No thanks. Just the cake please.’

  ‘I don’t know that we can do cake without a drink.’ A lot of muttering between the three women ensued.

  ‘It’s fine,’ said Maggie, handing over four pounds. ‘It’s all for charity.’

  ‘That’s lovely, thank you,’ said the woman looking mightily relieved as she passed over a tray. Tom put his bag on a chair and came back for the tray. It was a nice gesture. Maggie could have managed but she wasn’t going to go on a feminist rant about equality because he’d been thoughtful. They sat at the third table away from Betty and the others.

  They both tucked into their cakes in silence. The carrot cake was good but it would never have been Maggie’s first choice. ‘How is the cake?’ asked Maggie realising too late that she should have been using the past tense as there was no sign that there had ever been any cake on Tom’s plate. ‘Did you inhale it?’

  ‘Sorry.’ He looked awkward and she regretted her comment.

  ‘No, it’s nice to see someone enjoy their food. My husband wasn’t a foodie. He would have been happy with a pill instead of a meal.’ Why she was telling him that she had no idea but he was politely nodding.

  ‘Dad says I’m a bottomless pit.’

  ‘I’d rather that than a picky eater.’ She paused to drink her tea. It was stewed.

  ‘The cake was great. Thanks, Maggie.’

  ‘You’re welcome. I feel guilty that I’m stopping you studying.’ She wanted to give him a get-out option.

  ‘Nah. It’s okay. I think cumulative frequency polygons are beyond me to be honest.’

  ‘Maths is it?’ She ventured a guess.

  ‘Yeah. Not my strong subject.’

  ‘Nor mine. Although, I was pretty rubbish at everything at school. I once drew an apple and my teacher asked me what it was.’

  Tom laughed. ‘I’m all right at art. Not many jobs you can do with that though.’

  ‘Yes there are,’ said Maggie, her indignation strong. ‘Sign writer, architect, art teacher…’ She was starting to run out of examples; perhaps he was right. She looked around for inspiration. ‘Cake decorator.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s the career for me. I’d love to illustrate graphic novels or work on anime films.’

  Maggie nodded, not entirely sure what he’d said but she wanted to show him some encouragement. ‘I was a holistic therapist. Thank goodness I didn’t need any exams for that.’

  Tom now had an expression that most likely mirrored her own thirty seconds ago. ‘What do you do now?’ he asked.

  Oh what a question that was. If she were to answer it honestly would he be shocked? I spend my time desperately trying to fill my day until one morning I don’t wake up.

  She gave herself a mental shake. ‘Well, this morning I was trying to get a wheel off a trailer,’ she said.

  Tom was grinning. ‘What, like nicking one?’

  ‘No. The other day I was moving hurdles with my tractor and I got a puncture.’

  Tom laughed. Maggie wasn’t seeing what was funny. ‘You’re joking right?’

  ‘No. Honestly. I’ve got a bit of land so it’s the only way to move large things about. And Tuesday morning I got a puncture and the wheel won’t come off. It’s a right pain because I can’t free it without some help.’

  ‘I’ll help you,’ said Tom. He was picking up non-existent cake crumbs with his finger.

  ‘That’s kind but I live a way out.’

  Tom shrugged. ‘Sundays are dull as… anything. Furrow’s Cross wasn’t it?’ She nodded. ‘I can get a bus over.’ He looked up and she could see that the offer was genuine.

  ‘Okay but on one condition.’

  ‘Name it.’

  ‘You stay for Sunday roast.’

  His face lit up like a toddler on Christmas morning. ‘You’re on.’

  11

  TOM

  I checked Maggie got her bus and set off home. As I turned the corner to go up the hill I saw Joshua Kemp coming the other way. What was he doing in the village? I had a split second to make a decision about whether to turn around or not but I was too slow. He saw me and his lip curled into a sneer.

  I put my head down, hugged my broken bag and kept going.

  ‘Harris! What are you doing around here? Don’t you live on the council estate with the other losers?’ Kemp laughed at his own joke.

  ‘Josh,’ I said as if greeting a friend but kept going.

  ‘Hey. I asked you a question.’ He held his palm out like a traffic cop to stop me. I had no choice.

  ‘I’m going home.’

  ‘Do you know where Farah lives?’ he asked.

  ‘Err…’ Again far too slow.

  ‘You do. Are you some sort of stalker?’

  ‘No. I don’t know exactly where she lives. I think it’s on the way into town.’

  He gave me a shove. ‘You can do better than that.’

  ‘Off the London Road, I think. But I don’t know.’ If I had known where she lived I would have been taking regular walks up that way like a right saddo. It was better all round that I didn’t have her address.

  ‘If I find out you’re lying.’ He puffed his chest up like a pigeon.

  ‘I’m not.’

  I began walking again and Kemp must have tripped me up because my foot caught on something. I fell to the pavement like a brick. I clutched my bag for fear of its contents falling out. My romance book addiction remained strong. Thank goodness I didn’t drop any but I landed hard on my wrist and it bloody hurt. Kemp chuckled to himself like a third-rate Disney villain as he walked away.

  *

  I did my Sunday paper round in double quick time despite the ache in my wrist and was showered and dressed before Dad had surfaced. I left a note to say I’d be out all day at a friend’s. I figured it wasn’t that far from the truth.

  The bus dropped me near the crossroads that gave Furrow’s Cross its name and Maggie’s instructions were to walk back from there and take the dirt track on the same side of the road that the bus had dropped me off.

  The track was narrow with grass growing in the centre and plenty of craters. There were fields on either side but not a lot else. I walked on and just when I thought I’d somehow gone the wrong way I saw a roof. The house was in a dip off to the right, hidden by a row of tall trees where the track dropped down to it. An old wooden gate looked like it hadn’t been closed in a while and a well-worn sign read Providence Farm. The house was a bit like how a child would draw a farmhouse; all symmetrical, with a central door, a large window either side and three above, each one split into tiny panes.

  There was an arched portico and a white-painted front door. I knocked on the doo
r while trying to take in my surroundings. This wasn’t what I’d expected at all.

  ‘You found it,’ said Maggie, opening the door. She looked red in the face and the sleeves on her oversized swirly-patterned shirt were rolled up. ‘Come in.’ She disappeared inside leaving me to shut the door. The hall was about the same size as my bedroom. I took my jacket off. It was chilly but I couldn’t put my jacket back on without appearing rude. There were a series of coat hooks or at least I guessed there were but they were hidden under a lifetime’s collection of coats and cardigans. I placed my jacket on top of another coat and hoped it stayed there.

  ‘Come through,’ came Maggie’s disembodied voice. I followed the shiny pavement-style flooring through to the kitchen where it was far warmer. Maggie was draining something at the sink. ‘I got some Coke.’ She nodded at a large bottle on the table. ‘Is that okay?’

  ‘Yeah. Thanks.’ It was proper branded Coke. We always had the cheap stuff at home. Dad said it wasn’t worth it because when I chugged it I never tasted it anyway.

  ‘Glasses are in the end cupboard.’ She tilted her head to guide me. I chose a large glass, poured a drink and sat and watched while she scurried about. Something smelled good but I couldn’t work out exactly what it was.

  Eventually she clapped her hands together and spun in my direction. ‘We have an hour before dinner. So drink up and I’ll show you the problem.’

  I’d only had a few sips but I downed the rest, carefully managed a burp and followed her out of the kitchen and into a tiny room full of buckets, brooms and footwear.

  ‘What size are you?’ she asked as she rooted through a selection of wellington boots.

  ‘Nine, I think. Maybe a ten.’ My school shoes were tight again.

  ‘Try those.’ She handed me some dark green boots and I did as I was told. They were a bit tight but they fitted and I followed her out of the back door. I tried to shut it but it needed a good tug to do so. At the side of the house was a concrete yard with a little tractor and a rusty old wooden trailer stuck in the middle. I’d been expecting the tractor to be much bigger. It was a bit of a let-down.

  Maggie explained what had happened, showed me the punctured tyre and the rusted nuts. ‘I need you to jack it up.’ She pointed at a rusty-looking contraption. ‘And you’ll probably have to do the nuts on the wheel too.’ She rubbed her hands over themselves like a miser in a movie. ‘My grip’s not what it once was.’

  I had no idea what I was doing but with Maggie’s instructions and help we managed to change the tyre. Although the one she put on looked in almost as bad a state as the one we’d taken off, she said it would be fine until she got the other one repaired.

  She slapped me on the back with more force than I’d expected she was capable of. ‘You’ve earned your lunch,’ she said, striding back to the farmhouse.

  *

  I drank more Coke and watched Maggie serve up a full roast dinner. The last time I ate a roast dinner was when my grandparents last visited and took us to the pub. That was four years ago.

  When Maggie was putting some stuff in the sink to soak I took a quick photo on my phone. I wasn’t the sort of person who posted pictures of their food on Instagram but I wanted to capture this. It looked so good.

  ‘It’s like Christmas dinner,’ I said when she sat down to join me.

  She chuckled a gentle tinkle of a laugh. ‘There’s no cranberry or pigs in blankets. You can’t have Christmas dinner without those.’

  ‘We usually have steak and chips at Christmas.’

  ‘Oh, well that’s nice too.’ She gave me a tight smile. I got the feeling it was nothing less than turkey and all the trimmings for Maggie.

  She was right. Steak was always good but it wasn’t a proper Christmas dinner like this. Christmas in March.

  There was a pile of something colourful on my plate. Yellow, pink and purple slices of something familiar. ‘Umm, what is that?’ I asked.

  ‘Carrots. They come in other colours than orange you know.’ I did not know that. Everything on my plate tasted good. The chicken was full of flavour, not like a KFC bucket, but still good. The roast potatoes were crispy like Mum used to do them, and although the carrots were in all these weird colours they tasted amazing. I was sad when I’d eaten it all. I sipped my Coke and waited for Maggie to finish. She was smiling the whole time she was eating.

  She placed her knife and fork together on her plate and leaned back into her chair.

  ‘Thanks. That was great,’ I said.

  ‘Crumble?’

  ‘Yeah. Please.’

  At the end of the crumble I was full up. I wasn’t sure it would last long but it was a good feeling.

  ‘Do you have plans for this afternoon?’ she asked.

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘You’re welcome to stay here. I need to check on the sheep but otherwise I’ve no plans.’

  ‘Sheep? Cool.’ I hadn’t realised she had animals. It got better and better. I had nothing to rush home for.

  When she got up I followed her to the sink with my plate. I was hoping she had a dishwasher but I couldn’t see one so I picked up a tea towel to show willing.

  ‘I’ll wash up but there’s no need to dry. They’ll drain on the board. Life’s too short for drying up.’

  We were soon tugging the wellies back on and heading outside. It wasn’t warm but it wasn’t raining, not that I think that would have bothered Maggie. ‘Wait there,’ she said forcefully. She strode off at the pace of someone younger. A few moments later she reappeared riding a quad bike. I must have looked surprised, mainly because I was. It wasn’t the sight you expected to see – an old lady revving up a quad bike. The sound rippled through me.

  ‘Well, get on,’ she said, indicating behind her with a thumb.

  ‘Err, yeah. Okay.’

  I didn’t need asking twice.

  ‘There’s a bar on the rack behind you. Hold on.’

  I had moments to grab it before she revved the engine and the quad bike scooted out of the yard. She had a bucket hooked over one of the handlebars and it swung about violently. A sharp left turn and we were heading away from the farm. The dirt track gave way to soft ground and the quad made easy work of it, racing along a ridge with fields rising to the left and dropping away to our right. I stuck my head to one side to get a better view.

  Maggie took a quick look behind her. ‘Stop grinning. You’ll get flies in your teeth or worse still a wasp.’ I hadn’t realised I was grinning until she said but how could I not? This was completely brilliant – the wind hitting me in the face, the smell of grass filling my nostrils and all the time I was bouncing about on the back of a quad bike.

  She stopped and pointed up to the left. ‘That woodland marks the boundary. It supplies all my wood for my wood burner and I plant new trees every year. The bloody muntjacs nibble them but more survive than don’t.’

  ‘You’ve got deer?’

  ‘Not mine. They just pop in to eat stuff. It’s like a deer buffet up there. Lots of rabbits too. Do you like rabbit?’

  ‘Yeah, they’re cute. I guess.’

  Maggie laughed. ‘Not to cuddle. To eat.’

  ‘Dunno, never had it.’ I wasn’t squeamish but I wasn’t sure about eating rabbits. They were a bit too close to pets but I didn’t want Maggie to think I was a wimp.

  ‘Right. Hold on.’

  Thankfully I hadn’t let go because she set off again. This time taking a sharp right and skittering us down the field at a serious angle. It was terrifying and awesome in equal measure. ‘Woo hoo!’ I yelled as we hit a bump and the wheels left the grass. I couldn’t help it. At the bottom was a rickety-looking fence and Maggie shouted that it marked the edge of her land. There were more fields on the other side. We bounced further along and I could see the sheep – some white and others sort of greyish in colour. They paused with mouths full of grass to watch us dismount.

  ‘I’ll move them down to the bottom field soon and they can give that one a trim.’ She ma
rched off and I had to lengthen my stride to catch her. ‘Here’s the ewes I’m hoping are going to lamb soon,’ she said, pointing. She took the bucket from the handlebar of the quad bike and slipped into the field. The fat sheep ran over to her and hoovered up the contents as she was tipping it into a trough.

  Nearby was what Maggie introduced as her vegetable patch but as it was about the size of a football pitch it was more like a whole allotment. She rattled off what was planted there but I kind of zoned out after carrots and potatoes.

  Next were the chickens. I wasn’t sure about these. Maggie invited me to join her in their enclosure and I did but they all flocked around my ankles and a couple had a good peck at the wellies. I could feel it through the rubber and was glad I wasn’t wearing my pumps.

  ‘Do you eat eggs?’

  ‘Yeah.’ We bought them when we were having a fry-up.

  ‘Help yourself. I’ve not collected today.’ She handed me a proper old-fashioned wicker basket and lifted up a hatch on the side of the wooden chicken house. Inside, resting on straw, like they’d been placed there for me, were three eggs. I put them carefully in the basket, danced around a couple of chickens and followed Maggie. The other chicken house just had two eggs but I was pleased with my haul. As we left the hens I heard a thud. Like someone slamming a gate. Maggie saw me turn.

  ‘Ah, now, you’ll need to leave your eggs here if you don’t want them scrambled. It’s time to meet Colin.’

  Was this the part where it all went a bit horror movie? Did she have a husband locked up somewhere? Or perhaps it was the last person who had wandered by to help? Maybe I’d been reading too much.

  We neared the next field and she waved her arm like a royal courtier for me to go ahead. As I neared the gate, which appeared to be held together with string, a sheep with too many horns ran at it full pelt and hit it so hard I thought it was going to splinter into a thousand pieces. ‘Whoa!’ I leaped out of the way, stumbled and landed on my bum.

  Maggie laughed. I mean she laughed hard. Proper holding her sides belly laughs. I guess it was pretty funny. Eventually she pulled herself together. ‘Tom meet Colin. He’s a ram on loan but for some reason his farm isn’t in a rush to have him back.’

 

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