The Library

by Bella Osborne

  ‘If you like.’ I don’t know why I was being all casual because it was a good idea and I did need to start thinking about it. I knew what was stopping me. ‘I need to get the grades in my GCSEs first or it’s a waste of time.’

  ‘You need to think positively, Tom. And if you’re worried looking up universities will jinx things then tell yourself you’re doing it for the library.’

  ‘Do you really think they’ll close down the library?’

  ‘I’m afraid they will if they get half a chance. It’s all about saving money short-term. Nobody looks to the future.’

  I liked talking to Maggie. I didn’t have to think first before I said something. With Dad it was easy to say the wrong thing and most of the time he didn’t listen anyway. With Farah I had to vet everything first in case I made myself look like an idiot. But not with Maggie.

  The jam roly-poly was awesome. I don’t think I’ve ever had it before. Not that I can remember anyway. It was basically rolled up cake with custard on and I chugged it down. Dad and I don’t usually do pudding unless there’s ice cream on offer at the supermarket – he used to buy us that for a treat sometimes. Not recently though.

  ‘You’re a great cook, Maggie.’ Dad said I was a bottomless pit but Maggie had filled me up. I felt loads better.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘It’s nice to have more than just me to cook for. Seems much less effort somehow. Never feels worth it for one person.’

  ‘Your son was lucky growing up here.’ It was a throwaway comment. A thought that popped into my head and straight out of my mouth but I knew the moment I’d said it that I’d said something wrong. Maggie went rigid like she’d walked into glass. She didn’t say anything so I did. ‘What’s his name?’

  There was something about her eyes that told me this was painful to discuss. I wondered why because she had his baby photo up in the other room so they couldn’t have fallen out.

  ‘River,’ she said, at last.

  I think I need to learn to control my automatic expressions. But it was hard not to react to a name like that. Poor kid. Poor bloke. ‘That’s a bit unusual.’ I was going for diplomatic but I think my grin betrayed me.

  ‘It was the Sixties.’

  ‘Right. The hippie thing,’ I said. Then corrected myself. ‘The flower thing.’

  She sighed as if drifting away. ‘It was a different time. A different me.’

  There was something about her expression that bothered me. ‘Does he visit much?’

  ‘He can’t,’ she said. Her eyes fixed on mine. I recognised her expression now. Like seeing my own face reflected back at me. The look in her eyes was loss. Shit, she’d also lost someone close to her. Now I got why she understood how I felt about stuff. She’d been through it too.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. It didn’t feel like enough. There should be better words than sorry for when someone has been wrenched from your life.

  She blinked and looked away. ‘It’s…’ She fell silent.

  I picked up the pudding bowls and stood up. I paused at her shoulder. ‘I’m here too if you ever need a hug.’ She looked up at me and smiled, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘Anytime,’ I said and took the dishes to the sink.

  26

  MAGGIE

  Maggie didn’t like deceiving Tom. He didn’t deserve it. But she wasn’t ready to tell anyone about her son. She doubted that she ever would be ready. It meant first facing her own demons and they were well buried with skyscrapers built upon them to ensure they could never rise. Although they did. Now like never before. All the things she did for Tom, all the care she showed him reminded her of what her son had missed out on. Of all the things she should have done. The more time she spent with Tom the more it was dwelling on her mind.

  Maggie made two packed lunches – one for Tom and one for her.

  ‘Here you go,’ she said handing him his as he picked up his schoolbag. He’d been quiet over breakfast and she knew why. ‘Good luck with your exam. It’s the first one today, isn’t it?’

  Tom looked a little choked up and he swallowed hard. ‘You remembered.’

  ‘Of course. Now stay calm and if your mind goes blank do some of the yoga breathing exercises we’ve been doing.’

  ‘Yeah, that won’t get me beaten up.’

  ‘I don’t mean in a yoga pose, just sitting at your desk.’

  He laughed and looked slightly less glum as he left.

  She stuck her lunch into a bag with a flask of tea, hung it over the handlebar and set off on the quad bike. She loved being busy. It gave her such a buzz to have multiple things that needed her attention. Much better than conjuring up tasks for the sake of it.

  Despite it being May it was a cloudy day with a keen wind whipping up the hill as she belted along the ridge. Since Tom had come into her life she’d been neglecting the woodland. It wasn’t huge but it was something she cared about and the habitat it provided for local wildlife was essential. Each year she did a bit to keep it under control as it had run wild for many years. She’d found out about woodland management and a while ago had drawn up a five-year plan. It had taken her a couple of days to produce it, which had been a welcome distraction in her life at the time.

  Bats, dormice and squirrels all made the woodland their home and many fungi and wildflowers thrived there. The deer and a number of birds were passing visitors who had a vested interest in it. There was a fascinating mix of trees, which puzzled Maggie. She loved the giant oaks that were dotted along the far edge as if they’d been planted as a border. There were other smaller oaks that had taken root naturally but too close to them and she was gradually felling them but it was hard work. There were clumps of elm, plenty of silver birch and a sprinkling of poplar, sycamore and hazel.

  Maggie thought she caught a glimpse of a fox. She stood up on the quad bike for a better look but didn’t slow it down by much. She didn’t spot the blown-down tree branch, until it was too late. She twisted the handlebars but still hit the branch and the tyre burst. The bike halted almost instantly but Maggie didn’t – the force propelling her off the bike at an odd angle. She landed badly on her left side, knocking the wind out of her.

  The quad bike tipped onto its side and slid majestically down the slope. Slowing to a stop at the bottom in a nettle patch. Maggie waited. Pain blossomed along her left side. She took a moment to assess specifically where it hurt. Her ankle and her ribs. She tried to push herself upright but a sharp pain stopped her. A quick look around reminded her she was about as far from the farmhouse as she could be and still be on her own land. She craned her neck. The woodland sat between her and Savage’s fields. The odds of him being in any of those within shouting distance were minuscule.

  Maggie puffed out a breath. ‘Bugger,’ she said.

  Injuring herself was a constant worry. Not the injury itself but the slow painful death that would likely follow because how long would it be before anyone missed her? Thank goodness Tom was staying with her. Although it was hours before he was due in from school.

  She tried to stand but it was too painful. Her ankle had swollen and couldn’t bear any weight. The pain in her side wouldn’t allow her to hop either. She looked about her. A cluster of hazels was nearby, offering a little shade, so she set about wriggling her way across the path towards them, taking time every now and then to stop and catch her breath. It took a while but she literally had all day. Once settled up against the trunk of the nearest hazel she made herself a fern bed to sit on in an attempt to save her backside from the damp woodland floor.

  She shouted for help a few times. Some birds halted their calls momentarily but when she was done shouting they resumed. A soft pitter-patter of rain on leaves told her she’d not picked the best day for incapacitating herself – although when was a good day for that? Maggie used her good leg and both hands to drag over small sticks and branches, which she fashioned into a pile to rest her ankle on, raising it slightly.

  Her lunch had gone down the slope with the quad bike, which w
as an inconvenience. There was little in the woodland this time of year that was edible. She watched the sun make its way across the sky as the hours drifted past her. It gave her time to think. And however hard she tried not to, her thoughts kept returning to her son, River. The memories were hazy, whittled away by time. And yet fleeting moments were concrete in her mind – him reaching for her, his giggle and those long eyelashes.

  The rain picked up its pace and the wind whistled along the ridge. Maggie moved her fern bed around to the other side of the tree to try to avoid the worst of it. When the shivering started she knew she was in trouble. Having come out in a thin shirt, because she was planning on working up a sweat, she was wet through and icy cold.

  From the position of the sun she knew time was creeping towards the evening and she began to worry. Perhaps Tom had gone to a friend’s after school? He’d talked about revising with Farah again but he’d seemed too shy to ask the girl. Maybe he’d plucked up the courage. Perhaps his father had come to the school and insisted he return home – that was a scenario she had played out in her mind a number of times. She tried again to get up but she feared the ankle was going to give way and she’d end up in a worse pickle. For now all she could do was wait.

  She was proud of herself for fashioning a leaf into a drinking vessel and managed to catch a thimble full of rainwater to drink. It didn’t help her thirst but it briefly took her mind off the shivering. Every couple of minutes she patted herself down to keep the circulation going and to try to keep herself warm. She called out a few more times but there was no reply.

  It was looking more and more likely that for whatever reason Tom wasn’t coming back. She needed to get inside. Maggie scolded herself for not trying to get to the farmhouse sooner. It was going to take an age and the light was fading. She could try crawling but her dodgy knee would complain too much instead she settled for shuffling on her bum. She reluctantly left her fern bed and began to make her way back to the path. The rain had reduced to an annoying drizzle and she was grateful for it. She got a rhythm going – moving her hands behind her, lifting herself up and then pushing back with her good foot. It took a huge effort to move a few inches at a time.

  She heard something on the breeze and she paused. Someone was calling. ‘Help!’ she hollered, but the pain in her side clipped her shout.

  ‘Maggie!’ Tom’s desperate voice reached her. Joy coursed through her and for a moment the shivering abated.

  ‘I’m here!’ she called.

  She heard his thumping feet pounding the ground behind her as he ran towards her. ‘Maggie!’

  She slapped a smile on her face. She didn’t want to worry him. Poor lad had been worried enough of late.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, like she were meeting him in a tea shop, as he skidded to a halt next to her. She must have looked a fright.

  ‘What the hell?’ His eyes scanned her from head to toe and then fixed on her puffed-up ankle. She’d never felt quite so old and frail and she loathed it.

  ‘Bloody quad bike tyre popped and it threw me off.’

  ‘Where’s the bike?’ He stood up and looked about. The bike was barely visible at the bottom of the slope. ‘Bloody hell! Did you fall down there?’

  ‘No. I jumped off before it toppled. Can you help me up? My bum’s gone numb.’

  He shook his head. ‘What hurts?’

  ‘Left ankle and ribs but…’ Before she could add anything else to the list Tom had crouched down and lifted her to her feet.

  ‘Whoa! Ow!’

  ‘You all right?’ he asked, keeping her upright as she found her balance.

  ‘Been better,’ she said, choked by the care he was showing her.

  ‘You’re frozen,’ said Tom. ‘Put your arm around my neck and it’ll be like the three-legged race.’

  They both started to laugh and it seemed to propel them back to the farmhouse. The laughter dulled the pain of each step and Tom took her mind off it by updating her on his day.

  Inside Maggie soon found herself wrapped in towels and hugging a mug of tea although the shivering hadn’t stopped. She was overwhelmed by Tom’s kindness. He’d got her settled, dug out some paracetamol, and now he was trying to get the fire going.

  ‘Don’t chuck the kindling in. Layer it up like that silly toppling-over game the kids play.’

  ‘Jenga?’

  ‘That’s the one. Like that but with some gaps in. Ball up some newspaper and scatter it around and about too.’

  ‘Yes, boss,’ he said, with a salute. She liked how he’d got cheeky with her. The shy boy was almost a thing of the past, at least in her company. ‘You sure you shouldn’t get someone to look at your ankle tonight?’

  ‘No we’ll know in the morning if it’s broken or not. The colour and the swelling will tell us that.’

  He shook his head at her. ‘You’re a wise old owl.’ He seemed to mutter it to himself as he arranged some logs on top of his Jenga masterpiece.

  ‘And when you’ve done that please can you bring me the chopping board, a knife and an onion?’ she asked. ‘I need to get dinner on.’

  ‘I reckon I can chop an onion. It can’t be that hard.’ Maggie gave him the look that said she knew better.

  27

  TOM

  Maggie isn’t a good patient. Patient being the key word – she has no patience with herself at all. It’s odd because she’s great with me. She takes her time to show me stuff and never loses her temper. But when it comes to herself she’s really mean. Her ankle is sprained but she’s treating it like it’s nothing. She winces every time she moves and I reckon she’s cracked a rib or two as well but she brushes it off when I mention it. She’s trying to carry on as normal but I won’t let her.

  I’ve been at Maggie’s for three weeks. I’ve learned how to iron jeans and T-shirts. It’s as dull as. But like Maggie says if I get a job in an office I’ll need to be able to iron my shirts so it’s a good life skill. I have the radio on while I do the ironing. Maggie’s never listened to Radio One she keeps going on about Radio Caroline and some pirate ship. When I get in from school she’s changed it to Radio Two. I tut and shake my head but some of the stuff they play is all right.

  She’s taught me how to make spaghetti Bolognese. She says it’s basic but it’s well nice. I think I’ll probably live on it when I go to university. As well as pizza – I’ll eat that too. Anything as long as it’s not fish fingers.

  *

  I was in the school library revising English on my own when a text beeped and made me jump. It was Dad.

  Hi, Are you in school today? Can we meet afterwards?

  I’d not heard from him since I’d said I hated him and walked out in tears. I was embarrassed about it now. I didn’t reply to his message. School finished ten minutes ago; he didn’t even know that. It made me cross just thinking about my dad. I tried to carry on revising for my English exam but I couldn’t concentrate because of Dad’s text. Eventually I gave up on The Tempest and packed my stuff up. I wandered out of school, keeping an eye out for Kemp. I’d not seen much of him. Someone said he’d been grounded for turning up late to an exam but I don’t know if that’s true. Maggie has shown me a few defensive judo moves but it’s tricky since she sprained her ankle and I don’t know enough to stop him kicking the crap out of me.

  I strolled out of the gates.

  ‘Tom?’ I turned to see Dad standing there. He looked worried, his shoulders hunched and his hands shoved in his trouser pockets.

  I thought about stropping off but I’d have had to walk back for the bus.

  ‘What do you want, Dad?’ I adjusted my bag on my shoulder.

  ‘I just wanted to talk… I’ve missed you. It’s quiet at home without you.’ His voice was subdued but not slurred, which was good.

  Was I meant to say I’d missed him too? Had I missed him? Kind of. Not as much as I should have though. I didn’t miss the stress or the constant worry of how I’d find him. I didn’t miss the bloody fish fingers.

&nb
sp; We looked at each other. I didn’t know what to say. ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘I’m getting some help… for the drinking.’ He didn’t look at me as he said it. He was talking to his trainers. ‘The doctor has signed me off work for a bit. I’ll still get paid.’ That was all he worried about. I shook my head. He faltered. ‘It’s not easy you know.’ His voice was back to normal. Making me feel this was somehow my fault.

  ‘I didn’t say it was. It’s not been easy for me either.’

  He held his hands up in surrender. ‘Sure.’ There was a long awkward pause. ‘I’m joining a group.’

  ‘Little Mix?’ I asked, surprised at my own attempt at humour in this situation.

  Dad didn’t seem to get it. ‘Dunno. I’ve not been along yet. It’s a local group for recovering alcoholics.’

  ‘Isn’t it a bit early for that?’ It hadn’t been long since there were three empty whisky bottles in the house. At what point did you stop being a drunk and start being a recovering one?

  ‘I’ve got a counsellor too.’

  ‘Great.’ I know I sounded sarcastic but Dad seemed to be acting like everything had changed and until I saw it for myself nothing had.

  ‘I told Mr Gill you were looking after your gran so he’s covering your paper round.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I briefly made eye contact.

  ‘Have you been all right with…’

  I waited to see if he’d fill in her name. I was insulted that he couldn’t remember. ‘Maggie. The seventy-two-year-old lady you almost knocked out!’ I was getting cross. I unclenched my fist and focused on my breathing.

  He seemed a little startled by my words. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t remember, son.’

  ‘I do.’ I was glaring so hard it made a muscle by my eye twitch.

  He rubbed his hand over his chin. He’d shaved. ‘She’s looking after you all right.’ It wasn’t a question; he was looking me over. I’d had my hair cut, my clothes were ironed and Maggie had taken the hem down on my school trousers.