The Library

by Bella Osborne

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ Her words were very precise. Savage carried on laughing as he meandered up the track. I’d have quite liked to make him eat grass.

  36

  MAGGIE

  Maggie wasn’t expecting to get a reply to the letter for ages yet so when she walked down to the front gate to collect the post she was bowled over to find a tell-tale brown envelope there. The sudden rush of excitement was short-lived as trepidation took over. She grasped the letter and stared at it. Was a quick reply good news or bad? She didn’t know. She felt hot and cold like she was coming down with flu and her pulse had quickened. This was ridiculous.

  A car turned into the driveway behind her. She folded the envelope carefully and popped it in her pocket.

  ‘Maggie. How’re the martial arts lessons going?’ said Savage with a chuckle.

  Maggie halted. ‘Fraser, I’m busy. I’m sure you are too. Is there anything you want other than to make feeble jokes?’

  He cleared his throat, suitably scolded. His face returned to its usual dour pose. ‘How are the dogs doing?’ he asked, leaning out of his mud-splattered Land Rover.

  ‘They’re all fine. Rusty’s a good mother.’ She slipped her hand into her jacket pocket to touch the envelope.

  ‘Grand. The last of the cades will be out in the field any day so I can have the dogs back whenever. Your call.’

  ‘Right. I’ll keep hold of them for a few more days if that’s okay. The pups are a bit more interesting now they’ve opened their eyes. And me laddo is rather fond.’

  ‘Fine by me,’ said Savage and his vehicle lurched off across the potholes.

  A lift would have been nice, thought Maggie as she set off back to the house. It was going to be a wrench for Tom to let the puppies go. It was a shame Savage was by nature offhand or she’d have suggested Tom could occasionally go up to his farm to see them, but she knew the gruff farmer wouldn’t be keen on that. The dogs had a purpose like everything on his farm – they either worked or made him money.

  *

  She put the kettle on and sat down at the kitchen table. Rusty came to check who it was, had a bit of a fuss and went back to the puppies. Maggie pulled the envelope out of her pocket and placed it reverently on the table. She wasn’t sure how long she sat and stared at it. Myriad thoughts tumbled over in her mind. Spikes of panic littered her worried brain.

  It was too much. She pushed the ominous envelope away and went to make herself a cup of tea. She stayed by the kettle to drink it and eyed the envelope from across the room. This was no good; she had to know. She grabbed a knife from the block, marched over to the table and in one slice she opened the envelope. Maggie pulled out the neatly folded white page inside and held her breath as she read it.

  *

  A trip to Leamington Spa on the tractor was probably an odd reaction, in hindsight, but she hadn’t exactly been thinking straight. The breeze and the bumpy ride took her mind off the contents of the letter. It was all a bit overwhelming so it was best pushed to the back of her mind for now and she’d work out how to deal with it later. She needed to get the other tyre repaired for the quad, which was a good excuse to get out, and Tom could do with a few more things. Leamington Spa was her option of choice.

  She dropped off the quad bike tyre, paid and collected the trailer tyre and ignored the jokes about having a season ticket. The tractor trundled into the town centre and she parked in the same place as her last visit, and went in search of the charity shops. It filled an hour and although she hadn’t got as many logo-clad things for Tom as last time she was pleased with what she had found. It was always a bit of a lucky dip. She’d also got him some stuff he could wear around the farm and not bother about ruining. She splashed out on a new pair of wellingtons for him too. Her late husband’s were too small. She’d seen him wince when he’d put them on the other day. Tom had really taken to life at the farm and worked hard. Giving him the right equipment was the least she could do.

  The thought of Tom calmed her. But the sensation was fleeting. Should she tell Tom about the letter? But what to tell him? Without knowing it, Tom had taught her so much. He’d been the trigger that had made her write in the first place. He was a good lad. It was a shame his father didn’t appreciate him. Didn’t enjoy him as he should but how many parents were exactly the same? Too busy with their day-to-day lives to realise the most precious times would soon be a distant memory. Children were a gift but a transitory one. Mess things up and they were gone. Even if you did your job right you’d lose them in the end. Not quite so permanently but surely the measure of successful parenting was independent, happy offspring? Maggie figured either way the outcome was the same.

  She checked the time. She needed to be heading back. Thankfully there was no traffic warden this time – only a few smartly dressed people shaking their heads at her tractor. She got in, waved theatrically at the bystanders and set off for home.

  *

  When Maggie walked in the kitchen she froze. Tom was standing by the table with the letter in his hands. For a moment she couldn’t breathe. The look on his face was one of hatred and it cut through her.

  ‘Tom…’ Her voice didn’t sound like her own. It sounded old and tired.

  Tom’s jaw was clenched. He narrowed his eyes. ‘You lied to me. You lied. After everything…’

  ‘Not exactly…’ As soon as she’d said it she knew it was a pathetic response.

  ‘You let me believe River was dead. But he’s not. Is he? He’s alive; he just doesn’t want anything to do with you.’ Maggie swallowed but couldn’t muster a response. ‘And why not?’ He was almost shouting. He shook the letter. ‘Because you’re an alcoholic!’ He was shaking his head.

  She’d known she should have told Tom about her past but there had never been a good time. She’d seen his loathing and disgust for his father and she couldn’t bear the thought of him lumping her in the same boat as him.

  ‘I’m so very sorry.’ She’d never been more sorry, except for the day she let them take River away.

  ‘No wonder you knew what to do with Dad. That was you!’ He looked horrified at his own words.

  ‘It was a long time ago, Tom. And I’m proof that you can move on. Be a better person.’

  ‘A better person?’ he scoffed. ‘I thought you knew what it was like to lose someone. I’d lost Mum and you’d lost your son. That’s what you made me believe…’ His voice cracked.

  ‘I do know what it’s like. My husband died and I did lose my son. He was five months old when social services took him away.’

  ‘Because you were an unfit mother.’ He shook the letter again. ‘You gave him up for adoption. How could you do that?’

  ‘I had no choice, Tom. It was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. At the time I truly believed it was the best thing for River.’

  Tom threw his hands up, his face full of rage. ‘Best for you more like. It’s never going to be good to grow up without your mum. Never…’ The temper seemed to diminish for a moment. ‘I know.’ He lowered his head, like the fight had gone out of him.

  Rusty came through to see what the commotion was about and Tom sank to his knees to hug her. Maggie didn’t need to see his tears to know they were there. It ripped at her heart to know she was breaking his. It was the most painful thing to witness. And worse still to know she’d caused it. Rusty rested her muzzle on his shoulder as if sensing his distress and trying to comfort him.

  ‘Tom. Sit down. I’ll put the kettle on.’

  ‘No!’ He lurched to his feet, his resentment almost palpable as he roughly wiped his sleeve across his tear-stained face. ‘Tea won’t solve this.’ He slammed down the crumpled letter. ‘I’m leaving.’

  ‘Tom. Don’t be hasty. Please.’

  ‘I can’t stay here.’ He took the stairs two at a time. There was banging in the room above as he opened and closed drawers, each slam fuelled by his anger. Anger he was entitled to. She regretted not putting him straight when he’d assumed River was dead b
ut she had somehow hoped there would be a right time to tell him what had happened. Now more than ever she realised he was just a boy. A lost child in a harsh world of continual change.

  He thundered down the stairs and began his assault on the hallway. Maggie wandered through but kept her distance.

  ‘Tom. Please can we talk? Find a way to fix things?’

  ‘Nothing can fix this. You’re not who I thought you were. I don’t know you at all.’ He lugged his schoolbag onto his shoulder while juggling two other bags and a box. ‘You can bin the other stuff. It’s only what you bought anyway.’ With a slam of the front door he was gone.

  37

  TOM

  By the time I’d got to the driveway I was a mess. Tears and snot everywhere. I slumped against the old gate and sobbed like a baby. I couldn’t stop it and I didn’t want to. It felt like it had to come out or I’d explode. I was grateful that Furrow’s Cross was pretty deserted most of the time so there was nobody about to see me have a meltdown. Eventually the tears stopped and I rested my pounding head against the gate behind me.

  How the hell could Maggie have deceived me like that? The one person I thought I could trust and rely on had massively let me down just like everyone else. All this time I’d admired her so much but she’d been lying to me all along. Maybe not the blatant sort of lies made to deceive but the effect had been the same – she wasn’t who I thought she was. Maggie wasn’t the rational caring old lady I’d believed her to be; she was an ex-alcoholic who’d given up her son.

  There was literally no one I could depend on. Maybe nobody was who they seemed. Apart from the animals. Rusty was beautiful inside and out; she was caring and loyal. Colin was literally the devil in sheep’s clothing. But you knew where you were with animals – they weren’t suddenly going to surprise you and tip your world upside down. They didn’t pretend to be something they weren’t and because of that they didn’t let you down. Unlike people who did it all the time.

  A few spots of rain landed on my jeans. Dark blue blotches bled across the fabric. I looked at my stuff on the ground beside me. I’d been hasty. Where the hell was I going to go and how on earth was I going to take all this with me? It was Friday night and I was running out of options.

  I checked my pockets. I had enough money to get the bus into Dunchurch. I could walk home from there – it was only a couple more stops. I turned the coins over in my hand. Maggie had given me that money. She’d given me a lot. Why couldn’t she be exactly as I’d believed? I sniffed back more tears. I really did need to man up. I was getting pissed off with all the crying.

  I lugged my stuff down the driveway and across the road to wait for the bus. It felt as if everything had gone from being beyond brilliant to turning to crap super fast, like someone had flicked a switch. I had no choice but to go back to Dad’s. I didn’t want to. I looked longingly up the driveway in the hope Maggie would come marching down and persuade me to come back but she didn’t. I’d probably outstayed my welcome anyway – not that she’d ever said. But she hadn’t signed up for a full-time freeloader. I knew I was costing her money she didn’t have. Maybe this was for the best for everyone. The bus came into view and I let out a sigh. My life was back to being crap again.

  *

  Things took another turn as I got off the bus. I was rearranging my stuff to make it easier to carry when someone whacked me in the back. I stumbled forwards, dropped the box but kept my balance. I think my core muscles are getting stronger. I twisted to see Kemp standing there laughing.

  ‘You living rough now, Harris? You gyppo.’ He snorted at his own joke and his minion Kyle Fletcher joined in. To be fair it was probably how I looked, carrying all my stuff about.

  ‘Piss off, Kemp.’

  ‘You gonna make me, hard man?’

  I puffed out a breath. I was not in the mood for this. The crying had zapped all my energy and I felt shit. ‘Nope. I’m going home.’

  ‘Which doorway’s that then?’ He sniggered.

  ‘Hilarious. You should do stand-up.’ I started to walk away but he grabbed one of my bags from under my arm.

  I knew I should fight back but I couldn’t be arsed. ‘Take it. It’s dirty clothes.’

  ‘Eurgh!’ said Kemp chucking the bag at Fletcher who dodged it neatly and we all watched the clothes tumble out onto the pavement. Fletcher stamped on them, grinning at me the whole time.

  ‘Pick ’em up, Harris,’ said Kemp, squaring up to me.

  ‘Nope. Keep ’em.’

  ‘I. Said. Pick ’em up,’ he growled in my face as he thumped my shoulder with each word. I grabbed his wrist and turned my body, like Maggie had taught me, but Fletcher shoved me and I wasn’t strong enough to take them both on. They both started to whack me over the top of the head. We scrapped for a few moments until I heard someone shout and come running. ‘Leg it!’ yelled Kemp, giving me one final shove before he ran off.

  It was utter shit to be back.

  *

  At least Dad was pleased to see me. I felt a bit bad letting him believe I’d come home because I wanted to but it seemed to make him happy, which was something. He’d gabbled on a lot about what he would have done if he’d known I was coming home today and slapped me on the shoulder, which I think was his best attempt at affection. It was beyond odd to be back in the house.

  Dad made a big point of telling me he was still off the drink and that he’d restructured his borrowing, whatever that means, and now if he was careful we could keep the house and manage on his income. He can’t afford to get the car repaired so it’s gone for scrap and he’s been using my bike instead. I nodded here and there and that seemed to please him.

  My bedroom looked the same as before except it had a clean duvet cover and clean sheets on – I couldn’t remember the last time they’d been changed. Maggie changed hers every other week. She dried them on the line at the side of the farmhouse and it made them smell different – like the outdoors had sneaked in. This bedroom smells different but not in a good way. I removed my Call of Duty posters from the wall, I’d moved on from all that, and took them downstairs to put in the recycling.

  Dad had gone out. I checked the fridge. No beer – that was something. There was a pasty, some cheese, milk and a new tub of margarine. The freezer contained four pizzas and lots of fish fingers. I looked in the cupboard. There were cereals, a couple of tins of curried chicken and an open bag of rice. Also some soup and lots of tins of beans. I sighed at the sight of the beans. No, correction, two of them were beans and sausages – it looked like Dad had been getting adventurous in my absence. I settled on pizza as being the best option.

  While the oven heated up I got out some cutlery and laid the table, like I used to do at Maggie’s. This table was way smaller but it would do the job. Maggie does things properly and eating on your lap is lazy.

  I heard the front door open and Dad came in carrying a white paper bag, which he held up like a prize. ‘I thought we’d have a treat. Fish and chips.’

  He looked at the laid table. ‘It’s all right; we can eat them on our laps in front of the TV,’ he said. ‘I can’t get over Maggie not having a telly.’ He chuckled to himself.

  I picked up the cutlery and went through to the living room. I had missed the TV. Especially when I’d first moved in to Maggie’s but I’d quickly got used to not having one. Our evenings of reading, chatting and watching the puppies had become my normal.

  Dad joined me and passed me my plate, which had a large piece of battered cod, with a lump of twisted chips on it – not a vegetable in sight.

  ‘I bet you’ve missed this eh? Being out in the sticks. No telly. No shops.’ He stuffed a chip in his mouth and made a murmur of pleasure. ‘You can’t beat proper chips.’ He looked at me and paused. ‘Well, get stuck in, Tom.’

  I looked at my plate. The smell of grease was overpowering. ‘At Maggie’s we cooked fresh every day. Usually stuff she’d grown.’

  ‘Right.’ He looked deflated but only for a moment.
‘Not fish and chips with your old dad, though is it?’ He gave me a nudge and a wink.

  ‘No. No, it’s not.’ I smiled at him. I knew this was him making an effort. But it was a bit depressing that this was his idea of living it up – having enough money left over to have fish and chips once a week.

  *

  Dad was back at work and he asked me if I was going out like he always used to do. It was as if I’d never been away – that was until the door shut and the house was silent. I sat on the stairs for a bit just thinking. I was alone. I guess I’ve been alone a lot since Mum died. I must have got used to it without even realising. Somehow being at Maggie’s I’ve got un-used to it because now it didn’t feel right. It felt completely alien.

  Maybe it was the silence. But Maggie’s had been quiet. I went and put the TV on and had a flick round the channels. The Big Bang Theory was on. I watched it for a bit wondering if Farah was watching it too. The key characters are Leonard, Sheldon and Penny. An image of the puppies popped into my mind. I really missed them. I missed the other animals too. But most of all I missed Maggie.

  *

  I read Outlander into the early hours, trying to get my mind to switch off. It kept replaying the argument with Maggie. I could see the letter and feel the anguish. I must have fallen asleep eventually. When I woke up the book was on my pillow and I’d had a massive lie-in. I hadn’t done that for weeks. The birds usually woke me up and if they didn’t, I’d hear the lambs and that would.

  I listened and all I could hear was the odd car going past, and Dad in the shower. This was my new routine – or more accurately, I was back to the old one. I could do what I liked. No animals demanding attention. No fencing to fix. No yoga. No martial arts training. No puppy duties. No Maggie. Not much of anything at all. Dad dropped something in the shower and swore. It was time for me to get up.