The Library

by Bella Osborne

Dad was bouncing around the kitchen like Tigger on Red Bull. It was all a bit much.

  ‘I got you some peanut butter. I know you like it,’ said Dad, getting the jar from the cupboard and presenting it to me like I’d won a Brit Award.

  I took the jar and studied the label. ‘It’s got palm oil in it.’

  ‘Is that good?’ he asked, leaning over my shoulder.

  ‘Seriously? Don’t you know how bad that is for the planet?’

  ‘I thought you liked peanut butter. A thank you might be nice. Jeez.’ The toast popped up and he passed me a slice. He was trying, I knew that, but right now it wasn’t enough.

  38

  MAGGIE

  Maggie was in a daze after the letter, the row with Tom and his subsequent departure. It was like having her heart broken twice over. Emotion had drained her of energy. She slumped into the chair at the kitchen table and reread the letter. Social services had pulled no punches. River had provided a response by email and it was detailed in the letter – I do not wish to have any contact, now or in the future, with this woman. As an alcoholic and unfit mother she has no place in my life.

  It was hard to read but not unexpected. He had never tried to contact her. He’d had over fifty years to get in touch so the fact that he hadn’t bothered spoke volumes. Perhaps she should have considered this before and left well alone. But, she reasoned, at least now she knew for certain. There would be no more imagined possibilities or fanciful musings. She knew there was no point in hoping, no point in wondering “what if?” All those questions had been answered. Sadly in the answering they had also destroyed the relationship she had managed to cultivate with Tom.

  Maggie folded up the letter neatly and returned it to its brown envelope and placed it on the table in front of her. Silent tears blotted its surface. She wasn’t sure if they were for River or Tom. The two had become inextricably linked for her. Without the connection she’d had with Tom she would likely never have had the renewed yearning to contact River. Had she thought for a moment that it could mean losing Tom she would have thought more carefully about it although deep down she knew she would still have gone ahead. She had foolishly not considered the impact on her relationship with Tom – she thought he’d be someone who would stay in her life. Not always living at the farm but she had hoped he would at least be part of her life in some small way even after he returned home, which she had always known he eventually would have to do. But that assumption had been wrong.

  She replayed the scene in her head over and over – she could see and hear it vividly. It would take a long while to fade. If only she’d put the letter away before she’d rushed off. But having read it she had needed to get out and get out fast. It had been as if she had to distance herself from the truth. To clear her head and refill it with things that weren’t River-related and in her rush to do so she had simply left it on the kitchen table.

  The look of pain on Tom’s face haunted her. He was the very last person she wanted to hurt. She hated that he’d assumed her son was dead but it had been much easier than to explain why River had been taken into care. She’d fought to keep her baby but at the time she was in no fit state to have parented him properly. It genuinely was his best option – hindsight had reassured her of that.

  Maggie had been nineteen and living in a commune. Her alcohol and weed habits were nothing out of the ordinary and completely in step with those around her. It had been an exciting time of new opportunities and cultural revolution and Maggie had been carried along by it. Free love gave her the gift of a baby but she quickly learned that without an identifiable father and a steady income it was going to be a lot harder than she’d imagined. The rich kids of the commune got bored and moved out, taking their income with them, and Maggie got a job fruit picking. It was hard work and with a baby that didn’t feed well and rarely slept she was at her wits’ end.

  It was many years later that she realised it must have been her pot habit and the alcohol affecting River. Sadly the worse he became the more she smoked and drank and the vicious circle had continued. Eventually social services came knocking and the baby was taken into care. The next few months were a blur of binges and arguments as she fought against the establishment, which ultimately won. Out of viable options she signed River over for adoption.

  The months that followed were her darkest. Lost days. A pain so real it was as if she’d been cut open. Nothing took the edge off. The commune buildings were condemned and she found herself alone with nothing for comfort but cheap booze. A stomach pump and a stay in hospital had introduced her to an alcoholics’ support group and she started a long and bumpy road to recovery. Staying in a woman’s hostel she spent her days in the library and there she found solace. There were friends on the pages of the books. Their worlds whisked her away from the one she couldn’t face. But by now what real life had taught her was that if she let people get close, she got hurt and after River she didn’t feel that she deserved to feel love again on any level. She had set up robust barriers around her broken heart, promising herself she’d not let herself get hurt that way again, and moved forward.

  She’d been inching through life ever since. Choosing men for their liquid assets rather than love. Her need for security stemming from the time she had nothing and nobody and the fear of ending up back in that dark place. She’d been lucky in her choices as her husband had been kind and amenable and while theirs hadn’t been an epic love story she had cared for him deeply.

  It had been him who had helped her stay off the alcohol permanently. He’d made her see it had to be completely erased from her life otherwise it would always be there waiting to tempt her when she hit a low point. He had been the calm to her storm. Someone she had expected to grow old with. But that wasn’t to be. She saw losing her husband as Karma seeking balance. And yet something had brought Tom into her life and things had changed for a short period but now she was, once again, alone.

  A whimper from the puppies brought her back to the present. She’d take them and Rusty back tonight. No need to keep them any longer with Tom gone. Savage would be looking to sell them as soon as he could. She just had one thing she needed to do first.

  Maggie spent longer in the loft than she’d planned. Easily distracted by the past, she had lost most of the evening to old photographs and memories. But her search had been fruitful. She took the precious items downstairs, along with some tissue paper and a large envelope.

  She laid out the tissue paper and carefully placed the items on it – River’s baby booties, a silver spoon and a crocheted rabbit toy. The toy hadn’t been his favourite. He’d taken that one with him; it had been the only thing that was permitted. She’d kept these things but rarely got them out because it was too upsetting to be reacquainted with what she’d lost. She popped in the few snapshots she had of him too and neatly wrapped up the parcel. She had her photograph in the frame that had pride of place in her sitting room and that was all she needed.

  It seemed the right thing to do to send them to River now. She’d hoped one day to be able to sit down with him and share them and their stories but that was never going to happen. This was now the best solution. She took out a pen and paper and wrote the last letter she would ever send him. This time, unlike before, it was easy to write. This was goodbye. She’d been waiting to say this for such a long time and now that she could it was something of a release.

  Over the years she’d often wondered about River’s life and had frequently wished many things for him. Now she wished just one thing – that he was happy.

  *

  Maggie didn’t go to the library on Saturday. Her day started like so many had. She took her cup of tea outside, sat on the bench and listened to the birds. She’d taken Rusty and her puppies home last night. Savage had thanked her and Mac had been overjoyed to have his partner in crime back although he was less than sure about the puppies who were overexcited at the change of scenery. Providence Farm was quiet without them. It was quieter still without Tom. She’d ha
ve to get used to that.

  Maggie fed and watered all the animals but when she got to the lambs she felt a pang in her heart. One of the small males had been mauled in the night. It could have been a fox or a dog. A pretty brazen one too. The ewes must have seen it off or the lamb would be gone. He was lying down with his head bent low and his neck and back bloodied.

  Maggie approached him cautiously. ‘Hey there…’ What was his name? She couldn’t remember what Tom had called him. They’d all been given elaborate names from some book he’d read but she couldn’t recall what this little chap was called. ‘Right. Well, I’m afraid we’ll have to contact deed poll because I’m changing your name to Tom.’

  The lamb looked up and bleated but it was weak. Barbara wandered over but didn’t intervene when Maggie scooped the lamb into her arms. ‘I’ll do what I can for him,’ she promised Barbara and the sheep gave her a fixed expression while the other lambs frolicked about her like they were wired to the mains.

  After a short ride on the quad bike Maggie gave the lamb a quick check over and washed him in warm water in the sink to establish how badly he was injured. Nothing broken, thankfully, but a number of puncture wounds around his neck and back. She dried him off, sprayed the cuts with antibacterial spray and gave him a quick squirt of the vitamin complex she gave newborn lambs. It wouldn’t do him any harm and hopefully would give him a little boost.

  Maggie popped an old tea towel in the bottom of the laundry basket and gently lifted him inside. He didn’t object but nor did he settle down. He stood there with his head hanging forlornly. She had formula left over from when she’d had a couple of cade lambs the previous year so she made up a bottle and settled down to give the little lamb a feed.

  He soon latched on and guzzled it down. He was weak from the attack and he’d likely not eaten for a few hours either. Now that he had a full tummy she settled him back in the basket, put the oven on low with the door open and the basket set down in front. She needed to make sure he was properly dried out and warm. The last thing he needed was to catch hypothermia. If Tom had been there he would have made some joke about slow-roasted lamb and it upset her to think of it.

  She was washing her hands when the phone rang. She hesitated for a moment but then answered. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Maggie, it’s Christine. Has something happened?’

  ‘Ah, no. I wasn’t feeling quite myself this morning. I thought I’d give book club a miss. That’s all,’ said Maggie.

  ‘But we were going to have a Save the Library meeting and it’s not just you. Tom and Farah are missing as well. There’s only me and Betty and she’s got a hair appointment at two.’ Maggie heard Betty whisper ‘ten past two’ in the background.

  ‘Right. Well, I don’t know about Tom and Farah but I’m sorry I couldn’t make it today. Hopefully next week.’

  ‘Hopefully?’ Christine’s voice sounded strained.

  Maggie let out a sigh. She knew she was letting Christine down but she had more important things on her mind than the library. ‘I’ll be sure to let you know if I won’t be there, all right?’

  There was a moment’s silence. Christine lowered her voice. ‘I didn’t get an interview for that other job, the administration assistant.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ And she was sorry but she couldn’t solve everyone’s problems for them. It turned out she couldn’t even solve her own.

  39

  TOM

  I’d made it through most of my exams and I’d surprised myself with how hard I’d worked. I’d got in a bit of a revision habit at Maggie’s, which had been easy to carry on at home. Dad seemed puzzled by me revising loads but there wasn’t a lot else to do on my own when he was out at work. There was the TV but I’d got picky with it since living away. I did watch it but only stuff I was really into. Before it was on all the time and I watched it constantly if I wasn’t playing on my Xbox but not anymore. Apart from when Dad was home when it was on permanently. It was like he couldn’t cope with silence.

  We’d quickly slipped back into our routine but it was no longer a comfortable existence for me. Even when he was home we rarely spoke. There was stuff we should have probably talked about but we didn’t. Everything that had happened before was a minefield that neither of us knew how to negotiate without someone blowing up and doing further damage so instead we didn’t talk about it.

  To be fair he did try to strike up conversations occasionally about his job and football but it’s difficult to chat about stuff you’re not interested in. I tried to talk to him about books but he looked like he’d fallen asleep with his eyes open. There was less time for us to speak anyway because he was home even less. He was out for a bit on a Saturday seeing his counsellor and again on a Monday evening at what he called “his group”. We both knew it was Alcoholics Anonymous but I guess he was embarrassed to call it that.

  I don’t speak to anyone much at school either. Today I was alone in the school library and Farah walked in. She paused for a second and we both looked at each other. I don’t know if I was meant to say something – maybe apologise again, I don’t know – but she turned around and left. I don’t think she knows I’ve moved back to Compton Mallow but as we’re not talking I can’t tell her. And what would be the point? She’s not going to invite me round for pizza with salad and coleslaw ever again. I saw her talking to Kemp later. I wish I could lip-read. That would be an awesome skill. He seemed happy but she kind of didn’t or I might have imagined that to make myself feel better.

  When I came in from school Dad came downstairs and started making coffee. ‘Pizza for tea?’ he asked.

  ‘Okay.’ This was about the level of our discussions. A thought struck me. ‘We could have coleslaw and salad with it.’

  Dad looked up and grinned at me. ‘Coleslaw?’

  ‘Yeah. I like it. It goes really well with pizza. And we don’t eat enough veg.’ I actually missed the vegetables at Maggie’s. I never thought I would but I do. It’s a bit like I’m craving them.

  He was shaking his head. ‘Posh rubbish. You’ll be eating olives and hummus next.’ He laughed at his own joke.

  ‘Maggie makes her own hummus. It’s dead nice with carrots.’

  ‘Right.’ He gave me a weird look, like he didn’t know if I was serious or not.

  ‘Did you know carrots come in different colours other than orange?’ It had blown me away when I’d seen all the different colours Maggie grew.

  He blinked a couple of times. ‘What like blue?’

  He was taking the piss. ‘No. Purple, yellow, white and a pinky red. They taste the same.’

  He screwed his nose up. ‘Never liked carrots much anyway, I can’t imagine dyed ones taste any better.’

  I opened my mouth to explain but he was stirring his coffee and it wasn’t worth the effort. I missed having someone I could properly talk to.

  *

  After he’d gone to work I switched off the TV, pulled the curtains closed in the living room, moved the table out of the way and pushed back the sofa to make myself some space. I sat on the floor with my legs crossed, which seemed easy now. I liked doing yoga but I knew Dad would rip it out of me if he knew. He scoffed every time he saw me with a book so I figured the yoga would have tipped him over the edge. He was set in his ways and stuff like this would have weirded him out. I found it calming and after a day of full-on exam stress I needed to “chill out” as Maggie would have put it.

  I did a few of the easier positions to warm up and concentrated on my breathing. Maggie and I had a bit of a practised routine. I hadn’t realised it at the time but doing yoga and talking about stuff at school made me relax. I don’t feel relaxed here. I can’t remember if I ever did. I did the plank for a long count until my arms started to shake. Maybe I could push myself a bit. Before I considered the pose I checked where I was in relation to the TV. If I fell on that and broke it Dad would have a blue hairy fit. The TV was his life.

  I took my time to place my hands in the right posit
ion and feel where my weight was. I pushed myself up into a headstand. There was a brief wobble but I tightened my stomach muscles and it worked. I was stable. I was chuffed that I’d done it unaided and was holding the position. I let my mind drift.

  The front door swung open and banged into the wall. ‘Forgot my bloody pass card,’ said Dad, looming in the doorway. For a millisecond I thought how odd he looked upside down. Then I realised the situation, lost concentration and toppled to the carpet in a semi-controlled way. ‘What the hell?’ said Dad.

  I scrambled to my feet, embarrassment threatening to swallow me up. ‘I… I… yoga.’ Was all I could manage. I felt like a total idiot.

  Dad looked embarrassed and shocked in equal measure. He waved his work key card at me and looked away. ‘Right. I’d best get off.’

  ‘Yeah. Bye.’

  ‘Bye.’

  I hoped this would be something else we’d never talk about.

  *

  I was having some toast for breakfast and a last-minute cram for my maths exam when Dad came in from work. He put his head around the kitchen door. ‘Great, you’re still here.’ He pulled a tub of ice cream out of his jacket pocket and put it on the table in front of me. Salted Caramel Latte. Not my first choice but ice cream was ice cream. ‘It’s got no palm oil in it. I checked.’

  ‘Ta,’ I said.

  ‘We’re celebrating.’ He clapped his hands together.

  And I’d thought he was oblivious to my exams but apparently not. ‘My last exam is next Friday,’ I said, hoping we didn’t have to wait until then to eat the ice cream.

  ‘Right. Do you want to know what we’re celebrating then?’

  ‘Apparently not my exams.’

  ‘Oh, yeah. That too. But something else…’ I looked at him blankly for a moment and then gave up. I needed to get to school. ‘I’ve got you an interview.’

  I’d just put the last of my toast in my mouth, which was good because it stopped me from swearing. ‘Is this the apprenticeship thing again?’ I asked trying hard not to spit toast everywhere and stay calm.