She felt the irresistible urge to let go.
‘What would we do?’ she asked him.
‘I don’t know.’ She saw the hope in his face. ‘We can decide that as we go along, I suppose. We could have a walk, or go for coffee. Have a day out somewhere.’
She sighed. If this was a book, an old tale, one of her favourites from the past, this was how it would end. All the stories she had spun in her head over all those years, they came to this, a resolution, romance achieved. It should have been enough.
She sighed again, more slowly, gathering her courage. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘That sounds nice. It really does… But I think Papa needs me.’
Gadiel examined the cover of one of the books to his side, running his finger loosely over the binding. ‘Not all the time, surely? Not every moment of every day? It might just be an hour or so, at first, if that’s what you want. We don’t need to do very much.’
‘You don’t understand.’
‘Ellie – please. Whatever it was that went on, whatever this Mr Quersley told you, you can’t let it ruin the rest of your life. You can’t feel guilty the whole time. Your father wouldn’t want that. He’d want you to be happy.’
‘But that’s the thing,’ she replied. ‘I am happy. For the first time, really.’
‘But stuck on your own here’ – he swept an arm around – ‘in this funny little hole full of books?’
She shrugged. ‘I’ll be busy.’
‘But I waited for you, all this time.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she replied. ‘I am sorry. But, really, it’s not been much time, has it? You’ve only been in Marlford a few weeks. It just seems longer. But it’s been nothing, a blink – that’s the astounding thing. And it’s not my fault. I never asked you to wait. I never gave you encouragement.’
‘But you did. I could always tell. I could always tell how you felt.’
She laughed. ‘Then you’re cleverer than I am.’
She felt the tide ebbing. It tugged at her still, but gently, allowing her to rest in its buoyancy. She held on now with little effort, the familiar pull in her arms a relief, of sorts.
‘Ellie, just think about it, that’s all I ask.’ His voice was tightening. ‘I can’t see you waste yourself here, hiding yourself away.’
‘I won’t hide. When the library is moved, I’ll have a great deal to do. Especially in Mr Quersley’s absence. I imagine it will take a great deal of my time for a while.’
‘But after that, Ellie? What will you do after that?’
His question sparked only a momentary jolt of alarm, barely visible. ‘I suppose I’ll have to wait and see.’
He came towards her slowly, until he was very close. ‘And that’s it?’
She smiled at him without reserve, her eyes bright now, stepping back so that she could look directly into his kind face.
‘I think that’s all I can do,’ she said.
Later, Ellie walked back to Victoria Street, to the groan of timbers and metal under strain, the creak of engines. She was forced to remain behind the barriers, watching from a distance with the rest of the villagers, but, through the crowd, she could see the corpse of the library rise above its familiar level, levitating above the grime. Progress was fractional and laboured. Several times there was a shout, and the winch was halted; for long periods there was no activity, the long, low platform lying bare, insinuating failure. When a plump man in tweeds came out of the door of the Assembly Rooms and paused on the steps, he attracted a great deal of attention but, after a minute or two, he simply walked away. There was a brief murmur of disapproval.
For a while, the work switched to the far end of the village, below the nymph, where preparations were being made for the library’s eventual arrival. Two men walked slowly across the cleared land with their eyes fixed to the even ground, moving deliberately, a few yards apart but in parallel, as though they might be searching for something. When they reached the boundary of the site they came together, satisfied, apparently having found nothing.
Ellie saw Gadiel perched on the back of a pick-up truck with one or two other young men, part of a small convoy. She kept her eyes on him for as long as she could, but her view was obstructed by the crowd; she caught sight of him only in fractured moments: the bounce of his head as they hit a bump in the road, his hand clutching at the tailgate, the dark sheen of his overalls. Only once or twice did his face become visible, thoughtful and preoccupied.
She saw her father, too, standing on the other side of the street, cut off from her by a cordon. She waved at him, and he doffed his hat in reply.
Standing behind the barrier, hemmed in, it did not seem possible that the ground could be shifting beneath them, the village inexorably vanishing. Ellie wondered at the stillness she felt.
The crane pulled away; the winching chains released, swinging free, and a lorry reversed, workmen ducking behind. Perched awkwardly on its platform, the emaciated library was outlandish now, a weird attraction; the spectators edged forwards to watch it being manoeuvred over the cobbles and to admire the novel view that opened up through the gap where the building had once stood: a curve of river, trees beyond; the chemical works from a different perspective, the permanence of the village loosened.
The lorry made careful progress down the street, travelling slowly past the bank and the greengrocer’s, negotiating the cracks and bumps and fissures. The driver leaned one arm nonchalantly from the cab window. Behind, the village settled back, re-imagined. From his post in front of the Assembly Rooms, Braithwaite Barton could not even see the library in its new position; it had escaped his gaze entirely.
With steady persistence, Ellie made her way through the gathered spectators until she was at the edge of the crowd. She paused and then turned down the row of cottages that dropped away from the nymph, following the pavement as it dipped towards the scrubland and the chemical works. She walked briskly, with confidence, barely hearing the sounds rattling behind her, hardly thinking about the library or what might become of it. It did not seem to matter very much.
It would be there for her, that was all, in its new place.
She walked for a long time, returning, in the end, to the mere. The water lay flat and unremarkable: mallards bobbed, their heads tucked away; seeds and water boatmen plucked the faintest of creases, disguising the depths below. Through the trees, in glimpses, the mansion was visible, but Ellie kept her eyes on the water. A frog croaked; the noise faded quickly. It was just one frog unexpectedly disturbed, calling out, unanswered, but it was confusing, nonetheless, and disorientating.
Ellie stood and waited, hoping that it would call again, but it remained quiet now, and she could not be sure that she had heard it at all. In the insistent silence, she was left with the sense of time ebbing and flowing around her with the pull of the slight waves, the sound even of her own breathing doubtful, insubstantial. She found she was left with the uncertainty of life, unimaginable.
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