Overdue Item

by Peter Menadue

  Even worse, her job was low-paid, low-prestige and boring as hell. She used to love books. Now they were items she checked in and out, shelved and argued about with patrons. She had started to loath them.

  Her mother liked to say: "Magic happens every day - we just don't notice." Julia half-believed that until she started working at the Bradfield Public Library. No miracle had ever, or would ever, occur within its walls. It was an enchantment-free zone.

  Of course, she'd have felt better about life if she had a boyfriend. But there was more chance of Dan Brown getting the Nobel Prize than her finding Mr Almost Right while working as a librarian at a local library. Her male colleagues were genetic tailings who belonged in bell towers; most of the male patrons were elderly gents who were either unemployed or retired - which was why they borrowed books rather than bought them - but still thought they were God's gift to women.

  Out of desperation, she recently attended a speed-dating event in a local pub, and met lots of socially awkward, bitter and creepy guys. The event wasn't speedy enough.

  When Julia walked home from the library on the day the old vagrant died, she window-shopped at a few fashion boutiques and drank a cup of coffee in a cafe.

  At home, she was cooking a mushroom risotto when her father returned from work. Fred Schmidt was tall and balding, with a sorrowful countenance, diffident manner and slow way of talking. People were surprised to learn he had memorised all of the city's train timetables and could finish the Herald's cryptic crossword in less than ten minutes.

  Julia loved her father - he was a sweet man - but was tired of living with him. She needed more space and desperately wanted to move out. However, unfortunately, Bradfield was an expensive suburb and she didn't have the guts to tell him she was going.

  She knew her father was surreptitiously doing some internet dating. Maybe, if she was lucky, he'd find the right woman and she'd have a good excuse to leave. However, she wasn't holding her breath.

  Her father wandered into the small kitchen and leaned back against the bench-top.

  She said: "How was your day?"

  "Oh, the usual rubbish. They want to install a new computer system before they get the present one to work. I've warned them it's stupid, and they just won't listen."

  She listened with a quarter-ear while he complained about a work-mate called Geoff who supported the change. She'd now worked out there were two "Geoffs" in his office - one an enemy and one an occasional ally - but she had no idea which one he was referring to.

  For most of his life, her father had seemed quite content with his job. Now he was getting increasingly frustrated, not because of thwarted ambition, but because nobody was interested in doing a good job. She was amazed it had taken him so long to realise that.

  Finally, he sighed. "How was your day?"

  She dropped some mushrooms into the saucepan. "Oh, just a dead body in the library."

  "A dead body? You serious?"

  "Of course."

  "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

  "Someone was gassing on about computers."

  "Oh, sorry - so what happened?"

  She described how the little boy discovered the dead body and the police and ambulance services turned up.

  "Hope the kid is alright."

  "He seemed to handle it a lot better than the adults."

  "You're OK?"

  "Of course."

  "Did you know him well?"

  "Whenever I tried to talk to him, he told me to 'ferk off'."

  Over dinner, her father reminisced about the great times he had with her mother and dropped hints about how lonely he was. Julia had loved her mum. But she wished her father wouldn't pretend her mum was so perfect, because she wasn't.

  After dinner, he went into the small study to played video-games on the computer and she watched the TV news.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Bradfield Public Library occupied an imposing late-nineteenth century building - once the town hall - on the main street, at the highest point of the suburb.

  To enter, patrons passed under an alcove and through two large oak-panelled doors. They then found themselves in a big circular reading room with a skylight embedded in a wrought-iron ceiling. Bookshelves filled the centre. Spread around them were caravels, reading desks, couches and armchairs. Dotting the curved walls were doors to the head librarian's office, a kitchen, a staff workroom and a computer room; there were also several short corridors leading to rooms holding collections. The municipal council was heavily in debt and kept slashing its library budget, so the furnishings were tired, and the books old and frayed.

  Julia usually started work at 8.30 a.m., half an hour before the library opened. The morning after the old guy died, she was on time and used a key to slip through the front doors. The central reading room was quite gloomy, except where thin morning light slipped between the curtains. There was a bar of light under the door of Bronwyn's office. She usually arrived early, as if she had a lot of work to do, and then did nothing all day.

  Julia tapped on the door and gently pushed it open. Bronwyn was at her desk, using a compact to apply foundation. Despite her handsome features, she had reached the age when cosmetics were her ally. Lack-of-character lines would soon criss-cross her face and turn it into a war mask, unless she destroyed the village to save the village with Botox.

  Julia knew little about her personal life, except that she wasn't married, had no kids and was having an affair with a wealthy solicitor who - to her annoyance - would not leave his wife and kids.

  She was the Head Librarian because she claimed that touching books made her sick. Soon after she started working at the library, ten years ago, she succumbed to numerous maladies which her doctor blamed on handling germ-coated library books. He recommended she have no further contact with them.

  The municipal council took the understandable position that a librarian must handle books and terminated her services. She sued the Council in an administrative tribunal, alleging discrimination against her because of her weak auto-immune system. The tribunal ordered that she be reinstated and the Council find her a job in the library "suitable" for someone allergic to books. The position of Head Librarian, which was mainly administrative, had become vacant and the Council was forced to overlook several far more able candidates and give it to her.

  Because she wouldn't touch books, and delegated many administrative tasks to Julia, she spent endless hours in her office surfing the net or phone-gossiping with pals. Despite saying her door was always open if anyone needed help, she usually growled when her time-wasting was interrupted.

  At first, Julia found her laziness rather amusing. Now she was annoyed at having to do most of her work while earning half the salary. She also suspected that, while Bronwyn was semi-pleasant when getting her way, Bronwyn would turn nasty if she didn't.

  Bronwyn closed the compact and looked up. "Ah, Julia, right on time as usual. Let's hope nobody drops dead today." She sighed. "I'm afraid I'll be gone for most of the morning: got to see the Library Committee to discuss next year's budget. According to the rumours, money is very short and they're thinking about closing some libraries."

  The Wollongatta Municipal Council had five libraries, including the Bradfield Public Library, in its area. Julia sometimes half-hoped that she would get retrenched and have to join another profession. Despite that, her gut tightened. "Really? How many are they thinking about closing?"

  "Maybe two."

  "Are we one?"

  A shrug. "We're definitely in the firing line, because we're the biggest and most expensive to run. But don't worry, I've got sharp elbows." Bronwyn was definitely a dogged bureaucratic infighter. Anyone who threatened her perks would get no quarter.

  "Will the death of the old guy have any impact on their decision?"

  A sharp giggle and dismissive wave. "Can't see how, unless he was murdered, and we know that didn't happen."

  "Good. They'll still let us have a replacement for Katherine, r
ight? We are short staffed."

  Katherine was a thin, nervous woman who worked at the library for six months - during which she was regularly off sick - and then phoned up a week ago to announce, without explanation, that she quit.

  "I've asked the General Manager for a replacement, and he's considering it."

  "OK. Then I'd better do some chores."

  Julia strolled out and found Gary Clarke sitting on a stool behind the borrowing counter, listening to his I-pod with a newspaper spread out in front of him. As usual, he wore a black heavy-metal T-shirt with jeans.

  Gary was interesting, in a weird kind of way. He was smart and funny, fragile and eccentric. It took Julia a while to notice that he carefully aligned the spines of books on shelves and was careful not to step on lines on the carpet. He also drank too much and smoked too much dope.

  His father was a successful barrister, and his mother a house-wife who bragged about his success in their small and exclusive social circle. Both pushed Gary to study Law at Sydney University, which he did for a couple of years, before quitting about eight months ago. Since then, he'd worked at the library as a Librarian's Aide.

  Once, when they were eating lunch together in the workroom, she asked him why he quit university.

  He shrugged. "I flunked some exams."

  "I thought it was hard to flunk uni exams."

  He smiled. "Actually, it's pretty easy if you don't go to lectures and do absolutely no work."

  "You were that bad?"

  "I was terrible."

  "Why?"

  Another shrug. "I was in the wrong head-space. Anyway, the dean of the law school told me to take a year off and work out what I really want to do with my life."

  Gary didn't explain why he didn't study, but Julia was fairly sure it was because of his parents. She'd never met them. But Gary, who still lived a home, often disparaged them. She bet he downed tools at university to protest against the fate they had ordained for him.

  She said: "Have you worked out yet what you want to do with your life?"

  "Afraid not. I'm torn between directing a movie and writing a literary masterpiece. But one thing is sure ..."

  "What?"

  A smile. "Whatever I do, it will be big and it will be bold. Soon, it will be my time to shine."

  She giggled. "When you make up your mind, let me know."

  "Don't worry - when I know, you'll know, and so will the whole world."

  Since Gary often though aloud, that was quite possible.

  Now, she approached Gary at the borrowing counter and said: "Hi."

  He kept swaying back and forward to the music. She grabbed an audio cord and tugged. The ear-bud popped out.

  He swivelled around. As usual, he looked like he'd slept in the car he didn't have. "Hey."

  "Morning. Whatchya listening to?"

  "Danny M. Shotgun, a white rapper. Wanna listen?" He offered her an earbud.

  "Is he a woman-hater?"

  "Yes."

  "Then he can fuck off."

  A shrug. "You know, when I started here, you were quiet as a mouse. Now you're a storm trooper."

  "You made me like this."

  "Hah, hah."

  "I see you're on time, for once."

  He looked apologetic. "My dad left early and gave me a lift."

  He was reading a local throw-away called The Bradfield Village Voice.

  She said: "Why're you reading that rubbish?"

  "There's an article by a local historian about this suburb's Aboriginal past. He says this library was probably built on an ancient burial site. Spooky, huh? I've always thought there were strange spirits in this place."

  "I told you that newspaper was rubbish."

  He shrugged. "You've been warned. We are invaders - trespassers - here. We must expect misfortune."

  She rolled her eyes. "Christ, what have I done to deserve this?"

  Mr Cheshire entered the library. As usual, his big bald head, and the scowl nailed to his face, made him look intimidating. He slipped past them, head down, and disappeared into the work room. His silence suggested he had a lot to say, though not to them.

  Though Mr Cheshire had worked at the library for about a year, she knew little about him, except that he was English, had worked as a librarian for most of his life and lived alone in a small flat above a shop. Everyone called him "Mr Cheshire" because he did not inspire familiarity.

  Gary twirled an audio cord. "Talking about spooky: he freaks me out. I bet he goes home, puts on make-up and tortures his pets. One of these days, we'll hear he's jumped of a bridge and go 'uh-huh'."

  His antipathy for Mr Cheshire was understandable, because Mr Cheshire often accused him of being lazy and disrespectful. A few weeks ago, she heard Mr Cheshire demand to know why Gary hadn't shelved some books.

  Gary said: "I was getting around to that."

  "You're always getting around to things - you never do them."

  Gary shrugged. "Get off my back."

  Mr Cheshire usually looked like he was missing a pint of blood. However, when he glared at Gary, his bald head looked like it should be on top of a police car. "You're a very lazy boy."

  "Chill out. We're both being exploited, you know - we should stand together, not fight each other."

  "God, you are stupid," Mr Cheshire said and stormed off.

  Now, at the front counter, Julia frowned at Gary: "You don't like him because he makes you work."

  A shrug. "That is one reason. The other's that he's a spooky dude."

  "Well, try not to upset him."

  "Are you kidding? He's permanently upset. "

  "Behave yourself."

  Garry frowned. "Why are you so grumpy this morning?"

  "I'm not."

  "Yes you are."

  She shrugged. "OK, maybe I am grumpy. I'm entitled to be: I found a dead body yesterday and this morning I've had to listen to you bitch and moan about Mr Cheshire."

  "You've been grumpy for a while. And you look tired."

  If she was a man, she would have beaten him up, starting with a few body-shots. "I am tired - bloody tired; you all give me the shits." She sighed. "Anyway, have you cleaned out the returns chute and checked in the books?"

  "Not yet."

  "If you do that, I'll shelve them."

  "OK. Soon as I've finished reading the paper." Gary stuck the ear-buds back in and leaned forward over the newspaper.

  She wrenched out a bud.

  "Ouch."

  "Don't be a big sissy - that's my job. Empty it now."

  He sighed. "Some niggaz never gets a break, duz they?"

  At nine o'clock, Julia opened the big front doors and found several patrons lingering outside.

  She returned to the borrowing counter and Mrs Pym, deep into her eighties, with pig-bristles on her chin and a hunched back, approached her. Sound whispered up her gullet. "I'm looking for a book, dearie."

  "Have you looked on the computer?"

  "I don't use computers, you know that."

  Julia sighed. "What's the title?"

  "Fifty Shades of Black. It's a sequel to 50 Shades of Grey."

  Why was this old woman interested in a series of badly written bondage books? Julia was embarrassed for her. "I know that. I'm afraid we don't have any books in that series."

  "Why not?"

  "We order them in and they go missing."

  "You should order some more."

  "We can't."

  "Why not?"

  "Our budget is very tight."

  "That's very unsatisfactory."

  "I agree."

  "Then maybe you can recommend another book with a billionaire who likes bondage. Not too kinky. I read one the other day which was just disgusting. It was hard to finish."

  This woman obviously had frontal-lobe disintegration. Did the great love of her life once tie her up and give her a good spanking? Was this a trip down memory lane? It was hard to imagine. "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that genre."

 
"You haven't read 50 Shades?"

  Julia tried to, but when the main character kept talking about her "inner goddess" and saying "holy crap", she almost lost her will to live and tossed the book across the room. "Not all of it."

  "You're not very helpful."

  "We have a big collection of Mills & Boon."

  A scowl. "Rubbish."

  A moment of inspiration. She shelved a book the day before that might fit the bill. "I think we have a book you'll like: it's called Spanked by the Laird."

  "Does the laird own a castle?"

  Julia had no idea. "I think so, on top of a hill."

  "He spanks her hard?"

  "Yes."

  "I'll try it."

  "Wait here and I'll grab it."

  Julia dashed over to the fiction shelves and grabbed the book. When she returned, Mrs Pym had disappeared, probably to wander the streets abusing people.

  There were no patrons at the borrowing counter, so she started cleaning up books left around the library. A children's book about cricket lay on the small poof on which the little Asian boy usually sat. She suspected he often stole books from the library. At least he didn't steal that one.

  She returned to the borrowing counter, where she spent a couple of hours fielded inquiries or complaints from patrons. There was a self-service check-out machine next to the counter. However, it was often broken - like today - so she had to check out books manually.

  Just after noon, she spied Bronwyn return from chatting to the Library Committee and wander into the small staff kitchen. Julia followed and found her standing over the sink, jiggling a tea-bag in a cup.

  Julia leaned against a wall and crossed her arms. "How did your meeting with the committee go?"

  Bronwyn frowned and tossed the tea-bag into a bin. "They want to close two libraries."

  "Why?"

  "They said libraries are expensive and patron numbers are down. One councillor even said people aren't interested in smelly old books anymore, because they can get everything on-line. He called libraries a relic of the pre-digital age."