The Library of Lost and Found

The laughter in the room bounced around in her head. She quickly reached out for a biscuit and took a bite. She munched and the crumbs swelled in her mouth. The more she tried to swallow, the more she struggled. She glanced around for a glass of water but she’d forgotten to set them out.

The other group members looked at her as she gasped for air. ‘You should have a drink,’ Branda said, without moving.

Siegfried stood up.

Martha raised her hand, telling him she was okay. She speed-walked into the small, dark kitchen. Spinning on the tap, she filled a glass with water and gulped it down. With her head hanging over the sink, she pinched the top of her nose and took deep breaths. The chattering and laughter in the library carried on as she stood alone.

After a few moments, she sensed that someone else had joined her and she turned to see Clive. He loomed in the doorway, standing there like her father used to do, making his presence felt. ‘Do you need anything?’ he asked silkily.

‘No, thank you. I’m fine now.’ Martha cleared her throat.

‘Good. I wanted to speak to you alone, anyway,’ he said.

‘Is it about Lucinda?’

Clive scratched his neck. ‘No. What about her?’

‘I didn’t know she’d cancelled. I brought a trolley full of things. I spent a lot of time—’

‘Of course, you knew,’ he snapped. ‘I told everyone.’

Martha shrank like a salted slug. ‘Not me.’

‘You probably forgot or didn’t pick up my message.’ He waved his hand dismissively. ‘Anyway, I heard that you requested an application form, for the full-time position.’

‘Um, yes.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ Clive said. He folded his arms. ‘I’ve had a lot of interest in the role. Several young people with good experience, in fact.’

Martha felt her insides sliding. ‘That must be very encouraging for you.’

‘Yes. I just didn’t want you to be, um… disappointed.’

Martha thought of the application form in her desk drawer. She hadn’t even completed one word and Clive was already priming her for rejection. She opened her mouth to tell him how much she wanted the job, what she could bring to it and how she was probably just as qualified as anyone else, but his lips were set in a fine line.

As he obstructed her way out of the kitchen, Martha had a flash of memory. Her father embraced her mother, tipped her back and kissed her, then held up a book. Martha and her mother had read it together, but she never saw it again after that day. Beauty and the Beast.

She hadn’t thought of it for a long time and, for some reason, the memory unnerved her. The picture stuck there, like it had been pasted in her brain.

Glancing around, the kitchen walls seemed to contract, closing in on her. Her head began to feel light and she took a tentative step forward, indicating that she wanted to leave. ‘Sorry, I need to…’

But Clive remained there, solid and imposing. Although he was just a man, he seemed like a brick wall.

Martha bent her head, and her heart pounded. She desperately wanted to get out of this confined space. Screwing her eyes shut, she stepped forward. The door was out of reach, behind Clive’s back, but she headed for it anyway. She felt her arm brush against the sleeve of his jacket and heard his feet move to one side.

When she finally lifted her head, she was back in the main room of the library. After the gloominess of the kitchen, she raised a hand against the glare of the fluorescent lights.

‘Will you read another passage from the book for us?’ Horatio winked at her.

‘Can I get the washing back from you tomorrow, Martha love?’ Nora asked.

‘Apply for the job, if you think you have a chance,’ Clive said, behind her.

Martha looked back and saw his freckled scalp and blubbery lips, shining under the ceiling light. She turned and focused on Horatio’s gold buttons, lipstick on Branda’s front tooth and Nora’s silver fillings as she laughed.

‘Do you have any gluten-free biscuits?’ Branda asked.

‘It will be good practice for you,’ Clive said.

‘Can you be a love and drop the laundry off for me?’ Nora said. ‘My back is playing up.’

‘No,’ Martha said very quietly. Partly to the group, and partly to the image of her father in her head, as he held out his hand for Beauty and the Beast. She clenched her fists but the chattering and laughter droned on.

‘There’s not long until the deadline,’ Clive said.

‘The lid is missing off this fish food. Come and take a look,’ Horatio grumbled.

‘We should read a Scandi thriller next, Martha.’ Branda tapped her nails on the table. ‘Much more exciting than this one.’

‘I usually use fabric softener,’ Nora mused. ‘Can you be a love and pop some in your machine? My towels were a bit scratchy.’

Martha felt a rumbling, volcano-like, deep within her. A pain stabbed her chest and she pressed her hands against it, pushing it away. Something very strange was happening to her body and she couldn’t control it. Fear flickered in her eyes as she wondered what it was.

‘I always wash at forty degrees,’ Nora said. ‘I suspect you set your machine at thirty, Martha love.’

‘I think the Scandinavians write better thrillers,’ Branda said. ‘Don’t you agree?’

The noise in the room seemed to escalate, reaching a crescendo in Martha’s head. She raised her hands, holding them flat against her ears, yet she couldn’t block out the racket that hissed and hurt her brain.

And the next thing she heard took her completely by surprise. It overwhelmed and startled her.

It was Martha’s own voice, very loud and very clear.

‘No,’ she said. ‘No. No. NO.’

CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_0f25c304-9a5b-5f74-b2c4-c781504b16a5)

Crabs

The minutes following Martha’s outburst whizzed past in a haze. The members of the reading group stared at her, but she couldn’t absorb their expressions. The word ‘no’ ricocheted in her head.

She whispered a quick ‘Sorry,’ and tugged her coat from the back of a chair. She stuffed her notepad into its pocket.

As she moved quickly, her knee cracked as she stumbled over one of Nora’s bags of laundry. Wobbling for a moment, she managed not to fall and she padded her hands against the walls of the corridor to make her way to the front doors. After forcing them open, she surged outside, blinking against the brightness of the daylight.

Martha stood for a moment, shielding her eyes and not knowing what to do or where to go. The cool February breeze kissed her fiery cheeks. She clumsily pulled on her coat, pushing an arm down a sleeve with such force that the lining ripped.

‘Martha.’ A man’s voice growled from behind her.