The Library of Lost and Found

CHAPTER EIGHT (#ulink_356100e7-4803-5650-b501-243469c21191)

CHAPTER NINE (#ulink_21ec3482-4fd8-5cee-8122-95bc72f5770e)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)

Reading group questions for THE LIBRARY OF LOST AND FOUND (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_2abdd552-4d10-512e-895d-a69a27753cf9)

Valentine’s Day

As always, Martha Storm was primed for action. Chin jutted, teeth gritted and a firm grip on the handle of her trusty shopping trolley. Her shoulders burned as she struggled to push it up the steep slope towards the library. The cobblestones underfoot were slippery, coated by the sea mist that wafted into Sandshift each evening.

She was well prepared for the evening’s event. It was going to be perfect, even though she usually avoided Valentine’s Day. Wasn’t it a silly celebration? A gimmick, to persuade you to buy stuffed furry animals and chocolates at rip-off prices. Why, if someone ever sent her a card, she’d hand it back and explain to the giver that they’d been brainwashed. However, a job worth doing was worth doing well.

Bottles chinked in her trolley, a stuffed black bin bag rustled in the breeze and a book fell off a pile, its pages fluttering like a moth caught in a spider’s web.

She’d bought the supermarket’s finest rosé wine, flute glasses and napkins printed with tiny red roses. Her alarm clock had sounded at 5.30 that morning, to allow her time to bake heart-shaped cookies, including gluten-free ones for any book lovers who had a wheat allergy. She’d brought along extra copies of the novel for the author to sign.

One of the best feelings in the world came when she received a smile of appreciation, or a few grateful words. When someone said, ‘Great job, Martha,’ and she felt like she was basking in sunshine. She’d go to most lengths to achieve that praise.

If anyone asked about her job she had an explanation ready. ‘I’m a guardian of books,’ she said. ‘A volunteer at the library.’ She was an event organizer, tour guide, buyer, filer, job adviser, talking clock, housekeeper, walking encyclopedia, stationery provider, recommender of somewhere nice to eat lunch and a shoulder to cry on – all rolled into one.

And she loved each part, except for waking people up at closing time, and the strange things she found used as bookmarks (a nail file, a sexual health clinic appointment card and an old rasher of bacon).

As she rattled past a group of men, all wearing navy and yellow Sandshift United football scarves, Martha called out to them. ‘Don’t forget about the library event tonight.’ But they laughed among themselves and walked on.

As she eventually directed the trolley towards the small squat library building, Martha spied the bulky silhouette of a man huddled by the front door. ‘Hello there,’ she called out, twisting her wrist to glance at her watch. ‘You’re fifty-four minutes early.’

The dark shape turned its head and seemed to look at her, before hurrying away and disappearing around the corner.

Martha trundled along the path. A poster flapped on the door and author Lucinda Lovell beamed out from a heavily filtered photo. The word Cancelled was written across her face in thick black letters.

Martha’s eyes widened in disbelief. Her stomach lurched, as if someone had shoved her on an escalator. Using her hand as a visor she peered into the building.

All was still, all was dark. No one was inside.