The Library of Lost and Found(37)
“Just complete it and apply,” Suki said as she rubbed her bump. “Time is ticking away.”
“I know. It’s just so important that I want to get it right. I’ve applied three times for a role here already, and been turned down,” Martha explained. “Statistically, I’m not likely to get it.”
“Why not? Satan-istically, you do a great job.”
Martha considered this. Because there’s always someone younger and brighter than me, she thought. Because I’ve not written anything expressive for years.
The interview would be with Clive and he’d have penned a black mark against her name, after their encounter in the kitchen. “I’m determined to give it a go. I just need more time, to think about what to write.”
“Just say how much you love books and helping people,” Suki said with a shrug. “No one does it better.”
Martha gave her a grateful smile and again felt like throwing a quick hug. Instead she picked up a stack of books from the returned pile. She examined the codes and numbers on their spines and carried them back to their shelves. She recommended a couple of feel-good novels to a lady who wore a yellow silk scarf with sunflowers on it, and she rearranged the thriller display.
She had just bent down to slide a book about tractors back into place in the transport section when Siegfried appeared in the same aisle. Not acknowledging her presence, he pulled his gray hat down and headed to the romance books at the end. After scanning the shelves methodically from top to bottom, he slid out four paperbacks, then carried them over to a table in the corner. He opened the first one and began to make notes on a piece of paper.
Martha stared after him, wanting to thank him for returning her trolley and hair slide after her outburst. But he arched his arm in front of him, like a schoolboy in class preventing anyone from copying his work.
“Siegfried’s got a pile of love stories,” Suki whispered when Martha returned to the desk. “Is it true he was on board that fishing boat, that cat’s-eyed?”
“Capsized? I believe so.”
“Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t speak much.”
“I think you might be right. He—” Before Martha could give her thoughts, Nora appeared.
She wore a pair of emerald-green leggings and a matching velour hoodie with Juicy written on the back in silver lettering. She approached the desk with trepidation, as if she was teasing a tiger with a piece of grass.
“Um, Martha, love,” she said, unable to meet her eyes. “I wondered if you’ve done my washing and ironing yet? And you left two bags of it behind in the library when you went, um, berserk.”
Martha pictured Nora’s laundry folded neatly into the bin bags at home. She’d washed but not ironed it and felt strangely unflustered by its lateness. And she didn’t feel like apologizing or offering to do the additional washing she’d run away from.
Not wanting to help was an alien feeling to her and she was finding it intriguing, something she wanted to experiment with further. “I’m afraid that I’m not taking on any more jobs for people until I’ve cleared my current consignment. I’ll bring back the laundry I’ve already done for you, when I’m ready. If you desperately need it before then, you can call around to collect it.”
Nora stepped back. Her eyes widened a little. She suddenly affected a stoop and rubbed her spine. “Oh no, it’s okay. Return it for me when you can. It’s my bad back, you see, Martha, love. Besides, I think I’ve found a washing machine engineer. I’m seeing him on Sunday.”
“Tradespeople don’t usually work at the weekend,” Martha warned.
“He was on a dating site and we’re meeting in a wine bar. I’ve not mentioned my machine yet, but I’m hoping we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement.” She glanced across the library to the fiction section. “Is Siegfried single? Is he good with machinery?”
Suki rolled her eyes.
After this, Martha showed a young couple, who both wore ripped jeans and biker’s jackets, how to use the photocopier to print posters for a local gig. As they argued over the enlarging facility, how many copies they needed and which way round to place their original copy, she left them to their own devices.
A man wearing a khaki parka coat with sky-blue fur around the hood wanted to hire all the available Die Hard movies. Instead of finding them for him, Martha directed him to the DVD section. She told a woman who wore a fleecy red-and-yellow jester hat, complete with bells, to return the books she’d browsed through back to the shelves, rather than leave them on the table.
Branda was the next to arrive. She took a batch of Lobster Pot menus out of her purple handbag. Glancing at her watch, which had two black panthers as the hands, she asked, “Will you laminate these for me, Martha? I’ve gone a little darker on the restaurant branding. Moodier. More Scandi noir.”
Normally Martha would say yes and get straight onto it, but today she thought before she spoke. “Leave them on the desk. I’ll do my best, if I get time.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Suki nodding at her, proudly.
* * *
When Martha arrived home, she made herself a cup of tea and, while waiting for it to cool, she pushed a couple more of the plastic crates to the side of her dining room. After she placed the dragon’s head on top of them, the pile looked like a strange totem pole.