The Library of Lost and Found

by Phaedra Patrick

  At the end of the meal they pulled Christmas crackers and wore paper crowns. They shared corny jokes before Will and Rose slipped away upstairs with their books.

  “You always used to tell one of your stories at the end of our Christmas meal, Martha,” Zelda said as she finished eating her third mince pie. “Have you got one for us now?”

  Martha shook her head. “I don’t have a new one, but I am going to start writing again. Words are beginning to come back to me.”

  “I’ve done my last ever Read and Run,” Zelda said. “So I’ll let someone else tell a story today.”

  Lilian cleared her throat. She glanced around the table. “Um, I have one to share,” she said.

  Martha frowned at her. “You do?”

  Her sister nodded. “I never believed in fairy stories, all that stuff about crystal carriages and handsome princes, but for some reason I kept this...” She picked up her bag from the floor and took out a piece of paper. She slowly unfolded it. “It’s one of Mum’s stories that I kept. It didn’t mean that much to me at the time. But now it does.”

  She gave a small cough, then read it aloud.

  The Nightingale and the Woodcutter

  by Betty Storm

  Once, a woodcutter lived in a small hut in the forest. He was a kind man who enjoyed his simple life. However, sometimes he found himself to be very lonely. Each day he would set off with his ax and chop wood. He sold some of the logs and kept others, to light his fire each night. He sat by the fireside and wished he had a companion.

  One day, when he was in the forest, he spotted a nightingale in a tree. She had the most beautiful voice and it felt as if she was singing just for him, so he didn’t feel alone.

  She was there the next day, and the next, and when he saw her his heart was filled with joy.

  He started to bring her bits of bread, which she ate gratefully. She seemed to welcome his attention. Though when the woodcutter returned to his hut at night, the feelings of loneliness engulfed him again.

  One day he held out a piece of bread for the nightingale and she swept down and hopped onto his finger. “I’ll take you back to my hut, little bird,” he said. “Then I can keep you, feed you and look after you forever. You can sing for me and neither of us will be lonely again.”

  He made a cage out of twigs, placed her inside and fastened the door so she couldn’t fly away. He gave her seed, bread and water. He made up a fire to warm them both and smiled at his new friend.

  At first the nightingale seemed happy, because she sang to him each morning and at night. Even though he missed her song during the day at work, the woodcutter knew she was at home waiting for him.

  But with each day that passed, her song began to grow quieter. She stopped hopping around to greet him. He moved her cage to the window so she could see the forest, and he brought wild berries for her to eat. “Please sing for me, little bird,” he whispered through the cage. The nightingale cocked her head to one side and sang, but her voice was so small he could hardly hear it.

  He tried taking her out of the cage and set her on the windowsill. She gave a small chirp, but her happy cheep was now a small croak.

  The woodcutter was very sad. “I’m so sorry, little bird,” he said. “I didn’t mean you any harm. I was trying to look after you. I’ll take you back to your home in the forest.”

  When they stood back among the trees, the nightingale had forgotten how to fly. She didn’t know how to find her own food any longer. She hopped around and was lost.

  The woodcutter took her back to his hut, where they stayed together for the rest of their days. The little bird did her best to sing, to please him. She greeted him with a small song when he came home, but he could tell that her heart wasn’t in it. And the woodcutter was forever full of regret, because he had taken a beautiful thing and tried to turn it into something else.

  38

  Crocodile

  Entering the library, the day after the Christmas dinner, Martha closed her eyes and breathed in the aroma of the books, the old radiators and the fraying carpets. She patted the yellowy-white computer and straightened a few books on the shelves. It felt like she was home.

  She spotted a chocolate wrapper left on the science shelf and she threw it in the bin. The return shelves needed emptying and there was a Polaroid photo pinned to the noticeboard, of a man dressed as a large brown ferret. She heard movement in the kitchen and Suki wandered out.

  “Martha.” She sped forward and flung out her arms. Her bump got in the way as she threw a hug. “You’re back where you belong.”

  “Yes. Have you been looking after yourself? Should you really be in work so early? Sit down and leave the returned books to me. Thank you for passing some clothes to Siegfried, for me to wear.”

  Suki pulled away. “I’m fine. I wasn’t sure when you’d be back, so I moved the reading group session to an earlier date. I’m having a crustacean section next week.”

  “A cesarean? Oh, Suki. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry I wasn’t around...”

  “I only found out the day before last. The baby is lying in a beach position.”

  “Do you mean breach?”

  “Yes. That’s it. It’s the safest way to deliver, for both of us. So, I want to ask for your help with something.”

  Martha expected her to run through a list of tasks, all to do with administration of the library, but instead Suki took a deep breath. “Will you come to the hospital with me?” she asked. “After my culmination, Ben has made his mind up and he isn’t coming back. My mum is in Marbella-ella, and I could really do with a friend right now.”

  Martha glowed inside when she heard that word. Perhaps there wasn’t a particular time, or happening, that made an acquaintance become a friend. Maybe it was just an organic thing, not to be studied or planned. “I’d love to help out,” she said. “Have you thought about your hospital bag, and what to pack? I believe that you won’t be able to lift anything afterwards for at least six weeks. You should stock up your kitchen cupboards with tinned food.”

  Suki sighed with relief. “I knew you’d be good at this. I’ve told Clive that he’ll have to appoint someone here, sooner rather than later. Your sister gave me your job application and I passed it to him.”

  “I thought about my Cumulus Vitae when I wrote it,” Martha teased.

  “Do you mean your Curriculum Vitae?”

  “Something like that.”

  * * *

  Branda was the first person to arrive for the reading group. “Martha,” she exclaimed. “You’re back. I’ve bought you a new book.” She reached into her large purple handbag and took out a hardback with a black cover and big orange capital letters. “It’s very noir,” she said. “I totally recommend it for our next read.”

  Nora reached under her seat. “I’ve brought you chocolates, to say thanks for doing my laundry,” she said sheepishly. “My new boyfriend fixed my washing machine.”

  Siegfried was the next to arrive. He gave Martha the briefest glance, then rolled his eyes when he saw Branda’s book.

  “I’m not sure what we’re supposed to be discussing,” Horatio said. “I’ve brought the book about the inmate and the goldfish.”

  Martha waited patiently for them to settle down, to take things from bags and to remove their coats. She found their chatter warm and animated, rather than stressful.

  Clive arrived and sauntered into the library. “Martha,” he said with surprise in his voice. “It’s, um, good to see you back.”

  “It’s nice to be back. I trust you received my job application and reference?”

  “Yes. Um, it was very interesting. It’s gone to the panel for consideration.”

  “Panel?”

  “It’s a new appointment system,” Suki said. “A panel of people read all the applications, to ensure they’re all considered fairly. It’s good fo
r diversity, isn’t it, Clive?”

  Clive’s cheeks reddened. “Um, yes.”

  “Well, I thought you might like to take this session, Clive,” Martha said. “Suki is having her baby next week, so someone needs to look after the reading group.”

  Clive’s eyebrows sprang upwards. “Me? Can’t you—” he started.

  Martha held up her hand. “I’m sorry but I have a reader to attend to.” She raised herself on the balls of her feet as the library doors opened. She watched as her nana came inside.

  Clive looked over at Zelda, who wasn’t wearing her headscarf. His Adam’s apple dipped when he looked at her hairless head. “Well, I suppose I could, um...”

  “There are packets of biscuits in the cupboard,” Martha told him. “But the group do appreciate homemade ones. Suki can give you copies of my book-rating spreadsheet, so you can facilitate the discussion. You’ll need to select the next book for everyone to read. Don’t pick a thriller, though. We’ve had our fill of those.”

  Branda cast her a pleading look but Martha had already moved away.

  * * *

  She and Zelda found a quiet corner in the library. It was where they used to sit together when Martha was a teenager, when they wedged together to read a book.

  They took a similar position now, rather older but still the same people underneath. Time and life events might have battered them but Martha felt strong. She knew what she wanted, and it didn’t need green ticks, or amber stars, to tell her it was good enough.

  Zelda’s forehead wrinkled as she looked around at the books. “The library hasn’t changed much. It’s still ah-mazing.” She brushed under her eye with a finger.

  “So why are you upset, then?” Martha stuck out her chin. She reached in her pocket and handed her a tissue. “Aloe vera.” She nodded.

  “Because I get scared sometimes. I’m here with you now, and we’ve had Christmas together and it was glorious, but I don’t know how and when things...will end...”

  Martha took her hand. “I thought you were the woman who battled a crocodile and won.”

  Zelda gave a small laugh. She reached up and touched the back of her head. “I have the scar to prove it.”

  “And are you one of those people who reads a book and tries to guess the ending?”

  “No. I hate that. I like a nice surprise. I don’t want to know what comes next until it happens. I take each page and chapter as they come.” Zelda smiled as she realized what she had just said.

  “Shall we choose something to read together?” Martha asked.

  Zelda nodded. “Remember how we used to crawl on the floor to look at the bookshelves?” She pressed her hand against a shelf and slowly lowered herself down to the floor.

  “Are you sure you can get down there? Let me help you. You could really use a cushion. You might hurt your knees,” Martha said.

  Zelda gave a pronounced sigh. “If I can fight a crocodile, I can get down on the bloody carpet.”

  Martha grinned and knelt down beside her.

  Then, together, they slowly walked their fingers across the spines of the books.

  * * *

  Acknowledgments

  As always, I’d like to thank my mum, dad, Mark and Oliver for their unending support.

  I have a fantastic team around me at my literary agency, Darley Anderson, including my superagent, Clare Wallace; Mary Darby; Emma Winter; Tanera Simons; Kristina Egan; Sheila David; Darley himself and Rosanna Bellingham.

  To all at Park Row in the US, especially my brilliant editors Erika Imranyi and Natalie Hallak, publicity ace Emer Flounders and the rest of the team. In the UK, I’d like to thank my fab editor Sally Williamson, and everyone at Harlequin.

  Thanks to my lovely circle of author friends who provide meet ups and online support, including B. A. Paris, Pam Jenoff, Mary Kubica, Antoine Laurain, Ben Ludwig, Keziah Frost and Kim Slater.

  My huge thanks go to the libraries I visited in the UK as part of Read Regional 2017. Everyone I met was friendly, knowledgeable and happy to share their experiences and expertise. (And, just in case you’re wondering, the man in the ferret costume and bacon rasher bookmark are true stories!) Thanks also to Suzanne Hudson at Oldham Library, and Danny Middleton at Manchester Central Library for their support.

  I’ve met lots of fantastically supportive independent booksellers on my writing journey. They are too numerous to name here, but my special thanks go to Pamela Klinger-Horn, Mary O’Malley and Jordan Arias. Also, many thanks to readers, bloggers and reviewers everywhere, and to Waterstones Oldham.

  For more information, and writing tips, please visit www.phaedra-patrick.com. I’m happiest on Instagram, but you can also find me on Facebook and Twitter, too.

  ISBN-13: 9781488095436

  The Library of Lost and Found

  Copyright © 2019 by Phaedra Patrick

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