by Kate Blair
THE
MAGPIE'S
LIbrary
Copyright © 2019 Kate Blair
This edition copyright © 2019 DCB, an imprint of Cormorant Books Inc.
This is a first edition.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the publisher or a licence from The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (Access Copyright). For an Access Copyright licence, visit www.accesscopyright.ca or call toll free 1.800.893.5777.
The publisher gratefully acknowledges the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for its publishing program. We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund (CBF) for our publishing activities, and the Government of Ontario through Ontario Creates, an agency of the Ontario Ministry of Culture, and the Ontario Book Publishing Tax Credit Program.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Blair, Kate, author
The magpie’s library / by Kate Blair.
Issued in print and electronic formats.
ISBN 978-1-77086-554-9 (softcover). — ISBN 978-1-77086-555-6 (HTML)
I. Title.
PS8603.l3153m34 2019 JC813’.6 C2018-906278-9
C2018-906279-7
United States Library of Congress Control Number: 2018967099
Cover illustration and design: Emma Dolan
Interior text design: tannicegdesigns.ca
Printed and bound in Canada.
Printer: Friesens
DCB
An imprint of Cormorant Books Inc.
260 Spadina Avenue, Suite 502, Toronto, Ontario, M5T 2E4
www.dcbyoungreaders.com
www.cormorantbooks.com
To my Hayling family — especially my sister Jo, who taught me to read, and my Mum, who taught her.
One for sorrow,
Two for mirth
Three for a funeral,
Four for a birth
Five for heaven
Six for hell
Seven’s the devil, his own sel’
— Traditional
Chapter One
I’D HAVE NOTICED something was wrong sooner, if the magpie hadn’t distracted me.
It perched on Grandpa’s little front lawn, at the end of the cluttered cul-de-sac. I expected it to fly away as we pulled up in front of the small square house. But it tilted its head, the black bead of its eye fixed on us.
The wipers smeared the water back and forth, back and forth.
Mum shivered as she turned off the engine. “One for sorrow.”
“Why is the front door open?” Ollie’s voice came from the back seat.
I squinted, expecting to see Grandpa, but the entrance to his house was dark and empty.
“He’s probably waiting for us,” I said. “Standing back so he doesn’t get wet.”
“That’s stupid, Silva. He doesn’t know we’re coming.”
“Shut it, Ollie.” After a three-hour drive, I’d hit my limit with my whiny little brother.
But he had a point. Grandpa wouldn’t be expecting us on a random Friday in November. The whole thing was weird. Normally, Mum was super fierce about the importance of school, but she’d told our teachers we were sick and dragged us down to Hayling for a surprise visit.
I hadn’t complained. I got to spend the drive reading, and I’d been excited to see Grandpa and get away from our mess of a flat. The place was half-packed as we prepared to leave behind yet another city.
“Stop it. Both of you,” Mum said. For a moment there was silence, apart from the thrumming of rain on the roof. “That door doesn’t shut unless you really slam it. That’s probably all it is. Come on.”
I stuffed my book into the glove compartment and scurried into the hissing wet, my hand a pointless shield against the driving rain.
In the front hall, Mum’s concerned frown was caught in the gold-framed mirror. She ran a hand through her wet pixie-cut. My own hair was plastered against my head and shoulders, chilly on the bare skin of my neck. Ollie joined us, shaking his unkempt hair like a dog.
“Dad?” Mum called.
“Maybe he popped out,” I said.
“In this rain?” Ollie asked. “And what about the post?”
Envelopes were strewn across the carpet, the nearest ones soggy. For a ridiculous moment I wondered if we were in the wrong house. But Grandpa’s battered boots sat in the hall, waiting for his feet to fill them.
I swallowed at the wrongness of it. He always kept the house tidy and, other than getting a tad forgetful, he never changed. He was always here to greet us. He always gave me Jelly Babies when we’d visit, because they’d been my favorite when I was small. He’d taught me to bite the heads off first, “so they didn’t suffer.” And it didn’t matter that I was thirteen, I’d always be his little girl.
A chill slunk into my gut, cooling the excitement that had warmed me in the car.
“I thought Chloe was cleaning for him,” Mum said. Chloe was my second cousin. She lived next door with her mum, Janet.
“Then Chloe’s doing a rubbish job,” Ollie said.
I crept into the front room. A plate with a moldy crumpet sat on the coffee table. The fire was unlit, the room cold.
“Perhaps I should check on my own,” Mum said. “You two can wait outside.”
“Fine. I’ll be in the car.” Ollie stomped out.
I wanted to escape too, but I had to know if Grandpa was okay.
In the kitchen, filthy dishes spilled out of the sink and across the countertop. All-Bran littered the floor like playground woodchips. It was as if the neat façade of Grandpa’s home had crumbled, revealing a mess of maggots at the core.
I ran upstairs.
“Grandpa?” I kept my voice cheerful, and headed to the end of the corridor, to the room I stayed in during the school holidays.
That at least looked normal: a cozy space tucked under the eaves with bookshelves filling all available wall space. I felt a superstitious desire to check the old wardrobe, like I checked all wardrobes when I was younger, even the IKEA ones in our rented flats, searching for Narnia.
It was empty, aside from skeletal hangers and a cardigan I’d been looking for since the summer. What had I expected? That Grandpa would be hiding in here, or that I’d be looking into a winter wonderland?
The creak and bang of doors opening and closing came from down the hall as Mum checked the other rooms.
Something brushed against my leg. I leapt back, but it was Gin, one of Janet’s cats, purring as she rubbed against me, tail high. I stroked her. Wet fur stuck to my hand. I wiped it on my jeans as a lump grew in my stomach.
Mum had gone quiet. I hurried out into the hall where she stood, looking lost.
“I’ll see if Janet knows anything.” As she dialed, I tried to give her a reassuring smile.
“It’s me. I’m at Dad’s house, but …” She turned away abruptly. “When?” A long pause. “All right. We’ll head straight there.”
Mum hung up, and gripped the bannister. “Janet came by earlier and found Grandpa on the floor. They’re at the hospital.”
We hurried back out to the car. Ollie was slumped in the back seat, legs spread, staring at his phone. He didn’t bother looking up as we clambered in, and Mum turned the engine on.
The magpie still perched on the lawn. It watched us as we drove away.
THE GIRL AND her mother dashed through the rain to a
small red car. None but the girl saw me as they backed out of the drive, turning the corner too fast. Her wide eyes remained fixed upon me until they were gone. But even she only saw a normal black-and-white bird.
Emotion trailed behind them, like fog hung upon the air: fear, worry, isolation. Yet I saw through it, beheld the glitter beneath; the enticing shine emitted by all lonely souls.
Follow them, The Whisper said.
I took to the sky, wheeling on wings as black as a hole in the world. The car joined the thread of traffic; other people, separated from each other in their colorful tin carriages. I let the sea air buoy me, sharp and salty.
I saw it all: the village, the island, the world. People cocooned within their own little lonelinesses: cars, headphones, and screens. The silences and spaces between them stretched until they swallowed them whole.
The cars shrank to the size of toys as I rose. I could still feel the right one, its metal red as a bead of blood; I could feel the ache inside. But they crossed the bridge and joined the rush of cars upon the motorway. I could not keep up. There was too much traffic: a torrent of emotion.
I lost the girl and her family.
You will find them again, The Whisper said. I shall help you find those who need you. Together, we can offer them comfort. Together we can hold them tight. Together we keep them safe, sealed in your collection.
Forever.
Chapter Two
IN THE WARD, six beds hid behind curtains, three on either side. We traipsed through the antiseptic stink, wet shoes squeaking on the floor, past the murmurs and moans of unseen patients.
The low rumble of Grandpa’s voice came from the farthest bed. Relief shot through me. I ran the last few yards and yanked the fabric aside with a clatter of curtain rings.
“Grandpa!”
He lay beneath the sheets, brow furrowed. A tube looped from his hand to an iv bag. Janet, Mum’s cousin, stood next to him, wearing too much makeup and a brittle smile.
The second Grandpa saw Mum, his familiar grin spread across his face, almost too wide to fit. “Ruthie, thank goodness you’re here.”
We stared at him. Ruth was my grandmother. She’d died when Mum was a teen.
Mum’s voice wavered as she spoke. “It’s me, Dad. Liz. Your … daughter.”
Grandpa’s hazel eyes clouded with confusion. How could he not know her?
“Silva! Oliver!” Janet prompted him. “Lovely to see you.”
Grandpa struggled to sit up, revealing a short-sleeved hospital gown and the old-fashioned doll tattoo on his upper arm. “You have to get me out of here.”
Janet pulled the blanket back over Grandpa’s chest. “Don’t worry, Uncle Chris.”
“Grandpa, are you okay?” I knew it was a stupid question.
His gaze fell on me, suspicion simmering behind it. Something inside me crumpled.
“It’s me, Silva.” I wanted him to stop it, to be himself again. I wanted to climb onto the bed and hug him, to breathe in his biscuits-and-aftershave smell. But he twisted toward Mum, wincing as he moved.
“Take me home, Ruthie.”
I grabbed the metal bar at the end of the bed to steady myself.
“I’m going to the loo,” Ollie said.
“Ollie …” Mum started, but he hurried away.
Grandpa’s eyes darted around. “You know I hate hospitals.”
His words distorted in my ears. I couldn’t deal with the look he’d given me, as if I’d been erased from his life.
“The doctor is doing her rounds now,” Janet said. “She thinks it’s an infection and dehydration. Making him worse than normal.”
Worse than normal. What did that mean?
“He needs fluids and antibiotics and will be in for a few days. I’ll get Chloe to clean the house.” Janet nodded at Grandpa. “He fired her.”
“You fired Chloe?” Mum asked.
“He was acting so strangely. That’s why I messaged you.”
Grandpa yanked on Mum’s wrist. Pulled her close. “Don’t let them keep me here.”
“I’ll speak to the doctor, Dad. See what she says.”
An uncomfortable silence spread like a swamp between us. After what felt like a long time, Mum spoke. “Silva, could you check and see if Ollie is okay?”
I nodded and reeled away. As I passed another set of curtains, I glimpsed the scene inside through the small gap. A white sheet lay over a still body. A woman sat beside the bed, head in her hands. I looked away fast, like death could be catching, and I could carry it back to Grandpa.
In the wide hallway, beds and equipment lined the walls, as though washed there by a flood. People drifted down the corridors, clutching tissues and iv poles tight as life preservers.
I found Ollie slumped on a wheelchair, staring at his phone. His eyes were dry. Mum needn’t have worried. He was fine. He’d just wanted to play one of his stupid apps.
Irritation filled me with heat. It would be nice not to care, like Ollie. Whenever we moved to a new town, he didn’t need to try to fit in. Life was easy for him. He played football: fifa games on his phone and the real thing at school, and ended up with a ton of friends.
“Someone might need that.” I kicked the tire of the wheelchair.
“I’ll move if they ask,” Ollie said.
There was a slope down the hall. I fought the urge to shove the wheelchair down it.
“I thought you were going to the loo.”
“Just been,” he said.
“Then we should go back. Don’t you care about Grandpa?”
Ollie’s jaw clenched, although he still didn’t look up. I grabbed his arm, and yanked him to his feet. “Stop being so selfish.”
“Ow.” His trainers squeaked as he dragged his feet.
When we got back to the ward, it was clear the doctor had come and gone. Mum and Janet faced off over Grandpa’s bed.
Mum turned to us. “We’ve got to get the house ready. Dad’s coming home tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I asked. “I thought the doctor said he had to stay.”
“She did,” Janet said.
“They’d like to keep him in longer,” Mum said. “But if there’s an improvement from the antibiotics, we can take him home. He’ll recover faster where he feels safe.”
Janet folded her arms. “The doctor said this is a serious infection. You’re putting his life at risk, and you’ll dash off again.”
“Just … leave it, Janet.” Mum’s jaw was set.
“We’ve got school,” I pointed out.
“It’s only a couple of weeks until we move to Manchester. We need to take care of your grandfather.”
“Wouldn’t the hospital be better for that?” Ollie said.
For once, I agreed with him.
Mum pinched the bridge of her nose. “Look. Let’s get in the car. There’s something I should have told you two. Something we should talk about in private.”
Mum gave Grandpa a quick kiss, and hurried us off the ward. His fragile gaze and Janet’s disapproving glare followed us until they disappeared behind the curtains.
THE RAIN EASED off, replaced by a drizzle that streaked the windscreen as the wipers swung back and forth. We drove in silence out of the car park. Mum was quiet so long I jumped when she started talking.
“Janet called yesterday because she was worried about Grandpa. But you know how she exaggerates things, so I phoned. When he didn’t answer, I decided to check.”
“Why didn’t you just tell us?” I asked.
“I didn’t want to worry you. You may have noticed he’s been a bit forgetful lately.”
“Only stuff like where he’d put the remote. He wasn’t forgetting me.”
A lorry sliced through a puddle beside us, splattering our windscreen. Mum turned the wipers up. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.
&n
bsp; “He had tests done a couple of months ago. He has Alzheimer’s.”
My ears rang. “Alzheimer’s?”
“Yes. It’s a kind of dementia. A slow loss of memory.”
“That’s why he didn’t recognize me?”
“Yes. I’m afraid it’s going to get worse. He’ll forget more and more over time. There’s no cure, but he probably has years left.”
“It’s going to kill him?”
“Not for a very long time.”
I glanced in the rearview mirror, expecting to see Ollie on his phone. But he stared out of the window as we crossed the bridge to the island, the choppy gray water of high tide beneath us.
“That wasn’t a slow loss of memory,” I pointed out.
“Right now, the infection is making him much more confused.” Mum flexed her fingers, then gripped the wheel again. “Antibiotics will help get him back to normal.”
“Janet said you’re putting his life at risk.”
Mum was silent for a long moment. The tires hissed on the curves of the road. Thatched houses dripped like damp dogs as we passed.
“It’s all about balance. And what life he has left.”
That chilled me to the core. The wipers swished back and forth. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.
“You’re going to let him die.”
“No,” Mum said, fast and firm. “Not let him die. We’ll do everything in our power to get him through this infection.”
“But —”
“He’s 80. We can’t keep him alive forever. He hates hospitals.”
“We can’t just give up.”
“No one is giving up, Silva.” But Mum’s voice was resigned.
I leaned my forehead against the cold window. We had to do something. Had to find a way to make this better. I wanted to look up Alzheimer’s on my phone and see what treatments there were, but I was out of data. Grandpa didn’t have Wi-Fi, just a plug-in connection that didn’t work with my mobile.
Ahead of us rose the familiar peaked shape of Hayling Library, like an island in the sodden green. Another magpie perched on the wall outside: two for joy. Wasn’t that how that old rhyme went? Maybe it was a sign. It was a better idea than going back to the mess of Grandpa’s house, anyway. Plus, the library had Wi-Fi.
