Page 15 of The Library of Second Chances
‘I like the ring of “Mrs” better.’ The librarian shrugged. ‘My ex-husband and I are still on good terms, on the rare occasions we do meet. And that’s more than a lot of people get,’ she added gently. ‘And we were blessed with plenty of healthy children. They’re off gallivanting all over the world, too. Do you like to travel, Chloe?’
Chloe thought of her friend, Hannah, who was happy with staying in Wellbridge. ‘Kind of,’ she said. ‘My sister travels a lot.’ She hadn’t checked up on Gwen’s social media for a while, hardly using it herself. Things were so tense between them, especially since the funeral, that it felt like a sting every time she saw Gwen beaming at her from a yacht or on a beach, hiding any grief she may be experiencing for the death of their parents, behind a raised cocktail glass and an oversized pair of sunglasses. The bitterness must have shown on her face, because Mrs Cook said, ‘Perk up, lovely. You’re still young. And if you would ever like time off to take a trip, you just need to let me know.’ She patted Chloe’s hand. ‘Same for if you would ever like to borrow any books from the library. Just check them out as a normal customer would.’
‘Thanks. That reminds me,’ said Chloe, remembering. She told the librarian about Harry and him asking about the rest of the fantasy series he had started. He may have been annoying,but visitors requesting books was never a bad thing for the library. ‘Do you think we can order them in?’
Mrs Cook set down her cup. ‘How nice we have a returning customer. We don’t get enough of those these days.’ She suddenly looked so sad that Chloe couldn’t bear it.
‘What do you mean?’ she asked.
‘Every year, we get fewer visitors. The children’s section hasn’t had much attention these past few years, and even our events fall flat a bit. The library misses having people around. People prefer television, I think.’
‘What do you mean, the library misses people?’ Chloe asked, curious.
‘Nothing, love. It’s a figure of speech.’ Mrs Cook washed her mug and gave Chloe a fond, motherly look. ‘Let me see if I can get those books ordered in. I’ll take Eric his tea, too.’
Chloe thought about what Mrs Cook had said. It was true that, even on weekends, the library didn’t see many visitors. She had been here for a few weeks now, and it was rare for them to see more than two or three people over the entire day. She didn’t know if television was the reason or whether people simply preferred to get their books elsewhere, like in shops or online, but either way, it was a problem.
Chloe loved this place. Even if she wasn’t going to be here for very long, she wanted to do what she could to help.
An hour before closing time, she made a suggestion. ‘Maybe we could host a public event,’ she suggested to Mrs Cook. ‘Something to help reignite interest in this place.’
Mrs Cook turned to her from the shelves. ‘What do you have in mind?’
‘Well . . .’ They walked together into the non-fiction section. The library’s west wing was divided into non-fiction and reference books, from encyclopaedias to history to language learning, and the children’s area. There was a large soft play areafor toddlers, bright and happy animals and cartoon characters stuck to the walls, and bookshelves of kids’ books, full and unused. ‘Maybe we could ask the local school to bring over a class. And we could have a bake sale. People could bring their own things, or I could ask the café down the road. Children love challenges, don’t they? We could work with their teachers to have a challenge to read so many books in a month.’ She trailed off, not sure whether her idea sounded silly.
But Mrs Cook looked pleased. ‘That sounds like it just might work. You went to the local school when you were a child, didn’t you, Chloe? Maybe you could go there and ask them.’
‘Me?’ she asked in surprise. She had assumed Mrs Cook would just get them on the phone.
‘I think it would make an impact to go there in person. I can book an appointment with the headteacher there.’ She glanced back. ‘Unless you’d rather I did it?’
‘No, no, I can.’ Chloe had wanted to help, hadn’t she? ‘You’re right, I did go to school there.’ The thought of going back to her childhood school sounded fun. She had so many great memories in Wellbridge.
Painful ones, too.
She had avoided a lot of the town since coming back. Being in her parents’ old house had been difficult enough, seeing their ghosts whenever she entered a room, occasionally waking up in her childhood bedroom confused, thinking in the blurry moments between sleep and awake that she was a kid again and her parents were alive, only for reality to crash into her. There were places all over town she had avoided, not wanting to unpack the memories that she might conjure. ‘It’s just . . . there are a lot of bad memories, you know.’
Mrs Cookdidn’tknow. Chloe had told her about her parents, but not about everything else.
The librarian’s voice was kind. ‘Maybe you should give yourself more time.’
But Chloe’s thoughts flitted to the conversation with the Scottish man upstairs, about putting faith in something even if you didn’t fully understand it. What was she achieving by putting it off? She couldn’t run for ever. ‘I can do it,’ she said, resolve filling her.
‘I think this will be great for the library,’ said Mrs Cook, her steps more buoyant as they headed back to the reception desk. Clementine had deposited himself on the computer keyboard, slowly closing and opening his eyes as the librarian petted his furry head.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHLOE KNEW SHEcouldn’t spend her life only at the library, her house, and the streets in between. Things took time, yes, but she had been here for weeks already. She couldn’t continue to avoid going around town and reliving her memories. There were good memories there, too. Sidestepping them only made it worse.
Mrs Cook had made an appointment with the headteacher of the local primary school for the following Tuesday. Today was Sunday, and since the library was closed, it was everyone’s day off. Chloe couldn’t help procrastinating leaving the house, and instead thoroughly cleaned every room.
That was a task in itself. Her old bedroom didn’t look much different from when she had moved out at nineteen, though she had taken down the posters of rock bands she had thought were awesome back then. There was the room where her sister Gwen had slept, which Chloe didn’t touch besides doing some dusting. She didn’t like to think about her sister, either.
Chloe set her jaw and closed Gwen’s bedroom door.
Her parents’ bedroom . . . she had come here shortly after the funeral, when aunts and uncles and distant relatives had helped her put away her parents’ things. Photo albums and ornaments and books were packed into boxes and put away in the attic, and Chloe didn’t have the heart to take them out and look at them. As a result, the room was pretty much empty. A bedside table stood either side of the bed, which was now just a mattress. There was an en-suite bathroom with a large bath. If Chloe hadn’t missed them so much, if wandering through this room to clean the dustand check for cobwebs hadn’t made her want to break down and sob, she might have gotten some use out of this room.
Maybe one day. Moving in here had already been a huge step.
