Page 74 of Big Nick Energy
I nod. Olga moans at us every day because of the extra hoovering but I won’t tell him that. I let him follow me into the library as he looks around at the strings of lights illuminating the place. I feel his presence so closely that I can almost hear him breathing, the warmth of his body. I offer him Helen’s seat behind the counter. ‘Did you want a cup of tea or anything? I have some of Helen’s Christmas cake here. She went a bit heavy on the marzipan but it’s edible.’
‘I’m good. How are you?’ he says, turning to me.
‘I’m OK. I’ve been with my nana. How are you?’
He sighs deeply. ‘Can I ask you a question? Are you married? Kids?’
I shake my head. ‘No. God, no. I… before I met you, I’d just reconnected with an old boyfriend, and there’s…’
‘Overlap,’ he says. He takes a moment to let that sink in. ‘Damn him for getting in there first, I guess.’
I stop because that infers he had been interested. ‘I should have been more honest from the start. I like you, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, the book drive.’
‘I would have done that anyway. It’s been nice to have been involved, to have got to know you. You’re…’ He pauses and looks around the library.Please finish that sentence. I’m what?‘Youshould open this place at night you know? Serve wine and people can connect over books.’
‘That’s not a terrible idea, you know,’ I reply, trying to help him carry on the conversation.
We both sit there awkwardly in silence and I have the overwhelming urge to hug him, to hold him, in a way to let him know that I’m sorry, that deep down, I felt something too. For him. For the sake of transparency, I don’t want him to feel as though I was dishonest about any of that either. There was something there.
He sits there trying to rearrange his thoughts, his words. I know he’s not here to help me nurture library-based business ideas or check up on his Christmas trees. There was something to be said in person to each other. Maybe this is drawing a line formally, like proper adults. Maybe it all starts with an apology.
‘You know I’m really glad you wanted to meet up,’ I say, trying my best to catch his eye. ‘I wanted to say?—’
But he doesn’t let me finish my sentence, I see panic in his eyes that I would even want to talk about us, or discuss anything emotionally charged. ‘So yeah.’ He reaches for his phone and it’s strange to see him so hesitant and unsure of himself. ‘Look, the reason I’m here is… remember those letters we found in one of those books. I told you I put some posts out on local community groups? Well, someone replied.’
Oh. I stop in my tracks to have been cut off. He scrolls through his phone and shows me a post from a few days ago. ‘This person said they knew a Kelly whose husband’s name began with N and they lived locally to here. Last name was Snowden. I was thinking that perhaps we could check your members and see if that computes?’ he says.
I sigh warmly, knowing that in the background, this has still been a little project for Nick – the idea that while he may feel disappointment and sadness over us, he still held on to somebelief in the story those letters told. I feel the emotion well up in me at the goodness of his intentions. ‘What’s her husband’s name?’
‘Nathan.’
I turn on the computer and log in, to look at our members and cross-reference the names. I find her: Kelly Snowden. She’s a member, and so is her husband and all their kids. I smile to see her name and address there. ‘She’s here.’
Nick grins, looking satisfied that this story at least may have a happy ending. ‘Is there an address? A phone number? Could we give them a call?’ he asks, leaning over the desk.
I shield the computer from him. ‘GDPR prevents me from disclosing that information but I can give them a call.’
I pick up the library phone while looking at Nick, the excitement in his face that we’ve managed to do something right here, that this will make him unfeasibly happy to get these letters back to their rightful owners. Maybe this is how I put this right. I put the phone on speaker and it rings three times before someone answers.
‘Hello?’
‘Hello, is this Mrs Snowden? This is Kay Redman from Hampton Grove Library.’
There’s a pause as she tries to work out if this call is spam and why it’s coming to her at 6.30pm. ‘The library? We haven’t been to the library in years,’ she says bluntly. ‘Is this a marketing call?’
I’m a little panicked by the curtness in her tone. ‘Umm, no. We just… some books were donated to us recently and one contained letters that we thought might have belonged to you.’
Again, she pauses. ‘What sort of letters?’
‘Handwritten letters between you and possibly your husband.’
She laughs, almost a little too hard. ‘Is this a joke? My husband left me two years ago for a tanning technician called Savannah.’
Nick pushes his chair back in horror at the way this phone call is turning out.
‘I don’t think I even got as much as a birthday card from the tosspot when we were married. Letters? Unless they were letters about child support? Christmas next week and I’ve received absolutely nothing from that twat.’
Nick and I stare at each other in horror. ‘Mrs Snowden, I am so very sorry. It was just to check so we can reunite someone with their lost property. I didn’t mean to offend.’
