Page 80 of Big Nick Energy
He laughs, this genuine sound that I try really hard to keep, to hold on to. ‘Thank you, Kay Redman.’
‘You are very welcome, Nick North. Have a bloody lovely Christmas.’
‘You too.’
THIRTY-FOUR
‘I think the man on the right is a tad sharp,’ Helen whispers as we all wince slightly to try and work out where the bum notes from this choir are coming from. Is it the man in the penguin jumper or the woman who refuses to take off her gloves? My bets are on the man whose trousers look a tad too tight. That would affect your alto.
We invited the U3A choir in today as it’s our last day open in the library and so we thought we’d go all out. We’ve put out arrangements of decent biscuits and we’re all in Christmas jumpers; the last items for my book drive are stacked by the door, waiting to find new homes, and we’ve put the lights on a scatter setting, normally frowned upon by Olga who tells us it gives her migraines. The choir are singing about Santa Claus and how he’s coming to town and, yes, when they do that I think of Nick. Santa Nick. I think of how he showed up here, how he came around this city with me and helped me give out all those books. And I think of his words, all the things he said. I look into space and smile, warmed by that memory. That’s all it’ll be because I drew a clear line in the snow there.
‘Can I ask them to stop?’ Olga mutters.
I elbow her in the ribs. ‘Look how enthusiastic they are, they’re all wearing antlers.’
‘Which is ironic because they sound like dying deer,’ Helen says out of the side of her mouth.
I stifle my laughter as the choir gear up for their final notes. God, my car used to make that sound when I went over 60mph. But they’re here, they’re making merry for our amusement and they’re doing this for free. I clap enthusiastically and wolf whistle, encouraging all around us to do the same.
The lady in the front wearing a reindeer dress comes forward. ‘Would you like us to do another?’ she asks.
Helen steps in front of Olga before she has a chance to ruin this with her bluntness. ‘We would ordinarily say yes but we’re closing in about an hour. It was so lovely though, you are all so joyful.’
Bless Helen and her diplomacy. ‘Please stay for biscuits though, and tea,’ I say, so Olga won’t complain that she had to get the urn out again for nothing. There are hums of approval from the crowd as we allow them to disperse. I always love a crowd at the library. It makes me feel as though people are investing in their community again, that the arts are important. There are cold, rainy days behind this desk when you get just one or two dropping in, to return books or find a place for their toddlers to be that isn’t home. And that silence, though enforced because hey, we are a library, makes me sad, doubtful for this place’s survival. Today, however, is different. That buzz, even if provided by a tone-deaf choir, is everything.
‘Olga, I love your nails by the way,’ I say as she stands next to me at the desk, eyeing up a man who’s taken one too many biscuits. Olga has invested in nail art for the season, it’s red and sparkly and I force her to let me examine the artistry.
‘It is Christmas. I treated myself because we’re going out for Christmas Day, to a nice hotel,’ she says.
‘Fancy schmancy,’ I say.
‘Who is this schmancy?’ she asks.
I laugh. ‘No one, it’s a saying.’
‘Your rich boyfriend is taking you out too, no?’
‘On Christmas Day, no… But we talked about going to Paris in the New Year,’ I say to the girls. ‘And technically, not a boyfriend.’
‘Oh-la-la,’ Helen says. ‘So a lover?’ Her eyes light up at the thought.
‘We’re just… seeing how it goes,’ I inform them. Both of them look at me with a mix of disappointment and confusion, so much so I feel the need to explain. ‘Remember this love story started eight years ago. If I’m picking it up again then I want to be sure, certain.’
‘You don’t feel that already?’ Helen asks, frowning.
And I pause. There is something there. But more importantly, this is someone who could fit into my life, my future, and Nick ticks many boxes in lots of ways. We were brought back together for a reason, bumping into him a month ago must mean something. ‘I feel something.’
‘And that is how all good love poetry starts.I’ll see how it goes… you make me feel… something,’ Helen jokes.
‘For someone who writes books, your words about this man are very bland. Like potatoes,’ Olga says. ‘Boiled potatoes.’
‘And you want a man who’ll inspire your best words,’ Helen says. She studies my face. She’s been a quiet witness to the past few weeks, seeing how this story will pan out. I think she’s hoping for a particular ending. Looking at her now, I’m not sure if this is the one she was rooting for though. ‘And what of the other Nick?’ I haven’t told these girls about the other night, about the other Nick’s declarations and kindness, because they’re romantics and would have slapped the sensible right out of me. ‘That’s a man who could inspire poetry.’
‘Most likely a dirty limerick in your case,’ I jest.
She laughs heartily. ‘Does he have any other costumes? We could put on events all through the year and get him to dress up for us. I’ll find a kilt for Burns Night, a toga for Valentine’s Day. I bet he has lovely legs.’
He does. Because I’ve seen them. I look down to hide my smile, trying to snap my attention away from him. That’s done now, Kay. I need to move on from him to give the other Nick a chance. It’s no longer a game of comparisons because that’s not fair on either of them.
