After adding a big tick next to ‘lazy Sunday morning’ on the Dream List (now typed out on A3 paper and pinned to my office notice board), I spent the rest of the day stripping wallpaper, blaring out music that Mum would have hated (basically, anything more recent than 2000 that wasn’t Take That or Adele), and singing along at the top of my voice. Exhausted, but thrilled at having made some decent progress, I finally stopped once my stomach rumbles threatened to drown out the feel-good playlist, changed into clean pyjamas and went to find something to eat.
There was a note pushed through the letterbox:
This is a terrace. If you are going to spend all day caterwauling, at least learn how to do it in tune.
The note wasn’t signed, but I didn’t suppose that either Joan or Leanne would write such spindly scrawl – or use a fountain pen. Hot tears pressed against the backs of my eyes, and I slumped into a kitchen chair, hand trembling as it clutched the note. What had only minutes ago felt like glorious serenity now seemed horribly lonely and overwhelming. I felt like a stupid child playing at being grown-up, and for the first time in over a week, I desperately missed Mum.
I hurriedly unblocked her number and clicked to call. She answered after one ring.
‘Ollie!’ she barked. ‘I’ve been out of my mind with worry. I can’t believe you blocked your own mother!’
I swallowed back the lump in my throat and prepared to go with an ‘I’m fine!’ reply, but before I could speak she carried on.
‘Honestly, this week has been a nightmare! You wouldn’t understand, not having your own child, but it’s felt as though someone chopped my arm off and hid it somewhere. Cutting off all contact, refusing to tell me where you live or if you’re okay is downright cruel. Everyone agrees! After all I’ve done, you repay me like this. For all you know I’d taken ill again and was in hospital… or dead.’ She broke off into sobs.
‘It was one week, Mum. And Karina would have let me know if anything happened—’
Before I’d finished my sentence, she’d started up again. ‘You can’t imagine how lonely I am without you. I’ve barely seen a living soul all week. Felt so awful I couldn’t face leaving the house.’
‘Karina told me you went to the cinema on Wednesday, and saw Linda last Sunday.’
There was a long silence, punctuated by her sulky sniffles. ‘Well, it’s still been dreadful without you.’
‘I know it must be hard; I’m sorry you’ve struggled.’
‘Alicia Jones asked how you were getting on, and I couldn’t even reply. How do you think that felt? I was humiliated.’ She sniffed a couple more times. ‘Anyway, I have to go. Karina’s paused Call The Midwife and I need an early night after all this stress.’
She hung up.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ I muttered at the silent phone. ‘You’ve made me feel much better about living here by myself. Oh, and I’m doing really well, in case Alicia’s interested.’
I sent a note back to my delightful neighbour.
Thanks for the heads up. I will endeavour to hit the right notes next time. Any special requests? Ollie
Monday, I carried out a full day’s induction for my new team of part-time reading coaches, followed by stripping off the remaining dregs of the bedroom wallpaper. This time, I kept my headphones in and my singing subdued. On Tuesday, I welcomed my second new reader to Bigley Bottom library.
In my initial chat with Yasmin, she told me she’d been granted asylum earlier in the year, and was now looking for work. She didn’t volunteer any information about where she’d come from, or why, only that she’d previously worked as a dental hygienist, and was hoping to eventually gain the right qualifications to find a similar job here. She’d ended up in Bigley because a volunteer at the refugee support group she attended rented out flats in the village. Refusing to accept any benefits, she’d initially survived week to week by dog-walking, which then led to dog-sitting for a wealthy businessman who spent half the year travelling. Yasmin came across as a sombre woman. Hunched shoulders and haunted brown eyes suggested far deeper wounds than the burn scars covering the backs of her hands and forearms. However, when she talked about those dogs, her entire demeanour transformed.
‘Half the month, I live on rice and vegetables. But when Mr Howard tells me to help myself to the fridge, I won’t say no. Those dogs eat steak and organic chicken, so why shouldn’t I?’ She shook her head, dark plait swaying. ‘This is what my life has come to – I eat like a dog now!’
She burst into laughter so unexpected, I couldn’t help joining in.
We established that while Yasmin’s spoken English was competent, she needed help getting her reading and writing up to college level. Given the focus with which she tackled our first session, I predicted she’d be there in a couple of months.
As soon as she left, Irene stomped over.
‘Good morning, Irene. How are you on this gorgeous day?’
Irene’s nostrils flared in reply. I waited for her to get to the point.
‘While I appreciate that your lessons require some verbal communication, may I remind you that this is a library, not a gossip club. If your clients can’t adhere to appropriate standards of behaviour, you will have to find an alternative venue.’
‘Excuse me?’ I sat up, meeting her steely gaze with my own. ‘What standards of behaviour are those?’
Her eyes flickered to the side before coming to rest about three inches to the right of my face. ‘Raised voices. Outlandish laughter.’ She pursed her lips in disgust. ‘Attention-seeking behaviour.’
‘You’re objecting to my client laughing?’
‘Well…’ Irene flicked her hand. ‘She was… distracting other library users.’
My jaw clenched. A handful of people had come into the library that morning. Most of them had smiled and said hello. One elderly couple had asked what we were studying, and we’d had a brief conversation about adult education classes. Another man had openly listened as Yasmin recounted how she taught Mr Howard’s bichon frise to put his toys away, her smile lighting up the dingy atmosphere.
Yasmin and I had laughed maybe four times. On two occasions, other people had joined in. For a moment there, the library had been in severe danger of transforming into a community space where people connected with one another.
‘Did any of these users complain?’ I asked.
‘Not in so many words.’