Getting up from his chair, he noticed a sign that said “Reference Room.”He walked into the cold, musty-smelling room, deserted apart from an elderly couple sitting at one of the tables in the back, reading a newspaper. Unlike the rest of the library, there were hardly any books, aside from a few encyclopedias stacked on tables on each side of the room.
He scanned the old, dusty room for an employee, hoping that they would be able to point him in the right direction. To his left next to a large photocopy machine he saw an office with the door ajar. He tapped on the door and waited. With no response, he ventured back out into the computer room. Just as he stepped in, he bumped into an elderly woman, knocking a stack of books out of her hands and scattering them across the floor. “Jesus, I’m sorry,” he blurted out, his voice echoing in the silent room.
“That’s all right,” the lady whispered, bending down to pick the books up.
“Let me help you.” He followed her down to the floor and started to pick some of them up. Carrying them over to a table, he quietly set them down.
“Thank you,” she murmured, and then started toward the office.
“Wait,” he said too loudly. “Can you help me with something?” he whispered, remembering where he was.
Stopping, she turned to him and smiled. “Yes, of course, my love. What would you like?”
“Well, I need to pick your brain.”
“Come into my office so we can talk properly.” She stepped into a tiny room, no bigger than a shed. Richard followed, his eyes drifting around the office. There were stacks of files piled up on shelves, another photocopy machine crammed in the back, and a mini-fridge and kettle on top of a small table under the window. He smiled as it reminded him of his own office at TSH.
Sitting on a chair, she sighed loudly, as if worn out. “Oh, that’s better. My legs are killing me. I’ve been on my feet all day. Old age, see—gets you in the end.” She rubbed her calf. “Right then, how can I help you?”
He closed the door and leaned against it. “I’m looking for someone. A woman. I know what she looks like and I know her name. I’ve tried the Internet but nothing’s come up. Any ideas?”
She thought for a moment. “Mmmm…let me see. Is she a local woman?”
“I think so.”
“Do you know roughly where she lives, or used to live?”
“I’m not really sure. Most likely Bristol. Maybe Clifton.”
“You could try the phone book. We have lots of different areas out on display. Or failing that you could try the police. But I’m not sure they’ll give out that type of information. Unless you’re a family member.”
He could feel his face light up as if a cloud had been lifted. “The police. Why didn’t I think of that?”
Frowning with concern, she inquired, “Can I ask who this person is?”
He paused, trying to think of something to tell her. The truth? Surely not. Maybe he could tell her that she’s a long lost friend, or even an old relative. Or perhaps someone to do with Nicky. At least then he could be a little more vague about the details.
“She’s an old school friend of my wife, Nicola,” he said. “She hasn’t seen her in a while. She more or less vanished into thin air.”
“How long ago?”
He shrugged. “Not sure—a few years maybe. She’s desperate to find her, but doesn’t know where to start.”
She got up from the chair and walked over to the door. He moved out of the way as she opened the door. “Let’s have a look then.” She walked over to one of the tables and pulled out a recent phonebook. “What’s the name then?”
“You don’t need to do that,” he quietly said, following her. “I don’t mind doing it.”
She beamed. “Nonsense, love, it’s no bother.”
“All right. Thanks. Her name is Christina Long,” he replied, peering down over the woman’s shoulder as she opened the book.
She licked her thumb and then began to flick through the pages, searching for the letter “L.”“Long…” she whispered to herself. “Long—ah, here we are: Long.” Running her thin index finger down the page, she mouthed the name “Christina.” After scrolling through only two pages, she closed the book. “No, there’s no Christina Long listed, I’m afraid.”