The Library of Lost and Found. Phaedra PatrickЧитать онлайн книгу.
with good experience, in fact.’
Martha felt her insides sliding. ‘That must be very encouraging for you.’
‘Yes. I just didn’t want you to be, um… disappointed.’
Martha thought of the application form in her desk drawer. She hadn’t even completed one word and Clive was already priming her for rejection. She opened her mouth to tell him how much she wanted the job, what she could bring to it and how she was probably just as qualified as anyone else, but his lips were set in a fine line.
As he obstructed her way out of the kitchen, Martha had a flash of memory. Her father embraced her mother, tipped her back and kissed her, then held up a book. Martha and her mother had read it together, but she never saw it again after that day. Beauty and the Beast.
She hadn’t thought of it for a long time and, for some reason, the memory unnerved her. The picture stuck there, like it had been pasted in her brain.
Glancing around, the kitchen walls seemed to contract, closing in on her. Her head began to feel light and she took a tentative step forward, indicating that she wanted to leave. ‘Sorry, I need to…’
But Clive remained there, solid and imposing. Although he was just a man, he seemed like a brick wall.
Martha bent her head, and her heart pounded. She desperately wanted to get out of this confined space. Screwing her eyes shut, she stepped forward. The door was out of reach, behind Clive’s back, but she headed for it anyway. She felt her arm brush against the sleeve of his jacket and heard his feet move to one side.
When she finally lifted her head, she was back in the main room of the library. After the gloominess of the kitchen, she raised a hand against the glare of the fluorescent lights.
‘Will you read another passage from the book for us?’ Horatio winked at her.
‘Can I get the washing back from you tomorrow, Martha love?’ Nora asked.
‘Apply for the job, if you think you have a chance,’ Clive said, behind her.
Martha looked back and saw his freckled scalp and blubbery lips, shining under the ceiling light. She turned and focused on Horatio’s gold buttons, lipstick on Branda’s front tooth and Nora’s silver fillings as she laughed.
‘Do you have any gluten-free biscuits?’ Branda asked.
‘It will be good practice for you,’ Clive said.
‘Can you be a love and drop the laundry off for me?’ Nora said. ‘My back is playing up.’
‘No,’ Martha said very quietly. Partly to the group, and partly to the image of her father in her head, as he held out his hand for Beauty and the Beast. She clenched her fists but the chattering and laughter droned on.
‘There’s not long until the deadline,’ Clive said.
‘The lid is missing off this fish food. Come and take a look,’ Horatio grumbled.
‘We should read a Scandi thriller next, Martha.’ Branda tapped her nails on the table. ‘Much more exciting than this one.’
‘I usually use fabric softener,’ Nora mused. ‘Can you be a love and pop some in your machine? My towels were a bit scratchy.’
Martha felt a rumbling, volcano-like, deep within her. A pain stabbed her chest and she pressed her hands against it, pushing it away. Something very strange was happening to her body and she couldn’t control it. Fear flickered in her eyes as she wondered what it was.
‘I always wash at forty degrees,’ Nora said. ‘I suspect you set your machine at thirty, Martha love.’
‘I think the Scandinavians write better thrillers,’ Branda said. ‘Don’t you agree?’
The noise in the room seemed to escalate, reaching a crescendo in Martha’s head. She raised her hands, holding them flat against her ears, yet she couldn’t block out the racket that hissed and hurt her brain.
And the next thing she heard took her completely by surprise. It overwhelmed and startled her.
It was Martha’s own voice, very loud and very clear.
‘No,’ she said. ‘No. No. NO.’
Crabs
The minutes following Martha’s outburst whizzed past in a haze. The members of the reading group stared at her, but she couldn’t absorb their expressions. The word ‘no’ ricocheted in her head.
She whispered a quick ‘Sorry,’ and tugged her coat from the back of a chair. She stuffed her notepad into its pocket.
As she moved quickly, her knee cracked as she stumbled over one of Nora’s bags of laundry. Wobbling for a moment, she managed not to fall and she padded her hands against the walls of the corridor to make her way to the front doors. After forcing them open, she surged outside, blinking against the brightness of the daylight.
Martha stood for a moment, shielding her eyes and not knowing what to do or where to go. The cool February breeze kissed her fiery cheeks. She clumsily pulled on her coat, pushing an arm down a sleeve with such force that the lining ripped.
‘Martha.’ A man’s voice growled from behind her.
Startled, she turned to see Siegfried, hunched in his long coat. When he reached out, his fingers skimmed against her wrist. Martha inched away.
He took a small step towards her and her own shuffles graduated to small steps backwards, then became bigger strides. All she could picture were laughing faces, mocking her.
She moved with pace, a small jog, along the street and past the cemetery. She’d left her handbag behind and felt her sparkly hair slide slip out. She saw it fall, then shine on the pavement before she moved on.
Her head reverberated and she couldn’t think about anything clearly. As she crossed the road, a lorry sounded its horn. Everything around her sounded louder, the wheels on a bus roared on the tarmac, and she winced when a seagull cawed overhead. A car was suddenly upon her, the driver flashing his lights and shaking his fist as she leaped out of the way.
Silly, silly woman, she scolded herself. What on earth will people think of you?
I’ve left Nora’s washing behind. How will I get it clean now?
Clive Folds will never give me a job.
I’ve not explained how to use the book-rating spreadsheet.
Shame prevented her from returning. She thrust her head down and speed-walked on, her shoulders feeling too light without her bag.
Fine drops of rain prickled her face before they turned to fat drops and she swiped them away with her fingers. A bus pulled up alongside her and the driver opened the doors. Martha hesitated, not knowing where it was heading. She pushed her hand into her pocket and felt loose change.
‘Are you gettin’ on board or not, darlin’?’ the driver called out to her.
Martha stood motionless as people moved towards her on the pavement. A woman wearing a see-through plastic mac chased after her King Charles spaniel, and kids laughed and shoved each other as they made their way home from school. She wondered if Will and Rose were among them and, not wanting them to see her like this, she darted on board.
‘Where to, darlin’?’ the driver asked.
‘Maltsborough, please.’
‘Single ticket?’
‘Um, yes.’
The doors shushed shut and the bus set off.
Hanging her head, she made her way to the back and slumped down onto the seat she’d shared with Will