I nodded. ‘Yes please.’
‘He won’t let me open up a fraction before nine,’ David continued as he poured milk into the mugs. ‘But if I’m not there on the absolute dot with my key in the main doors then he gets quite agitated.’
Sure enough – we both stopped as a querulous ‘Da-vid!!’ drifted through the office door.
David smiled benignly. ‘I’d better get on it,’ he said. ‘Do you want to come with me? I think Colin would be reassured to see that you are being taught all the important stuff. He’s never been confident enough to open the main doors himself but if heknows there’s someone else here who can do it, it might make him feel a bit more relaxed.’
I followed David out to the main reception area where Colin was rubbing his hands together and staring anxiously at the clock. ‘It is thirty seconds past nine, David,’ he said. ‘It is now nearly forty seconds past nine…’
‘It’s okay Colin.’ David waved the keys in the air. ‘I’m right on it. And Hattie’s going to learn what to do so we’ll always be on time.’
‘That’s good,’ said Colin, visibly relaxing. ‘We open at nine on Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. We open at eight-thirty on a Saturday because of shoppers. And we open at ten o’clock on Sundays because of church. God likes books but only after church. Amen.’
‘Got it,’ I said as David led me to the double-fronted glass-panelled doors that opened into the main foyer a few metres from the side door I’d used to come in earlier.
‘It’s literally just a double lock and the two bolts,’ murmured David as he made a point of demonstrating the unlocking mechanism and getting me to repeat the action myself. ‘But you’d think I was trying to gain access to the vaults of Coutts.’ He raised his voice a fraction to call over to reception. ‘Colin is very protective over the library, aren’t you Col?’
‘Yes, David,’ said Colin seriously. ‘The computers are expensive. Hattie, have you seen the computers? I can show you now that the library is open. Have you seen Pilot, Hattie? He’s a dog. He likes to sit by the big radiator in the children’s reading section. I can show him to you if you like?’
‘Why don’t we grab a mug of tea and then we’ll get Hattie settled in?’ said David. ‘You show her the booking system and I’ll bring the drinks over.’
Chapter Fifteen
By midday David and Colin had shown me how to check the books out and how to check the returns in. There had been a couple of very kind and very patient older ladies who had waited at the counter for what felt like an hour while I laboriously scanned their chosen large-print hardbacks and printed out their receipts.
‘Don’t you worry, dear,’ one of them had said, leaning across her tartan shopping trolley. ‘We’ve all got to start somewhere.’
‘And me and Gertrude, we don’t mind waiting,’ said Gertrude’s friend in an accent that was a curious mix of Brummie and Jamaican Patois. She folded her arms beneath her ample bosom. ‘We got plenty time. Don’t you be worrying now.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, grimacing as I realised I’d scanned one of her books twice. ‘Uhm – David, how do I…?’
He leaned over and showed me how to delete the copy from the record as Colin handed the ladies their piles of books.
‘Colin,’ said Gertrude’s friend, peering over her wire-framed glasses at him. ‘How’s your mother?’
‘She is well thank you, Mrs Campbell. But she does have bad bunions. She says they are the bane of her existence.’ He rolled his eyes at the end of the sentence in what I imagine was an imitation of his mother.
‘Ah, the bunions are a scourge on humanity, isn’t that the truth.’ Mrs Campbell nodded wisely. ‘Well, tell her I send my sympathies. We be seeing you at church this Sunday?’
‘Yes, Mrs Campbell. Church is always on Sunday. I will wear my tie.’ Colin thought for a second. ‘The library opens on Sundays,’ he said. ‘But not until ten o’clock. God likes books…’
‘But only after church,’ Mrs Campbell finished for him. I got the impression she’d heard this proclamation before. Probably every time she came to the library. ‘Well then – I’ll be seeing you.’ She and Gertrude shuffled towards the doors at a leisurely pace, Gertrude’s trolley now weighed down by four Danielle Steels, two Catherine Cooksons and a Jackie Collins. (‘She like something a bit racy does Gertrude,’ Mrs Campbell had said with a wink when I was scanning the Jackie Collins.)
At one o’clock Colin took himself off to the military history section to eat his cheese sandwich with Pilot, who had roused himself from a snooze near the radiators evidently thinking there was a good chance of picking up a few crumbs of Cheddar if he sat near Colin’s feet for long enough.
‘Have you brought lunch?’ asked David. ‘Don’t feel that you need to stay in the library while you eat, it’s not compulsory. It’s just that Colin likes that corner on a Wednesday. His shift is finished for the day, so he’ll just wait for his friends to come, help them choose their books, and then head back on the Mackenzie bus. Malia and Ren are here from two but I’m happy to hold the fort if you want to pop out and get some fresh air.’
‘Surely you need a lunch break too though?’ I said.
He shrugged. ‘I might take Pilot for a stroll through the underpass and back later this afternoon,’ he said. ‘Keep the old dodgy hip moving. But I’ve got some sandwiches in the office. I’ll have them in a bit. You’re welcome to share. Ham and pickle. Or you could try Kathy’s Cafe just along the way. It’s – uhm – it’s a bit more salubrious than it looks. Javid who runs it often pops in with his kids. His daughter is a big fan of graphic novels.’
‘Is she the eponymous Kathy? Or is it her mum?’
‘No, I think it’s a nod to EastEnders from the previous owner. There’s no actual Kathy as far as I can tell. They do a good brie and cranberry panini though.’
I retrieved my now dry duffle coat from the peg on the back of the office door and promised Colin to get him some Space Raiders if Javid had them back in stock. It was still raining outside but David said I could borrow his umbrella and it was a pleasant surprise to see that what he’d said about the cafe was true – beyond the smeary windows was a warm and cosy eating area, clean tables with gingham cloths, fresh flowers in little milk jugs and a lovely pervasive aroma of buttery toast.
I placed my order and took a seat at one of the tables near the window to wait, and it wasn’t until I was fumbling in my handbag for my purse to pay for my panini that I realised I hadn’t looked at my phone all morning. Not once. It was completely unheard of. Panicking, I saw that there were two messages from Layla, so I paid for my lunch without attempting to engage Javid in further conversation (which was a shame in retrospect because he, like the cafe, seemed far jollier than initial appearances had suggested) and quickly scrolled down my screen. Thankfully, Layla’s messages just said ‘good luck in your new job’ and ‘I’ll be free for a phone call this evening if you want’ but still, what if they’d been important? I replied with a heart emoji to both, checked her location on the tracker, more out of habit than anything else, and decided to keep my phone on me for the rest of my shift, although it wasn’t terribly easy as the linen trousers maddeningly didn’t have pockets (I mean, whodoesthat? Surely clothing designers have got the mandatory pockets memo by now?). Note to self for tomorrow, I thought. Packed lunch – the panini was delicious but I’d easily spend my entire salary if I used Kathy’s Cafe every day – and pocketed garments.
