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‘Sounds like a great kid.’ Finn ponders it for a moment. ‘There must be a local group he can join in the hopes of making friends? If there’s one thing Willow Grove has, it’s an abundance of social clubs.’
That gets me thinking. Why don’t we try and offer that kind of thing at the library, so Jo doesn’t need to fit anything else into her busy schedule?
‘The library could definitely host some sort of pre-teen social club. Maybe a Minecraft group or what’s that other game they’re all into at the moment …? Where you have to guess who the imposter is?’
‘Among Us? Pretty sure that fad has passed already.’
‘Already? Fickle kids!’ We laugh.
Finn turns to me, excitement sparkling in his eyes as if he’s buoyed by the thought of what could be at the library if only we tried. ‘Minecraft is a great idea. It’s used to teach coding at some schools, so it could also be pitched as educational.’
That same buoyancy races through me. The library has so muchpotentialas long as we don’t run out of time and resources. It really could be the hub this town needs if it all comes together the way I imagine it can. ‘I’ll talk to Alfie’s mum, Jo, and see what she’s comfortable with. In the meantime, I’m going to make his little library cubicle the best I can.’ I’ve ordered times tables, periodic charts and human biology posters he can tack up, and a few interesting shark diagrams. ‘What boy of eleven do you know who manages without a friend their own age? I’m just wondering why another family haven’t come along and invited him on bike rides, or offered to take him out for pizza, you know? Jo said this is the third school they’ve tried and that she doesn’t want to keep moving him from town to town and rightly so. Why shouldtheyhave to move?’
Finn shrugs. ‘I’m a blow-in here too, I’ve been here for years now but it took the town a while to warm to me. I’m originally from a county over but you’d think it was outer space the way they looked through me. It’s an old town; generations have grown up together and they’re cliquey. Sometimes, it feels like we’ve regressed a hundred years. So, maybe it’s that. No excuse, but that’s how it is with new people.’
It makes me wonder what’s in store for me. Another blow-in, one who isn’t exactly who she says she is. Yikes. ‘Can we help bring them kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century?’ I ask with a sheepish grin.
‘It would take a miracle, but I believe in magic.’
Finn is someone special with his genuine demeanour. We continue down the high street and he shows me all the points of interest in town: the local church, and then the bowls club, where they’re hosting a social night for members. I introduce myself and ask to stick up some flyers about the library. Finn’s right about how they treat newcomers; they give me a disinterested nod and resume their conversations.
We visit the rowdy corner pub where locals sit nursing frothy beers. I say hello to as many people as I can including the publican and I ask permission to tape posters to the front of their windows. Here everyone seems accommodating enough and the man agrees I can advertise here whenever I like as long as I promise to stop by for a drink sometime so they can get to know me and my plans for the library. I do love a small-town pub; they’re the best place to go to find out the ins and outs of a place.
Back outside the sky is awash with swirls of magenta and lilac. ‘Last stop before dinner on the insider’s tour of Willow Grove is none other than the swanky office of theChronicle, where yours truly bleeds over his laptop in order to produce cutting-edge news for the masses.’ He waves up at the office space, which is above the pub and looks like the size of a bedsit. ‘I like to call myself a roving reporter, so space isn’t a priority.’ I love his self-deprecating sense of humour and the way he isn’t hung up on material things. It’s obvious he loves his job and his life in Willow Grove.
I grin at him. ‘You can’t report what you can’t see. I bet that’s a good vantage point to watch the world go by on the high street.’
‘Can’t beat it. I get my best stories from that perch. Although, I’m sure your story is going to beat them all. Who can compare with a ravishing librarian who is new to town?’
I gulp. Little does he know I won’t be part of any story for his paper. At least not photographically. ‘So where to now?’ I subject change subtle as anything.
He gives me an odd look, sensing what? That I didn’t respond to being called ravishing? I’m sure he meant it in jest anyway. ‘We’re off to Chez Jacques, a little bistro that’s owned by a local couple. They do British/French fare and win awards for their dishes but they’reveryhumble about it. Like for instance if you look closely, you might see theteenytiny sign in their window announcing their latest win?’
He points to a bistro up the street, at least I assume it’s a restaurant. It’s hard to focus because of the garish neon yellow signage on their window that reads: NUMBER ONE AGAIN. DON’T BOTHER GOING ANYWHERE ELSE.
‘I’m lost for words. Humble is anunderstatement. I’m partially blind in one eye now.’
Finn laughs. ‘Likewise. Helps to blink away the neon. I hope you’re hungry.’
‘Starving.’ And I am. This cooking malarkey was fun at first but after a week of early starts and long days the lustre soon wears off. If it wasn’t for Harry, I’d have given up by now and been living off buttered toast.
We’re greeted by a waitress who fawns over Finn. ‘Here he is, the man who put us on the map!’
‘He did?’ I ask with a smile.
The exuberant waitress nods, her curls bouncing. ‘He did a story about us after we took our first prize in French/British culinary awards for our famous hazelnut dacquoise.Before we knew it we were being inundated by celebrities and the like.’ She moves closer and whispers, ‘Keep this to yourself, but that’s the only reason you have a table tonight with a last-minute reservation. We’re booked solid for months, you see, but we can’t let our superstar reporter go unfed, now can we?’
‘No, you most certainly can’t. I can’t write if I’m hungry,’ Finn says, laughing off her praise. ‘Mary here is married to Jacques the chef who hails from France. Theirs is one of those love stories where they …’
Mary slaps him playfully on the arm. ‘Oh shush you. You know very well we met on a Contiki tour.’
Finn pretends to be shocked. ‘Well it must have been a very romantic Contiki tour.’
‘Let’s just say his accent didn’t hurt one little bit.’ Mary’s boisterous and bubbly and I like her already. It seems like she’s the what-you-see-is-what-you-get type, a trait I find enormously comforting in people because you never have to guess their motivations. ‘Coming through,’ she bellows, waving us to join her as she zigzags through tables. ‘VIP guest, coming through!’ We’re seated at a table by the window. The signage manages to bathe us in a jaundiced yellow light. I’m sure it makes me look decidedly ill, but we’re in themosthappening of places in Willow Grove so I can’t complain. ‘I’ll bring the fancy wine, since this looks like a date.’
With that she springs away, and I exhale. ‘What a welcome,’ I say, blushing as patrons stare at us. I presume wondering exactly who the VIPs are. ‘So what’s her husband Jacques like? Mary doesn’t quite have the poise of the French but she has a certainje ne sais quoithat I bet attracts people to her like a magnet.’
‘Yeah, she’s popular in town and has a big social circle.’ Finn leans closer. ‘Jacques is her polar opposite.’
