The Midnight Library - Matt Haig Page 0,2
you worked here?’
‘Twelve years and . . .’ – she knew this too well – ‘. . . eleven months and three days. On and off.’
‘That’s a long time. I feel like you are made for better things. You’re in your late thirties.’
‘I’m thirty-five.’
‘You’ve got so much going for you. You teach people piano . . .’
‘One person.’
He brushed a crumb off his sweater.
‘Did you picture yourself stuck in your hometown working in a shop? You know, when you were fourteen? What did you picture yourself as?’
‘At fourteen? A swimmer.’ She’d been the fastest fourteen-year-old girl in the country at breaststroke and second-fastest at freestyle. She remembered standing on a podium at the National Swimming Championships.
‘So, what happened?’
She gave the short version. ‘It was a lot of pressure.’
‘Pressure makes us, though. You start off as coal and the pressure makes you a diamond.’
She didn’t correct his knowledge of diamonds. She didn’t tell him that while coal and diamonds are both carbon, coal is too impure to be able, under whatever pressure, to become a diamond. According to science, you start off as coal and you end up as coal. Maybe that was the real-life lesson.
She smoothed a stray strand of her coal-black hair up towards her ponytail.
‘What are you saying, Neil?’
‘It’s never too late to pursue a dream.’
‘Pretty sure it’s too late to pursue that one.’
‘You’re a very well qualified person, Nora. Degree in Philosophy . . .’
Nora stared down at the small mole on her left hand. That mole had been through everything she’d been through. And it just stayed there, not caring. Just being a mole. ‘Not a massive demand for philosophers in Bedford, if I’m honest, Neil.’
‘You went to uni, had a year in London, then came back.’
‘I didn’t have much of a choice.’
Nora didn’t want a conversation about her dead mum. Or even Dan. Because Neil had found Nora’s backing out of a wedding with two days’ notice the most fascinating love story since Kurt and Courtney.
‘We all have choices, Nora. There’s such a thing as free will.’
‘Well, not if you subscribe to a deterministic view of the universe.’
‘But why here?’
‘It was either here or the Animal Rescue Centre. This paid better. Plus, you know, music.’
‘You were in a band. With your brother.’
‘I was. The Labyrinths. We weren’t really going anywhere.’
‘Your brother tells a different story.’
This took Nora by surprise. ‘Joe? How do you—’
‘He bought an amp. Marshall DSL40.’
‘When?’
‘Friday.’
‘He was in Bedford?’
‘Unless it was a hologram. Like Tupac.’
He was probably visiting Ravi, Nora thought. Ravi was her brother’s best friend. While Joe had given up the guitar and moved to London, for a crap IT job he hated, Ravi had stuck to Bedford. He played in a covers band now, called Slaughterhouse Four, doing pub gigs around town.
‘Right. That’s interesting.’
Nora was pretty certain her brother knew Friday was her day off. The fact prodded her from inside.
‘I’m happy here.’
‘Except you aren’t.’
He was right. A soul-sickness festered within her. Her mind was throwing itself up. She widened her smile.
‘I mean, I am happy with the job. Happy as in, you know, satisfied. Neil, I need this job.’
‘You are a good person. You worry about the world. The homeless, the environment.’
‘I need a job.’
He was back in his Confucius pose. ‘You need freedom.’
‘I don’t want freedom.’
‘This isn’t a non-profit organisation. Though I have to say it is rapidly becoming one.’
‘Look, Neil, is this about what I said the other week? About you needing to modernise things? I’ve got some ideas of how to get younger peo—’
‘No,’ he said, defensively. ‘This place used to just be guitars. String Theory, get it? I diversified. Made this work. It’s just that when times are tough I can’t pay you to put off customers with your face looking like a wet weekend.’
‘What?’
‘I’m afraid, Nora’ – he paused for a moment, about the time it takes to lift an axe into the air – ‘I’m going to have to let you go.’
To Live Is to Suffer
Nine hours before she decided to die, Nora wandered around Bedford aimlessly. The town was a conveyor belt of despair. The pebble-dashed sports centre where her dead dad once watched her swim lengths of the pool, the Mexican restaurant where she’d taken Dan for fajitas, the hospital where her mum had her treatment.
Dan had texted her yesterday.
Nora, I miss your voice. Can we talk? D x
She’d said she was stupidly hectic (big lol). Yet it was impossible to text anything else. Not because she didn’t still feel for