The Midnight Library - Matt Haig Page 0,4

her mind, conjuring chaos and intensity.

The woman behind the counter said something to her she missed.

‘Sorry?’

‘Nora Seed?’

The woman – blonde bob, bottle tan – was happy and casual and relaxed in a way Nora no longer knew how to be. Leaning over the counter, on her forearms, as if Nora was a lemur at the zoo.

‘Yep.’

‘I’m Kerry-Anne. Remember you from school. The swimmer. Super-brain. Didn’t whatshisface, Mr Blandford, do an assembly on you once? Said you were going to end up at the Olympics?’

Nora nodded.

‘So, did you?’

‘I, um, gave it up. Was more into music . . . at the time. Then life happened.’

‘So what do you do now?’

‘I’m . . . between things.’

‘Got anyone, then? Bloke? Kids?’

Nora shook her head. Wishing it would fall off. Her own head. Onto the floor. So she never had to have a conversation with a stranger ever again.

‘Well, don’t hang about. Tick-tock tick-tock.’

‘I’m thirty-five.’ She wished Izzy was here. Izzy never put up with any of this kind of shit. ‘And I’m not sure I want—’

‘Me and Jake were like rabbits but we got there. Two little terrors. But worth it, y’know? I just feel complete. I could show you some pictures.’

‘I get headaches, with . . . phones.’

Dan had wanted kids. Nora didn’t know. She’d been petrified of motherhood. The fear of a deeper depression. She couldn’t look after herself, let alone anyone else.

‘Still in Bedford, then?’

‘Mm-hm.’

‘Thought you’d be one who got away.’

‘I came back. My mum was ill.’

‘Aw, sorry to hear that. Hope she’s okay now?’

‘I better go.’

‘But it’s still raining.’

As Nora escaped the shop, she wished there were nothing but doors ahead of her, which she could walk through one by one, leaving everything behind.

How to Be a Black Hole

Seven hours before she decided to die, Nora was in free fall and she had no one to talk to.

Her last hope was her former best friend Izzy, who was over ten thousand miles away in Australia. And things had dried up between them too.

She took out her phone and sent Izzy a message.

Hi Izzy, long time no chat. Miss you, friend. Would be WONDROUS to catch up. X

She added another ‘X’ and sent it.

Within a minute, Izzy had seen the message. Nora waited in vain for three dots to appear.

She passed the cinema, where a new Ryan Bailey film was playing tonight. A corny cowboy-romcom called Last Chance Saloon.

Ryan Bailey’s face seemed to always know deep and significant things. Nora had loved him ever since she’d watched him play a brooding Plato in The Athenians on TV, and since he’d said in an interview that he’d studied philosophy. She’d imagined them having deep conversations about Henry David Thoreau through a veil of steam in his West Hollywood hot tub.

‘Go confidently in the direction of your dreams,’ Thoreau had said. ‘Live the life you’ve imagined.’

Thoreau had been her favourite philosopher to study. But who seriously goes confidently in the direction of their dreams? Well, apart from Thoreau. He’d gone and lived in the woods, with no contact from the outside world, to just sit there and write and chop wood and fish. But life was probably simpler two centuries ago in Concord, Massachusetts, than modern life in Bedford, Bedfordshire.

Or maybe it wasn’t.

Maybe she was just really crap at it. At life.

Whole hours passed by. She wanted to have a purpose, something to give her a reason to exist. But she had nothing. Not even the small purpose of picking up Mr Banerjee’s medication, as she had done that two days ago. She tried to give a homeless man some money but realised she had no money.

‘Cheer up, love, it might never happen,’ someone said.

Nothing ever did, she thought to herself. That was the whole problem.

Antimatter

Five hours before she decided to die, as she began walking home, her phone vibrated in her hand.

Maybe it was Izzy. Maybe Ravi had told her brother to get in touch.

No.

‘Oh hi, Doreen.’

An agitated voice. ‘Where were you?’

She’d totally forgotten. What time is it?

‘I’ve had a really crap day. I’m so sorry.’

‘We waited outside your flat for an hour.’

‘I can still do Leo’s lesson when I get back. I’ll be five minutes.’

‘Too late. He’s with his dad now for three days.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’

She was a waterfall of apologies. She was drowning in herself.

‘To be honest, Nora, he’s been thinking about giving up altogether.’

‘But he’s so good.’

‘He’s really enjoyed it. But he’s too busy. Exams, mates, football. Something has to give . . .’

‘He has