The Midnight Library - Matt Haig Page 0,58

guy who asked me out for a coffee. In another I might be researching glaciers in the Arctic Circle. In another, I might be an Olympic swimming champion. Who knows? Every second of every day we are entering a new universe. And we spend so much time wishing our lives were different, comparing ourselves to other people and to other versions of ourselves, when really most lives contain degrees of good and degrees of bad.’

Marcelo and Joanna and the other Brazilian guy were staring at her wide-eyed, but she was on a roll now. Freewheeling.

‘There are patterns to life . . . Rhythms. It is so easy, while trapped in just the one life, to imagine that times of sadness or tragedy or failure or fear are a result of that particular existence. That it is a by-product of living a certain way, rather than simply living. I mean, it would have made things a lot easier if we understood there was no way of living that can immunise you against sadness. And that sadness is intrinsically part of the fabric of happiness. You can’t have one without the other. Of course, they come in different degrees and quantities. But there is no life where you can be in a state of sheer happiness for ever. And imagining there is just breeds more unhappiness in the life you’re in.’

‘That is a great answer,’ Marcelo said, after he was sure she was finished. ‘But tonight I would say, at the concert, you seemed happy. When you played “Bridge Over Troubled Water” instead of “Howl”, that was such a powerful statement. It was saying: I am strong. It felt like you were telling us, your fans, that you were okay. And so, how is touring going?’

‘Well, it’s great. And yes, I just thought I’d send a message that, you know, I am out here living my best life. But I miss home after a while.’

‘Which one?’ asked Marcelo, with a quietly cheeky smile. ‘I mean, do you feel more at home in London, or LA, or on the Amalfi Coast?’

It seemed this was the life where her carbon footprint was the highest.

‘I don’t know. I suppose I would say London.’

Marcelo took a sharp intake of breath, as if the next question was something he had to swim under. He scratched his beard. ‘Okay, but I suppose it must be hard for you, as I know you shared that flat with your brother?’

‘Why would it be hard?’

Joanna gave her a curious glance from above her cocktail.

Marcelo looked at her with sentimental fondness. His eyes seemed glazed. ‘I mean,’ he went on, after a delicate sip of beer, ‘your brother was such a big part of your life, such a big part of the band . . .’

Was.

So much dread in such a small word. Like a stone falling through water.

She remembered asking Ravi about her brother before the encore. She remembered the crowd’s reaction when she had mentioned her brother on stage.

‘He’s still around. He was here tonight.’

‘She means she feels him,’ said Joanna. ‘They all feel him. He was such a strong spirit. Troubled, but strong . . . It was a tragedy how the drink and drugs and the whole life got to him in the end . . .’

‘What are you talking about?’ Nora asked. She was no longer acting a life. She genuinely needed to know.

Marcelo looked sad for her. ‘You know, it’s only been two years since his death . . . his overdose . . .’

Nora gasped.

She didn’t arrive back in the library instantly because she hadn’t absorbed it. She stood up, dazed, and staggered out of the suite.

‘Nora?’ laughed Joanna, nervously. ‘Nora?’

She got in the lift and went down to the bar. To Ravi.

‘You said Joe was schmoozing the media.’

‘What?’

‘You said. I asked you what Joe was doing and you said, “schmoozing the media”.’

He put his beer down and stared at her like a riddle. ‘And I was right. She was schmoozing the media.’

‘She?’

He pointed over to Joanna, who was looking aghast as she headed over from the lifts in the lobby.

‘Yeah. Jo. She was with the press.’

And Nora felt the sadness like a punch.

‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘Oh Joe . . . oh Joe . . . oh . . .’

And the grand hotel bar disappeared. The table, the drinks, Joanna, Marcelo, the sound guy, the hotel guests, Ravi, the others, the marble floor, the barman, the waiters, the chandeliers, the flowers, all became nothing