if you barely got enough to make rent. So that library is a vital resource! You shut a library, Louisa, you don’t just shut down a building, you shut down hope.’
There was a brief silence.
‘I love you, baby,’ said Meena, and kissed him full on the mouth.
‘I love you too, baby.’
They gazed at each other and I brushed imaginary crumbs from my coat and tried not to think about Sam.
Ashok and Meena headed over to her mother’s apartment to pick up their children, hugging me and making me promise to come next week. I took myself to the diner where I had a coffee and a slice of pie. I couldn’t stop thinking about the protest, the people in the library, the grimy, potholed streets that surrounded it. I kept picturing the rips in that woman’s coat, the elderly woman beside me and her pride in her grandson’s mentoring wages. I thought about Ashok’s impassioned plea for community. I recalled how my life had been changed by our library back home, the way Will had insisted that ‘knowledge is power’. How each book I now read – almost every decision I made – could be traced back to that time.
I thought about the way that every single protester in the crowd had known somebody else or was linked to somebody else or bought them food or drink or chatted to them, how I had felt the energy rush and pleasure that came from a shared goal.
I thought about my new home where, in a silent building of perhaps thirty people nobody spoke to anyone, except to complain about some small infringement of their own peace, where nobody apparently either liked anyone or could be bothered to get to know them enough to find out.
I sat until my pie grew cold in front of me.
When I got back I did two things: I wrote a short note to Mrs De Witt thanking her for the beautiful scarf, telling her the gift had made my week, and that if she ever wanted further help with the dog I would be delighted to learn more about canine care. I put it into an envelope and slid it under her door.
I knocked on Ilaria’s door, trying not to be intimidated when she opened it and stared at me with open suspicion. ‘I passed the coffee shop where they sell the cinnamon cookies you like so I bought you some. Here.’ I held out the bag to her.
She eyed it warily. ‘What do you want?’
‘Nothing!’ I said. ‘Just … thanks for the whole thing with the kids the other day. And, you know, we work together and stuff so …’ I shrugged. ‘It’s just some cookies.’
I held them a few inches closer to her so that she was obliged to take them from me. She looked at the bag, then at me, and I had the feeling she was about to thrust it back at me, so before she could I waved and hurried back to my room.
That evening I went online and looked up everything I could find out about the library: the news stories about its budget cuts, threatened closures, small success stories – Local teen credits library for college scholarship – printing out key pieces and saving all the useful information into a file.
And at a quarter to nine, an email popped into my inbox. It was titled SORRY.
Lou,
I’ve been on lates all week and I wanted to write when I had more than five minutes and knew I wasn’t going to mess things up more. I’m not great with words. And I’m guessing only one word is really important here. I’m sorry. I know you wouldn’t cheat. I was an idiot even for thinking it.
The thing is it’s hard being so far apart and not knowing what’s going on in your life. When we meet it’s like the volume’s turned up too high on everything. We can’t just relax with each other.
I know your time in New York is important to you and I don’t want you to stay still.
I’m sorry, again.
Your Sam
xxx
It was the closest thing he’d sent me to a letter. I stared at the words for a few moments, trying to unpick what I felt. Finally I opened up an email and typed:
I know. I love you. When we see each other at Christmas hopefully we’ll have time just to relax around each other. Lou xxx
I sent it, then answered an email from Mum and wrote one to