The Lost Bookshop(13)

‘It’s the uniform of the invisible!’ she scolded, putting a hand across her eyes.

I looked at my jeans and jumper in the long bathroom mirror and frowned. They seemed fine to me. Maybe a little old. I studied my face then. The bruising had healed and was almost invisible now. If you didn’t know better, you’d say it had never happened. Then the images rushed through me like a speeding train: cowered in the corner, back against the kitchen cupboards, screaming for him to stop. I put the flat of my palm against the wall to steady myself. The trick was not to remember; not to let the fear catch up. Always look ahead, keep busy.

I looked again at my clothes and saw that small town, the curious neighbours, the guards that did nothing. I suddenly wanted to burn everything I owned that came from that place. It was time. With my small wage packet (cash in hand, no sense bothering the tax man, she said) I took myself down to O’Connell Street and into Penneys. It was wall-to-wall denim. That woman would put me in a maid’s outfit if I came back with more denim. I decided to start with new underwear and picked out a cotton bra and knickers. It felt strange, having this time to myself, money in my pocket and no one to please but myself. I looked around almost feeling guilty. It was the middle of the day and here I was acting like … what? A free woman, I supposed. Just then, I felt something I hadn’t experienced in a long time. It was like my heart was smiling. So I moved on to the shoe department and picked out some black slip-ons. Then I spotted some black capri pants and I hooked them over my arm to bring to the changing rooms. I found a white blouse that looked sort of professional and I even bought a red hairband with white polka dots! I was so impressed with myself and my good eye that I threw caution to the wind and picked up a new backpack, so I could get rid of the duffle bag I’d had since secondary school. I tried everything on and put my old clothes in the duffle bag. I took the tags up to the till, just like you’d see in the movies, and felt the thrill of starting my life right there.

I stuffed my old belongings in a bin outside and walked around the city for a while. I bought a takeout coffee and a doughnut and strolled through Stephen’s Green. The weather was mild and I became aware of how much lighter I felt in myself. I walked with my arms relaxed, not tight around my chest as they always used to be – always on alert. I watched the swans in the pond picking at the bread people threw in and heard the clap of wings when a flock of pigeons were spooked from their perch. It was like coming out of some kind of coma, I thought, because now everything sounded clearer and looked brighter. That old hope returned to my stomach again, as I saw students of all nationalities sitting on the grass; discussing intelligent things, I supposed. Maybe they were just talking about parties they were going to, but either way, it was a life I’d never tasted and the hunger in me was nearly overpowering. I did something I never thought I’d dare and stopped in the library on the way home. My courage almost left me at the door when I realised I hadn’t been inside one since I was a child and even then it had been the travelling library. This was a big, busy building with a revolving door that saw much use. I caught my reflection in the glass, a new woman in new clothes, and took a deep breath.

Once inside, I wasn’t sure what to do. Everyone seemed to know where they were going – heads bowed over open books. It was so quiet but, my God, you could hear how smart everyone was. It was terrifying. I spotted an older woman at the reception desk and asked her if she had any information on going to university.

‘Adult education?’ she asked.

‘I suppose, yeah.’

Without any further conversation, she got up and took some leaflets from a Perspex shelf behind her.

‘You’ll find everything you need here.’

That was it. She’d moved on to the next person and I was quietly relieved that I’d got what I came for without making a show of myself. That’s when I spotted a book I’d heard so many people talking about: Normal People by Sally Rooney. I loved the title and for the first time in for ever, I thought this book might speak to someone like me. Someone who felt anything but normal. I picked it up and made to put it in my handbag.

‘Excuuuuuuuse me!’ came an unsettling shout from the librarian.

I halted as though I’d been stopped by the guards and looked every bit as guilty.

‘I’ll need your library card to check that out,’ she insisted, at a volume that seemed unnecessary, given we were in the quietest building in Ireland. I felt my cheeks going red. I didn’t know what to do.

‘Library card?’ she repeated, her hand outstretched.

‘Um, I don’t have one,’ I mumbled, conscious now that everyone was looking at me. This was where having notions above your station got you.

‘Well, you’ll have to fill out this form then,’ she sighed, as though my visit had set her life’s progress back by about ten years. I could read the frustration in her body language, the way her wrist flicked and her neck tightened. I could see her as a dancer when she was younger, but something must have happened, an injury, and now she was here. Resenting every minute of it.

‘I’ll just leave it so,’ I said, putting the book back on the counter. I had never felt so utterly stupid. I didn’t even know how to borrow a book from a library – how was I ever going to get into college? I stuffed the leaflets into my bag and was about to leave when I saw him. Henry.