His neighbour’s hands rest for a moment on the cover of the book. Aidan realizes he hasn’t turned his page in a while. He wonders if they realize he’s watching. He wonders why he’s watching at all. Then, a moment later, their arms, wrapped in a thick, black sweater, reach forward and pull the books towards them. With a soft groan, the pile of books is swept from the corner of his eye and he hears the swoosh-swoosh of shoes against the tacky library carpet, shuffling towards the front desk. He allows his mind to return to his story.
When he eventually stands up from his chair, the evening light is streaming through the window, and the library looks exactly how he remembers it: magical. It feels like a miracle, but he’s never believed in those before. The sun is casting long shadows on the scruffy library, dousing everything in a warm amber – it looks as if it has been carved out of gold. He tucks his chair in, lifting it up, trying not to make a sound – though there is barely anyone left here to disturb.
Then he spots one lonely folded scrap of paper sitting on the desk beside him – the crossword puzzle.
He turns his head to the left, to the right, and slowly over his shoulder. No one is watching him. His arm reaches forward, pulling it towards him, and he unwraps it – one fold at a time. His fingers treat it delicately, it is barely thicker than a cigarette paper. He doesn’t want to break it. He thinks of the person, his anonymous neighbour, writing, scrawling, intent.
As he unfolds the final corner, the mystery is suddenly revealed. The lettering is neat, looping, warm, inviting.
Just in case you need it:
To Kill a Mockingbird
Rebecca
The Kite Runner
Life of Pi
Pride and Prejudice
Little Women
Beloved
A Suitable Boy
To Kill a Mockingbird – the first book in the massive pile. He runs his eye down the list. It doesn’t mean anything to him – just scribbled words on scraps of paper. But, for a moment, he thinks about taking the list with him, popping it in his pocket. He stops himself. This small scrap of paper, so neatly folded, is nothing more than a stranger’s reading list. What does he need with something like this?
Instead, he lays it back on the table, and packs up his book, sending Attica Locke a secret thank you, and tucks it back on the crime shelf, for someone else to enjoy. He heads out of the library, the doors closing automatically behind him. He turns once more, and he can see the note sitting exactly where he left it. The shadows of the library close in behind him; the books read and unread forming a barrier between him and the list. As he steps away from the library, he feels the peace, the silence, slide away from him, as he heads towards the lights and sounds of the city he calls home.
PART I
THE TIME TRAVELER’S WIFE
by Audrey Niffenegger
Chapter 1
MUKESH
2019
BEEP. ‘HI PAPA, IT’S Rohini. Sorry sorry to be calling you again but you know how I worry when you don’t pick up or return my calls. We’re going to come and visit you on Friday, me and Priya, so let me know if you need me to bring anything, food or drink. I’m not convinced the food you make yourself is nutritionally balanced, Papa – you need to eat more than just mung. And remember it’s bin day today, black bins only today, ha. Green bins next week. Call Param at number eighty-seven if you can’t do it, okay? I know your back has been playing up.’
BEEP. ‘Dad, it’s Deepali. Rohini told me to give you a ring because she hasn’t heard from you. She said to tell you it’s your bin day today so remember, okay? Not like last time when you had to run out in your dressing gown in the morning! Call me later, okay? I am going to work now, okay? Bye. The twins say bye too! Bye, Dada.’
BEEP. ‘Hi Papa, it’s Vritti. You doing all right? Wanted to check how you are. Let me know if you need anything. I can come round soon, just let me know when you’re free. I’ve got a busy few weeks, but can sort something out, yeah?’
And just like that, Mukesh’s day started like almost any other Wednesday: with three identical voicemails from his daughters – Rohini, Deepali and Vritti – at the unsociable hour of 8 a.m., before they started work – often Mukesh wasn’t even awake by then.
On another day of the week, he might have called each of them in turn, to let them know he was on top of his bins, even if he wasn’t, and that he had no clue who Param at number 87 was, even though he did – he liked to keep them on their toes. But he had no time for that today.
Today was his shopping day. Naina had always done the shopping on Wednesdays. To deviate from that routine now would be wrong. First things first, he checked the fridge and the cupboards, organized just the way Naina had liked them to be, by which he meant not at all. Just as he suspected: he needed okra and mung beans. He loved mung beans, regardless of what Rohini said. He had never cooked much when Naina was alive, except in the last few months of her life, but he knew a few recipes off by heart. They kept him going. What did he need with ‘nutritionally balanced’ at his age, anyway?