A Place Called Lost was a much simpler story to understand and it seemed to be written for children, which suited me fine. At least in children’s books nothing terrible happened, and if it did, it always got fixed by the end. It told the story of an old library in a remote Italian village. It was so remote, in fact, that it was said only people who wandered off the beaten track and became hopelessly lost could find it. A charming wooden building, it held ancient volumes stacked from the floor to the ceiling, arranged without apparent order. The guardian of the library was so old that no one could remember a time when he had not been there.
Yet one day, as he locked the outer gate at the end of the day, a violent storm blew up out of nowhere and the poor old man was hit by lightning. However, that was not the end of the story. Still wayward travellers would stumble across the faraway library and, despite the guardian’s absence, would find themselves drawn to a certain book and, upon reading it, find the course of their lives completely changed. It was as though the library itself, the very fabric of its being, could intuit which book would help a lost soul to find their true path. But the locals feared what they did not understand and wanted the library destroyed. They believed that the building was haunted and that spirits were trapped within the pages of the books, waiting for a reader to set them free. And so it was that the books were taken out and dispersed across the land; but before the building was knocked down, a young man on his honeymoon arrived with a proposal. He would take the wood to build his own shop. In Ireland.
I knew this story was no mere coincidence. In fact, sometimes when I slowly read the enchanting lines on each page I felt as though my entire life was an elaborate plot line that would now somehow make sense, in this context, in this place and with these people. Person. Henry. I could already feel my ability to read him fading and I knew what that meant. My judgement was becoming clouded with that one emotion I could no longer afford to have. Love.
Before I blew out the candle, I read a line that made up my mind. In the story, there was a young woman who came to the library, miles away from her true home. She read a story about a girl who had come to a fork in the road and was so afraid of making the wrong decision that she stayed where she was, huddled in the hollow of a tree. After several days, an old woman came along and told her a riddle. She asked, ‘What is something you create, even if you do nothing?’ The answer was a choice. Choosing not to do something was still a choice.
I was choosing not to register for college because I was too scared. What I hadn’t realised was that I was actively choosing to stay stuck where I was, which scared me even more.
The following morning I rang the admissions office and arranged an interview for the very next day. I felt empowered, strong, terrified and excited. There was no going back now, I assured myself, and hardly thought anything of it when the doorbell rang after I’d served Madame Bowden her breakfast. I opened the door with a spontaneous smile on my face, which fell the moment I saw him standing there.
It was too late to run. Besides, he had that look about him. The remorseful one, where he would promise me a brand-new start. I spotted the crumpled bouquet of flowers in his hand – even they looked brittle and half-hearted. I knew the routine; we had been through it so many times before. I felt my body becoming heavier as I came closer to him, the weight of being around him already crushing me.
‘Howareya,’ he said, bashfully, head lowered. All innocence.
‘What are you doing here, Shane?’
He opened his mouth to speak, but then an overriding thought came to me. ‘How did you find me?’
‘A mate of mine was up for the day, shopping with the missus. He spotted you.’
‘Where?’
‘On Grafton Street.’
‘So—’ I was trying to calculate it in my head. ‘How did he know I lived here? Did–did he follow me? Was it Mitch?’ I didn’t even have to ask. I knew it was Mitch. He was Shane’s best friend and would have thought nothing of spying on me.
‘Look,’ he said, taking a step closer, which caused me to step back. He seemed visibly upset by this, as though my fear of him was an overreaction on my part entirely. ‘Martha, does it matter how I found you?’
‘It does actually. Do you think it’s normal to have your goons following me around?’
‘Mitch isn’t a goon. Jesus.’
A couple walked past and gave us a wary glance.
‘Can we go inside?’ he asked. ‘I just want to talk.’
I didn’t answer. I wanted to say, No, go away, leave and never come back, forget about me, pretend I never existed, but nothing came out. I just turned away, looking at the street.
‘Your mother hasn’t been well.’
My head spun around to look at him.
‘That’s why I came. She wants you to come home.’
‘What’s wrong with her? Is it serious?’
‘Serious enough, she’s in hospital.’
‘Jesus Christ.’ My hand flew to my chest. It was as though all of the oxygen had left my body. I felt woozy, like nothing was real any more. Not the buildings or the street or my flimsy life here in Dublin. He took my arm and I no longer flinched. It was Shane. He knew me and I knew him. Regardless of what had happened between us, he was here to help me. I looked in his eyes and I could see the sadness that was there when his father died. He knew how I felt. He wanted to help.
‘Okay, come in,’ I said. I walked down the hall towards the stairs leading to the basement, but when I turned around, he wasn’t following. ‘I live in the flat down here,’ I said, pointing to the stairs.
‘Jeez, it’s a nice place, isn’t it?’ he said, putting the flowers down on the console table and wandering into the front room.
‘You can’t go in there.’
He stepped out of my eyeline. After a few moments I followed him in. Madame Bowden was out, so I figured there wasn’t any harm.
‘Was it an accident, or is she sick?’ I asked.
‘What? Oh, it’s cancer.’
My legs went weak and I sank back on the sofa. I couldn’t believe it. It felt like a waking nightmare.
‘Why didn’t she tell me?’ I didn’t expect him to answer; I was simply trying to make sense of it.
‘How could she? None of us knew where you were. You didn’t even leave a note, Martha. I was so worried about you.’
‘Were you?’ I knew I shouldn’t have said it. I could read his face like the weather and that comment made him angry. A flash of him beating me with the head of a mop came unbidden. My arms wrapped around my ribs instinctively. He turned his back on me and he walked slowly around the room.
‘You’ve done all right for yourself though. I can see why you might have forgotten your family.’
‘It’s not like that.’
This was so twisted. I felt myself needing to prove that I still loved him, just to keep things civil. But I didn’t love him. I fucking hated him. I stood up and walked towards the door that led to the hall.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I’d better pack a few things. What hospital is she in?’
‘The Regional.’
He had delayed just a beat, but enough to raise some doubts.