Page 19 of The Good Sister

‘Is anyone here?’

Ping.

Ping.

Ping.

It was hard to describe what that particular kind of noise – trapped noise – did to me. It filled my brain like a scream, until tears itched at my eyes and my heart threatened to burst from my chest. I’d been hiding among the travel books at the back of the building when Janet, my old boss, found me.

‘Bad place to hide,’ she whispered. ‘These guys all fancy themselves as world travellers – they’ll be back here soon, looking for books about Egypt so they can point out all the places they went on their last vacation.’

‘Crochet section?’ I asked.

‘I’ve got a better idea,’ Janet said. ‘Follow me.’

I followed her to the very back of the library, the older part beyond the archive area. There, in the red brick wall, was a door that I had not noticed before. Janet opened it with a key.

‘This is a little treasure I found a few years back,’ she said, opening the door to a tiny windowless room filled entirely by a shabby armchair and a small side table. It had a slanting roof where the stairs went overhead. ‘I call it the secret cupboard. I use it sometimes to make phone calls, or go through payroll, or do something where I don’t want to be interrupted. But I think perhaps you could use it more than me.’ She handed me the key. ‘This is the only key that I know of. It’s yours now.’

I looked at the small gold key.

‘Use it whenever you like. But don’t ever tell anyone of its existence. It’s too precious to be shared.’

I agreed. Far too precious.

I had been in the secret cupboard earlier this year when Janet had a massive stroke in Junior Non-fiction. Dead before she hit the ground, apparently.A perfect place for her to die,people said later.Surrounded by books, in the place she loved most.

All these months later, I can’t figure out if I feel guilty for being in the secret cupboard when it happened, or glad.

I spend most of the afternoon in the secret cupboard with Alfie. He is very happy. I set up some newspaper and his water bowl and he remains there cheerfully even during the short periods when I have to dart out and be seen by Carmel on the floor. I am doing one such trip when Gayle spots me.

‘Fern, there you are! There was a man here to see you earlier, but I couldn’t find you.’

‘A man?’ This is most peculiar. ‘Wally?’

She shakes her head. ‘No. A different man.’

I frown. I don’t know many men and, apart from Wally, I don’t know any who would pop in randomly to see me at the library.

‘Well . . . what did he look like?’

Gayle thinks about it. ‘Good-looking. Thirties, probably. Clean-shaven and nicely dressed.’

I’m stumped. ‘Are you sure he wanted to see me?’

‘He asked for Fern. He said he was a friend.’

I assume it must be a mistake. He probably asked to see someone else. Or maybe wanted to borrow a book on ferns. ‘Did he leave a message?’

‘No. He said he’d come back another day.’

‘Oh. Well, then I expect he will.’ If hewasactually looking for me.

I’m distracted from the clean-shaven mystery visitor when I spot Wally walking into the library. He mustn’t see me, because he walks quickly past me, headed toward the shower room.

‘How did the meeting go?’ I say, running to catch up to him.

Wally keeps walking. ‘I can’t talk right now.’