The Borrowers are confused. They cannot hear each other anymore. Where once there was a hive mind of infinite complexity and possibility, now there is only a loose collection of gripes about poor service and a lack of gratitude.
Borrower who Leaves Pictures Torn Out Of Porn Magazines Inside The Children's Books feels the need to continue his work in the Young Readers section. Borrower Who Rips Out The Barcodes and Then Denies It scuttles away to the next aisle to tear the barcode from British Fighters of World War II. Borrower Who Complains about Blasphemous Books wants to resume perusing the books in the art section for profane content. Borrower Who Winks For No Reason winks uncontrollably. Borrower Who Brings Quality Street In At Christmas lies where he fell, quietly drowning in his own blood. Borrower who Cries, Silently, in the Science Fiction Section yearns to see if the new volume of Star Trek: The Next Generation has been added to the library collection even though he last checked two hours ago. Borrower Who Eats Scotch Eggs at the Computer feels pangs of hunger bloom in his stomach.
Where these disparate individuals once came together and become something more than Borrowers they are now, as before, just Borrowers. One by one they slip away from the Staff Only Area, away from the shrieking and the violence and smell of burnt hair, into to the dark corners of the library which are rarely visited.
68: Return of the Mach
The roar escaping from John fills the air of the library like a buzzsaw with a loose bearing. The veins on his neck stick out like miniature sleeping policemen, or cord pulls; his good eye bulges almost out of his head. Blood weeps from cracks in the blackened side of his face.
The Borrowers pause. The sound John is making keeps them at bay, it interferes with their thinking, like that earlier noise.
The pink cardigan draped over his shoulders flutters, cape-like, for a moment.
Arms poised in mid-throw, the Borrowers jostle and quake, transfixed by the apparition in front of them.
John steps forward, still screaming, and smites the nearest Borrower with Google Search and Rescue for Dummies. The Borrower falls to the ground and does not move. The horde step back in as one.
Pulling his arm back, John stops roaring and draws breath.
The Borrowers press forward once more.
The lift chimes as the doors open.
"Get back on the other side of the pigging counter!" barks Bob, "This is a Staff Only area!"
Bob hurls a large print edition of the RHS Plant Finder like a shot put, taking out two more.
Rosalyn pushes the book trolley out of the lift uttering a high pitched ululation like a demonic smoke alarm.
John begins to roar once more, and smashes another Borrower to the ground, taking another out another one on the upswing.
The Roar and the Ululation combine into a intestine-trembling, kneecap-shaking, eardrum-rattling lightning ball of noise.
The Borrowers quake in terror. John smites and smashes with Google Search and Rescue for Dummies. Rosalyn rams the book trolley into Borrower shins. Bob grits his teeth and throws tomes into the the mob with straining muscles.
Garry and Katerina cover their ears.
The Borrowers begin to retreat.
The Borrowers pause. The sound John is making keeps them at bay, it interferes with their thinking, like that earlier noise.
The pink cardigan draped over his shoulders flutters, cape-like, for a moment.
Arms poised in mid-throw, the Borrowers jostle and quake, transfixed by the apparition in front of them.
John steps forward, still screaming, and smites the nearest Borrower with Google Search and Rescue for Dummies. The Borrower falls to the ground and does not move. The horde step back in as one.
Pulling his arm back, John stops roaring and draws breath.
The Borrowers press forward once more.
The lift chimes as the doors open.
"Get back on the other side of the pigging counter!" barks Bob, "This is a Staff Only area!"
Bob hurls a large print edition of the RHS Plant Finder like a shot put, taking out two more.
Rosalyn pushes the book trolley out of the lift uttering a high pitched ululation like a demonic smoke alarm.
John begins to roar once more, and smashes another Borrower to the ground, taking another out another one on the upswing.
The Roar and the Ululation combine into a intestine-trembling, kneecap-shaking, eardrum-rattling lightning ball of noise.
The Borrowers quake in terror. John smites and smashes with Google Search and Rescue for Dummies. Rosalyn rams the book trolley into Borrower shins. Bob grits his teeth and throws tomes into the the mob with straining muscles.
Garry and Katerina cover their ears.
The Borrowers begin to retreat.
67: Or Something Worse
Michael Frearson has written a follow-up to his last installment...
The Boss is humming to herself. Quite audibly. Sometimes the humming gives way to words, which gradually dismantle themselves and become humming once more.
‘Dancing Queen, young and free and the tambourine…dancing queen, you can da daa da hmm hmm hmmmm.’
‘Oh god,’ says Linda, ‘is she delirious?’
‘Deliriouuuussss’ sings The Boss. ‘616.8’ she says.
‘I don’t know,’ says Mike. ‘Part of her is certainly still functioning. Maybe a cup of tea will sharpen her up.’
‘I think she might need something a bit stiffer than that,’ says Linda.
‘Stiffer’ says The Boss. She sighs. ‘Belle comma Monica’
‘Oh my god that’s the Black Lace she’s on about. We need to hurry, Mike; she’s definitely not well.’
The commotion in the staff area below suddenly gains substance on the penultimate staircase. Linda and Mike look at each other in horror.
‘Oh no,’ he says.
‘We must have run out of customer feedback slips,’ says Linda.
‘Or something worse,’ says The Boss, still smiling. ‘Something Much Worse.’
The trio hears the growl in unison as they descend the final staircase; it sounds a bit like a man. A man being strangled. They press on in trepidation.
The disheveled silhouette of John is gradually revealed with each downward step. He is holding aloft something large and yellow. Beyond him The Borrowers are swarming towards them like angry daytime TV chefs, but John barely seems to be aware of them.
The growl becomes a roar.
The lift chimes as the doors open.
The Boss is humming to herself. Quite audibly. Sometimes the humming gives way to words, which gradually dismantle themselves and become humming once more.
‘Dancing Queen, young and free and the tambourine…dancing queen, you can da daa da hmm hmm hmmmm.’
‘Oh god,’ says Linda, ‘is she delirious?’
‘Deliriouuuussss’ sings The Boss. ‘616.8’ she says.
‘I don’t know,’ says Mike. ‘Part of her is certainly still functioning. Maybe a cup of tea will sharpen her up.’
‘I think she might need something a bit stiffer than that,’ says Linda.
‘Stiffer’ says The Boss. She sighs. ‘Belle comma Monica’
‘Oh my god that’s the Black Lace she’s on about. We need to hurry, Mike; she’s definitely not well.’
The commotion in the staff area below suddenly gains substance on the penultimate staircase. Linda and Mike look at each other in horror.
‘Oh no,’ he says.
‘We must have run out of customer feedback slips,’ says Linda.
‘Or something worse,’ says The Boss, still smiling. ‘Something Much Worse.’
The trio hears the growl in unison as they descend the final staircase; it sounds a bit like a man. A man being strangled. They press on in trepidation.
The disheveled silhouette of John is gradually revealed with each downward step. He is holding aloft something large and yellow. Beyond him The Borrowers are swarming towards them like angry daytime TV chefs, but John barely seems to be aware of them.
The growl becomes a roar.
The lift chimes as the doors open.
66: The Lingering Smell Of Sellotape
This chapter was submitted by Michael Frearson. Good work, Michael.
Rosalyn has a plan. She abandoned Garry up there, up there alone to fight their battle. Alone with Bob and Katerina and John. But Rosalyn knows what it’s like to be abandoned, rejected, left behind. She knows how that feels, and it feels like trying to play table tennis with only one player. And Rosalyn won’t do that to Garry. She’s going to be his hero, just as Garry is hers.
The basement holds no sanctuary anymore. Under the cold fluorescent strip lights everything looks plastic and lifeless. It used to be a living, breathing world, with green hair ribbons and red leather gloves. Now it’s just a poorly ventilated storage room with broken glass all over the floor.
Rosalyn shunts a wasted monitor off a wheeled computer desk and pulls it out from the wall. She drags it over to the book maze. The walls of the book maze are over six feet high. There must be enough ammunition down here to hold out for an entire weekend – perhaps even a bank holiday. There are some really flimsy volumes at the top, like individual Shakespeare plays, but down at the foundation lie the behemoths like The Complete Works, the original 1606 King James Bible and The Complete Illustrated Lord of the Rings. Rosalyn topples the wall and begins to load the desk.
She doesn’t hear the lift chime. She doesn’t hear the whine of the doors as they slide open. She doesn’t hear Bob’s tentative footstep on the concrete floor.
She hears Bob say ‘Rosalyn?’ in a long forgotten sort of way and she pauses mid-stack. ‘Rosalyn, I –’
She resumes her task. Heroes remain calm under pressure. Heroes maintain focus.
‘Rosalyn, I – will you stop what you’re doing and listen to me?’ Bob reaches out for her shoulders, but Rosalyn shrugs him off with a grunt. The computer desk is almost full.
‘Rosalyn, please, I…I came down here to apologise…I mean I should have done it years ago, I know, I just…I’m not very good at this…’
Rosalyn looks up and grips the edge of the computer desk. She begins to wheel it towards Bob, who takes a couple of steps back. Then a couple more.
‘Rosalyn, what on earth are you doing? Don’t you understand, I’m trying to…I’m trying to –’ Bob takes another step back and is in the lift, with its unfamiliar hum and mysterious lingering odour of sellotape. Rosalyn continues wheeling the book-laden computer desk into the lift, forcing Bob against the back wall.
‘Bob,’ she says, ‘that’s ancient history. Forget about that now, and help me win this war.’
‘Right,’ says Bob, as the lift doors shudder closed. Then, ‘That’s pigging right, m’lady,’ he says, tipping an imaginary hat.
A faint growl begins to sound just before the lift doors open. Bob springs astride the computer trolley, gripping onto the edge with his left hand and brandishing The Norton Anthology of English Literature, Second Edition in his right. Rosalyn is poised behind, ready to charge.
The lift chimes as the doors open.
The growl becomes a roar.
Rosalyn has a plan. She abandoned Garry up there, up there alone to fight their battle. Alone with Bob and Katerina and John. But Rosalyn knows what it’s like to be abandoned, rejected, left behind. She knows how that feels, and it feels like trying to play table tennis with only one player. And Rosalyn won’t do that to Garry. She’s going to be his hero, just as Garry is hers.
The basement holds no sanctuary anymore. Under the cold fluorescent strip lights everything looks plastic and lifeless. It used to be a living, breathing world, with green hair ribbons and red leather gloves. Now it’s just a poorly ventilated storage room with broken glass all over the floor.
Rosalyn shunts a wasted monitor off a wheeled computer desk and pulls it out from the wall. She drags it over to the book maze. The walls of the book maze are over six feet high. There must be enough ammunition down here to hold out for an entire weekend – perhaps even a bank holiday. There are some really flimsy volumes at the top, like individual Shakespeare plays, but down at the foundation lie the behemoths like The Complete Works, the original 1606 King James Bible and The Complete Illustrated Lord of the Rings. Rosalyn topples the wall and begins to load the desk.
She doesn’t hear the lift chime. She doesn’t hear the whine of the doors as they slide open. She doesn’t hear Bob’s tentative footstep on the concrete floor.
She hears Bob say ‘Rosalyn?’ in a long forgotten sort of way and she pauses mid-stack. ‘Rosalyn, I –’
She resumes her task. Heroes remain calm under pressure. Heroes maintain focus.
‘Rosalyn, I – will you stop what you’re doing and listen to me?’ Bob reaches out for her shoulders, but Rosalyn shrugs him off with a grunt. The computer desk is almost full.
‘Rosalyn, please, I…I came down here to apologise…I mean I should have done it years ago, I know, I just…I’m not very good at this…’
Rosalyn looks up and grips the edge of the computer desk. She begins to wheel it towards Bob, who takes a couple of steps back. Then a couple more.
‘Rosalyn, what on earth are you doing? Don’t you understand, I’m trying to…I’m trying to –’ Bob takes another step back and is in the lift, with its unfamiliar hum and mysterious lingering odour of sellotape. Rosalyn continues wheeling the book-laden computer desk into the lift, forcing Bob against the back wall.
‘Bob,’ she says, ‘that’s ancient history. Forget about that now, and help me win this war.’
‘Right,’ says Bob, as the lift doors shudder closed. Then, ‘That’s pigging right, m’lady,’ he says, tipping an imaginary hat.
A faint growl begins to sound just before the lift doors open. Bob springs astride the computer trolley, gripping onto the edge with his left hand and brandishing The Norton Anthology of English Literature, Second Edition in his right. Rosalyn is poised behind, ready to charge.
The lift chimes as the doors open.
The growl becomes a roar.
65: Search And Rescue
Katerina huddles behind the upturned desk, cradling John's charred head to her bosom, wishing that everyone would just Go Away and Leave Them In Peace. John sobs into her breasts, clutching at her with an unnervingly strong grip.
"There, there", she says, patting his back. "Everything will be alright."
Katerina listens to the platitudes escaping her lips with increasing incredulity. Her panicked brain, cowering with fear in the base of her skull, is amazed: it is as if the soothing, mannered tones are being uttered by someone else. Maybe I should have been a nurse, she thinks, or a bomb disposal person, someone who needs to stay calm in desperate situations. Maybe you need to measure yourself against the crazy stick, shouts another, more cynical, part of her mind.
John's wails grow louder, the smell of singed hair and burnt skin rising from his ruined face.
There's always Google, thinks Katerina. That may save us yet.
"Katerina!"
She pokes her head above her barricade. Garry looks back at her from his position at the defences, his eyes wild and, with his grey shirt partially untucked and red tie loosened, looking somewhat heroic in her mind. Garry’s gaze flicks momentarily to John, and back to her.
“Get out of here! I’ll hold them off for as long as I can, go downstairs, anywhere!”
The Borrowers form an advancing wall beyond the barricade, a duffel-coated, cagoule-wearing, semi-washed horde topped with shapeless grey faces. They chant in unison, waving books in the air like burning torches, shuffling and stomping their feet. They look… relentless, like no Suggestions Box in the world would be big enough to hold all of their complaints.
“Get up, John. We’ve got to go!”
Extracting herself from John’s wiry embrace, she struggles to her feet, and half-carries, half-drags him towards the lift. Falling to the floor, John grips her ankle, his wails becoming more piercing. Katerina drags him onwards, reaching out for the lift call button, stretching her fingers toward the ‘DOWN’ button, reaching, grasping. A book crashes into the lift doors, just missing her head. Another strikes her back, knocking the breath from her lungs; she slaps the lift call button as she falls to the floor, winded. The books rain down on and around them, and Katerina covers her head, curling into a ball, sharp jabs of pain coming from the corners of books as they strike her back.
John crawls forward, seemingly unaffected by the barrage, until a book strikes him square on the back of his head, knocking him down.
Peering through her fingers, Katerina watches as the book slides slowly off his head, the cartoonish yellow cover depicting a man holding his finger aloft in inspiration. The thick book flops to the ground, landing cover-upwards beneath John’s good eye.
Katerina reads the title.
She covers her eyes, and wraps her arms tightly around her head.
John reads the title of the book.
Google Search & Rescue For Dummies.
His wailing transmutes into a growl.
He picks up the book with white-knuckled hands and gets to his feet. Thrown books bounce off him. He adjusts the cardigan draped over his shoulders.
The growl becomes a roar.
The lift chimes as the doors open.
"There, there", she says, patting his back. "Everything will be alright."
Katerina listens to the platitudes escaping her lips with increasing incredulity. Her panicked brain, cowering with fear in the base of her skull, is amazed: it is as if the soothing, mannered tones are being uttered by someone else. Maybe I should have been a nurse, she thinks, or a bomb disposal person, someone who needs to stay calm in desperate situations. Maybe you need to measure yourself against the crazy stick, shouts another, more cynical, part of her mind.
John's wails grow louder, the smell of singed hair and burnt skin rising from his ruined face.
There's always Google, thinks Katerina. That may save us yet.
"Katerina!"
She pokes her head above her barricade. Garry looks back at her from his position at the defences, his eyes wild and, with his grey shirt partially untucked and red tie loosened, looking somewhat heroic in her mind. Garry’s gaze flicks momentarily to John, and back to her.
“Get out of here! I’ll hold them off for as long as I can, go downstairs, anywhere!”
The Borrowers form an advancing wall beyond the barricade, a duffel-coated, cagoule-wearing, semi-washed horde topped with shapeless grey faces. They chant in unison, waving books in the air like burning torches, shuffling and stomping their feet. They look… relentless, like no Suggestions Box in the world would be big enough to hold all of their complaints.
“Get up, John. We’ve got to go!”
Extracting herself from John’s wiry embrace, she struggles to her feet, and half-carries, half-drags him towards the lift. Falling to the floor, John grips her ankle, his wails becoming more piercing. Katerina drags him onwards, reaching out for the lift call button, stretching her fingers toward the ‘DOWN’ button, reaching, grasping. A book crashes into the lift doors, just missing her head. Another strikes her back, knocking the breath from her lungs; she slaps the lift call button as she falls to the floor, winded. The books rain down on and around them, and Katerina covers her head, curling into a ball, sharp jabs of pain coming from the corners of books as they strike her back.
John crawls forward, seemingly unaffected by the barrage, until a book strikes him square on the back of his head, knocking him down.
Peering through her fingers, Katerina watches as the book slides slowly off his head, the cartoonish yellow cover depicting a man holding his finger aloft in inspiration. The thick book flops to the ground, landing cover-upwards beneath John’s good eye.
Katerina reads the title.
She covers her eyes, and wraps her arms tightly around her head.
John reads the title of the book.
Google Search & Rescue For Dummies.
His wailing transmutes into a growl.
He picks up the book with white-knuckled hands and gets to his feet. Thrown books bounce off him. He adjusts the cardigan draped over his shoulders.
The growl becomes a roar.
The lift chimes as the doors open.
64: The Thin Grey Line
“Bob! Bob, get back here!”
Garry’s yells echo back to him from the closing lift doors, and Bob’s apologetic face disappears from view just as volume four of the Encyclopedia Britannica bounces against the metal, leaving a nasty dent.
“Shit.”
Garry rips open another linguaphone set, flinging the CDs at the approaching tide of Borrowers. One disc finds its mark, dropping the Borrower to the floor, but the others defend themselves by using books as shields.
“Shit”, Garry curses through clenched teeth, “they’re learning.”
He ducks as volume five of the Encyclopedia Britannica tumbles end over end, like an ungainly tomahawk, through the space where his head had just been. The chanting grows louder; filling his ears and rattling his ribs, urging his buckling knees to carry him to a place far away from here. Garry wishes he had enough Clingfilm to cover all the borrowers, to seal them up and contain them, to prevent them spreading their anger and violence and germs any further.
Garry picks up the Encyclopedia and hurls it back at the mob, taking out two Borrowers, falling like skittles.
“Katerina!”
Katerina’s blond head peeks over her barricade, her eyes wide with fear. John’s singed head is just visible, still buried between Katerina’s breasts. Garry looks at John’s trembling head and thinks: at least someone is in a good place right now.
“Get out of here! I’ll hold them off for as long as I can, go downstairs, anywhere!” Garry hurls a selection of hardback Asterix books at the advancing horde to little effect. Katerina nods, and begins to drag John towards the lift, heavy reference books crashing around them like literary cannonballs.
Garry turns back towards the Borrowers to see them push his barricade out of the way, their ink-stained, germ-riddled hands reaching out towards him. Snatching up a returns trolley, he pushes them back with it, feeling a satisfying crunch as the corner of the trolley connects with a knee. Then they are all around him and the smell of Scotch eggs fills his nostrils as everything goes dark.
Garry’s yells echo back to him from the closing lift doors, and Bob’s apologetic face disappears from view just as volume four of the Encyclopedia Britannica bounces against the metal, leaving a nasty dent.
“Shit.”
Garry rips open another linguaphone set, flinging the CDs at the approaching tide of Borrowers. One disc finds its mark, dropping the Borrower to the floor, but the others defend themselves by using books as shields.
“Shit”, Garry curses through clenched teeth, “they’re learning.”
He ducks as volume five of the Encyclopedia Britannica tumbles end over end, like an ungainly tomahawk, through the space where his head had just been. The chanting grows louder; filling his ears and rattling his ribs, urging his buckling knees to carry him to a place far away from here. Garry wishes he had enough Clingfilm to cover all the borrowers, to seal them up and contain them, to prevent them spreading their anger and violence and germs any further.
Garry picks up the Encyclopedia and hurls it back at the mob, taking out two Borrowers, falling like skittles.
“Katerina!”
Katerina’s blond head peeks over her barricade, her eyes wide with fear. John’s singed head is just visible, still buried between Katerina’s breasts. Garry looks at John’s trembling head and thinks: at least someone is in a good place right now.
“Get out of here! I’ll hold them off for as long as I can, go downstairs, anywhere!” Garry hurls a selection of hardback Asterix books at the advancing horde to little effect. Katerina nods, and begins to drag John towards the lift, heavy reference books crashing around them like literary cannonballs.
Garry turns back towards the Borrowers to see them push his barricade out of the way, their ink-stained, germ-riddled hands reaching out towards him. Snatching up a returns trolley, he pushes them back with it, feeling a satisfying crunch as the corner of the trolley connects with a knee. Then they are all around him and the smell of Scotch eggs fills his nostrils as everything goes dark.
New Appointment
Things have been a bit quiet at SH of late. We thought we'd give everyone a chance to catch up.
Now, a while back, we advertised for the post of Library Assistant. This post was to cover Jenn, who is going on secondment for a few months. We are pleased to announce the successful applicant was Duncan Cheshire , already a part-time volunteer at SH. Welcome to the team, Duncan!
Now, a while back, we advertised for the post of Library Assistant. This post was to cover Jenn, who is going on secondment for a few months. We are pleased to announce the successful applicant was Duncan Cheshire , already a part-time volunteer at SH. Welcome to the team, Duncan!
63: This isn't War, it's Love.
Bob doesn't feel right. It isn't the War taking place all around him. It isn't the fact that he is clearly Past His Peak and is probably going to be required to engage in hand to hand combat. It isn't that the Health and Safety Bint is probably going to turn up any second and Have A Field Day. It isn't even Garry, who is laughing and throwing whatever he can get his hands on over the top of the table and looking like he's having a Pigging Good Time.
All right. It is partly Garry. Beside him, Bob feels somehow shrivelled.
But mainly, it is Rosalyn. Now she's gone, there's a strange feeling in his chest. Not quite his chest. More the top of his stomach. He opens a Linguaphone set and flings the CDs over the table like Frisbees. There are some satisfying squeals and splattering sounds that let him know he's made contact, but it isn't pleasing him.
What's that feeling? It can't be indigestion - he skipped dinner and never managed to get his Creatine shake.
Shit, Bob thinks, it's pigging guilt. That's what it is.
'Garry,' Bob says, and pushes the rest of the CDs into his hands, 'I've got to get down to the Basement. Can you cover me?'
Garry is panting, throwing books out like there's no tomorrow. Bob is impressed with his aim, his flair, his system. He answers without taking his eyes from the targets.
'You're not going down there, amigo. She's mine, and as soon as I get this clear,' Garry slices five CDs through the air and takes two borrowers down, 'I'm going to get her.'
'Course she's yours,' Bob says, 'but there's something I need to tell her. Man to man. An apology.'
'Is this really the time?' That's Katerina. John has buried his face in her chest. He is howling. He's either really, really pleased, or really, really frightened. Katerina ducks now and again, while patting his back.
'Don't think I can spare you, partner,' Garry says, 'they'll breach this line if you leave it.'
Bob stands behind the table. The borrowers are advancing. For every one they manage to lay out, there seem to be five more to take his place. All chanting. But Rosalyn is down there, down in the dark. And Bob knows he needs to make things right with her. It could be his last chance.
'Sorry Garry,' Bob says, and throws himself to the floor.
He crawls on his belly towards the lift. It's an elementary move - first thing they teach you in the TA. But there were gaps in his Basic Training. Matters of the Heart. They should have had a module on that, but it was never covered. How to be a gentleman. How to turn down someone's advance nicely.
Love isn't the same as war, just like books and DVDS are two different things and have different cataloguing systems, Bob realises. Hearts. Perhaps there is a book in the library about it, but for now, he's going to get down to the Basement and Be A Man.
62: A Smile To Give You Tumours
Linda and Mike are coming down the stairs. Slowly though, and with The Boss propped up between them. Linda isn't sure how to drag someone down a stair-case respectfully, but she holds onto an elbow and tries to be gentle.
The Boss is mainly unconscious, but every now and again she opens her eyes and mutters something about War, about the Shame of the Christmas Club Theft, about Scotch Eggs and Who's Who and Games and Puzzles. Sometimes she chants Dewey numbers to herself, but Linda is too focused on making sure they get down the stairs in one piece to pay much attention to her.
'Mike, can you hear something?'
'What?'
Mike rests against the wall. They are both panting slightly. The Boss goes limp in their arms and they prop her against the bannister. From the bottom of the stairwell, Linda can hear bumps, bangs, and shouts.
'I can't hear anything,' Mike says.
Linda blushes. She'd forgotten, but sometimes, when it's been a while since she's had a special drink (something medicinal, for her nerves) she tends to hear things. Not things. Just bumps. Shakes and scratches in the walls. That sort of thing.
'My mistake,' Linda says, and coughs, 'lets get to the staff room. The quicker we get a Gin... I mean, a cup of tea, the better I'll feel.'
Linda and Mike take The Boss's arms again, but suddenly she opens her eyes and smiles at them quite calmly.
'Are you feeling better?' Linda asks. She wants to say, 'Sir' but she bites her lip and stops herself just in time.
'Oh yes,' The Boss says.
Her smile is like cool blue water with the reflections of pine trees in it. It is melted glacier warmed by geothermal activity. It is water stuffed with unknown minerals: the kind that will make you cleverer, and live forever. Or the kind that will give you fast growing tumours. No-one knows.
'We'd better hurry up dear,' The Boss says, 'it looks like I made a mistake putting Rosalyn in the basement, doesn't it?'
The Boss is mainly unconscious, but every now and again she opens her eyes and mutters something about War, about the Shame of the Christmas Club Theft, about Scotch Eggs and Who's Who and Games and Puzzles. Sometimes she chants Dewey numbers to herself, but Linda is too focused on making sure they get down the stairs in one piece to pay much attention to her.
'Mike, can you hear something?'
'What?'
Mike rests against the wall. They are both panting slightly. The Boss goes limp in their arms and they prop her against the bannister. From the bottom of the stairwell, Linda can hear bumps, bangs, and shouts.
'I can't hear anything,' Mike says.
Linda blushes. She'd forgotten, but sometimes, when it's been a while since she's had a special drink (something medicinal, for her nerves) she tends to hear things. Not things. Just bumps. Shakes and scratches in the walls. That sort of thing.
'My mistake,' Linda says, and coughs, 'lets get to the staff room. The quicker we get a Gin... I mean, a cup of tea, the better I'll feel.'
Linda and Mike take The Boss's arms again, but suddenly she opens her eyes and smiles at them quite calmly.
'Are you feeling better?' Linda asks. She wants to say, 'Sir' but she bites her lip and stops herself just in time.
'Oh yes,' The Boss says.
Her smile is like cool blue water with the reflections of pine trees in it. It is melted glacier warmed by geothermal activity. It is water stuffed with unknown minerals: the kind that will make you cleverer, and live forever. Or the kind that will give you fast growing tumours. No-one knows.
'We'd better hurry up dear,' The Boss says, 'it looks like I made a mistake putting Rosalyn in the basement, doesn't it?'
61: Breaking Out The Big Guns
The sound goes: stomp stomp shuffle stomp.
Rosalyn is the first to hear it, her ears twitching under her mass of hair. All that time in the dark has made her hearing fantastic. She can hear things that are normally inaudible to the human ear. She can sniff out things, too. And the smell in the air is one of impending violence, of too much testosterone and pent up aggression. And it is getting closer.
The stomp stomp shuffle stomp becomes a swarming mass of bodies. They are coming through into the Staff Only area, into that sacred space where books are catalogued and tagged and barcoded, and where the under-appreciated frontline staff can take some respite from the screaming hordes by tapping quietly on keyboards and worshipping at the altar of Dewey. But The Borrowers have crossed that magical line. It can only mean one thing: WAR.
‘What the pig?’ says Bob, puffing out his chest.
Katerina looks around for Linda. Linda would know what to do, which rules had been broken, which bye-laws had been contravened, and she would sort these Borrowers out with a few short sentences. But Linda is still off on the mission with Mike, and as Katerina realises this, her heart sinks.
‘What’s going on?’ Garry asks. ‘Do you think they’re angry about being cooped up in here all day?’
‘No. This is something else entirely.’ Katerina whispers.
‘No Petition Will Right This Wrong!!’ comes the chant. It is repeated over and over until it fills the entire room and starts rebounding off the walls. Rosalyn squeals and runs into the lift, disappearing back down into her subterranean world. Garry is not quick enough to follow her. He turns to The Borrowers, angry now.
‘Get out of here!’ he yells. The first missile hits him square in the chest. It is a book of Monet’s paintings. It is two inches thick, and even though it is a paperback, it still manages to knock the wind out of Garry. It is a warning shot.
‘Oi!’ grunts Bob, and he is greeted with Wendy Richards’ biography smacking into his shoulder. Picking it up, Bob mutters ‘I’ll give you My Life Story!’ before hurling it back into the midst of grunting, seething Borrowers. In unison, Bob and Garry sweep everything off Bob’s desk and up-end it, taking cover behind the wooden frame. Katerina pushes John to the floor and crouches down next to him. She wonders where his fighting spirit has gone. Can’t he see there are books being damaged? John just holds his knees and rocks like Arthur Fowler did when he stole the Christmas Club money. Katerina wonders if she should invoke Google. That would get John fighting again. But twice in one day? John has never had to deal with Google twice in one day before. They could lose him forever. It would have to be a last, absolutely final resort.
More books come flying over their heads. The brick-like Whitaker’s catches the leg of the desk and slams loudly to the floor.
‘This is getting pigging serious now,’ says Bob. ‘They’re breaking out the big guns.’
Rosalyn is the first to hear it, her ears twitching under her mass of hair. All that time in the dark has made her hearing fantastic. She can hear things that are normally inaudible to the human ear. She can sniff out things, too. And the smell in the air is one of impending violence, of too much testosterone and pent up aggression. And it is getting closer.
The stomp stomp shuffle stomp becomes a swarming mass of bodies. They are coming through into the Staff Only area, into that sacred space where books are catalogued and tagged and barcoded, and where the under-appreciated frontline staff can take some respite from the screaming hordes by tapping quietly on keyboards and worshipping at the altar of Dewey. But The Borrowers have crossed that magical line. It can only mean one thing: WAR.
‘What the pig?’ says Bob, puffing out his chest.
Katerina looks around for Linda. Linda would know what to do, which rules had been broken, which bye-laws had been contravened, and she would sort these Borrowers out with a few short sentences. But Linda is still off on the mission with Mike, and as Katerina realises this, her heart sinks.
‘What’s going on?’ Garry asks. ‘Do you think they’re angry about being cooped up in here all day?’
‘No. This is something else entirely.’ Katerina whispers.
‘No Petition Will Right This Wrong!!’ comes the chant. It is repeated over and over until it fills the entire room and starts rebounding off the walls. Rosalyn squeals and runs into the lift, disappearing back down into her subterranean world. Garry is not quick enough to follow her. He turns to The Borrowers, angry now.
‘Get out of here!’ he yells. The first missile hits him square in the chest. It is a book of Monet’s paintings. It is two inches thick, and even though it is a paperback, it still manages to knock the wind out of Garry. It is a warning shot.
‘Oi!’ grunts Bob, and he is greeted with Wendy Richards’ biography smacking into his shoulder. Picking it up, Bob mutters ‘I’ll give you My Life Story!’ before hurling it back into the midst of grunting, seething Borrowers. In unison, Bob and Garry sweep everything off Bob’s desk and up-end it, taking cover behind the wooden frame. Katerina pushes John to the floor and crouches down next to him. She wonders where his fighting spirit has gone. Can’t he see there are books being damaged? John just holds his knees and rocks like Arthur Fowler did when he stole the Christmas Club money. Katerina wonders if she should invoke Google. That would get John fighting again. But twice in one day? John has never had to deal with Google twice in one day before. They could lose him forever. It would have to be a last, absolutely final resort.
More books come flying over their heads. The brick-like Whitaker’s catches the leg of the desk and slams loudly to the floor.
‘This is getting pigging serious now,’ says Bob. ‘They’re breaking out the big guns.’
60: Three Scotch Eggs, Inalienable Rights and A Great Wrong
Each Borrower carries a book back to the barricade. They carry Whitaker’s Almanack and The Family Health Encyclopaedia and the Oxford English Dictionary and Roget’s Thesaurus and Blackwell’s Medical Dictionary and Who’s Who. They carry the Encyclopaedia Britannica volume by volume, and they stack each of these hefty tomes behind the barricade, only now The Borrowers are on the other side of it, and it no longer serves the purpose of protecting the library. It has become an offensive outpost, turned against the library staff. The Borrowers will launch their main attack from there, and it is to there they will retreat to replenish ammunition and energy.
Energy should be particularly low - none of The Borrowers have eaten all day - but they all seem to be existing on a different frequency. Borrower Who Eats Scotch Eggs At The Computer is the only one who’s eaten anything, but he’s kept quiet about his secret Scotch egg stash. There’s one left, from a pack of four, and he isn’t about to share it with anyone, hive mind or not. But The Borrowers are not powered by adrenaline. It is something much more powerful than that. They are driven by the undaunted belief that this library is a service paid for entirely by them, individually and collectively, and as such, they have the right to do as they want, whenever they want, and to be treated with the utmost respect and GRATITUDE at all times. This is much stronger and much more dangerous than any kind of food (or even drug) fuelled energy could ever be.
A Great Wrong has been visited upon them, in the guise of Complaining Borrower’s demise. No Petition Will Right This Wrong. They chant this mantra as they work, stacking bigger and heavier books. It begins quietly, but as the last book is placed behind the barricade - the Guinness Book Of Records - the chanting becomes a battle cry that rings out across the whole of the library, and with it, The Borrowers charge towards the Staff Only area.
59: Hive Mind Hatches A Plan
When they stare at the barricade, The Borrowers are not seeing piles of Mills and Boons or Westerns, they are not seeing chairs. No, what they are seeing is a base, a tactical base from which to launch their operations. Borrower Who Winks For No Reason taps the barricade with his fingers, moving along its entire length. He touches hundreds of books. The other Borrowers mimic his movements, their hands greedy for the touch of paper and print. They all think, in the same instant, that these books will do for a barricade, but they will not do for their other plans. They need bigger, thicker books. They need books heavy as shot-puts, books with corners so sharp they could take an eye out, books that when flung through the air will fly far, and find purchase, and do real damage. The Borrowers turn as one and shuffle to the Reference section.
58: Relationships Between Staff
(An Extract From The Staff Manual)
The Boss regrets to inform you that after the latest incident, all extra-librarial relationships between staff are strictly forbidden forthwith and forever. This includes, but is not exclusive to, after work drinks, lunch, swapping of mobile telephone numbers, lingering looks, eye contact and accidental brushing in the fiction bays.
It is unfortunate and regrettable that we must take this course of action. I know some of you have expressed concern amongst yourselves, and have used the feedback forms provided on the matter.*
Let me assure you, the basement is perfectly habitable and all the Essentials for Life have been provided. We are not a cruel Boss. We are fair, and sometimes we must be firm for the sake of the smooth running of the establishment. Our jobs are to shift units and increase issue figures year on year, for eternity. When we are all properly focused on this goal, we have no need for friendship, romance, or conversation.
I repeat: we are not a cruel Boss. Our errant member of staff will have all the basic comforts and retain her salary. Dewey says it is perfectly possible to live in the dark with no ill effects.
Due to the incident that took place today in the New Books Room, one which embarrassed both the public who were unlucky enough to witness it, and the Public Library Authority At Large, we see no other course of action. The matter is final.
The Basement is now a forbidden area.
*Any and all future use of feedback forms to communicate with ourselves on this matter will be treated as mutiny and dealt with appropriately (see Terrorist Threat for particulars)
The Boss regrets to inform you that after the latest incident, all extra-librarial relationships between staff are strictly forbidden forthwith and forever. This includes, but is not exclusive to, after work drinks, lunch, swapping of mobile telephone numbers, lingering looks, eye contact and accidental brushing in the fiction bays.
It is unfortunate and regrettable that we must take this course of action. I know some of you have expressed concern amongst yourselves, and have used the feedback forms provided on the matter.*
Let me assure you, the basement is perfectly habitable and all the Essentials for Life have been provided. We are not a cruel Boss. We are fair, and sometimes we must be firm for the sake of the smooth running of the establishment. Our jobs are to shift units and increase issue figures year on year, for eternity. When we are all properly focused on this goal, we have no need for friendship, romance, or conversation.
I repeat: we are not a cruel Boss. Our errant member of staff will have all the basic comforts and retain her salary. Dewey says it is perfectly possible to live in the dark with no ill effects.
Due to the incident that took place today in the New Books Room, one which embarrassed both the public who were unlucky enough to witness it, and the Public Library Authority At Large, we see no other course of action. The matter is final.
The Basement is now a forbidden area.
*Any and all future use of feedback forms to communicate with ourselves on this matter will be treated as mutiny and dealt with appropriately (see Terrorist Threat for particulars)
57: A Barrel Sailing Over A Waterfall
Katerina hovers while John drinks the tea she’s made. Her cup is on the desk. She is letting it cool. Garry and Rosalyn have cups too. Garry sips his quietly, but Rosalyn is slurping hers loudly, like only a person who’s lived alone does. Garry beams at her. He finds the noises she makes endearing. This impromptu tea party is a singular point of normality in the timetable of the day’s events. The fact that they are all still at work, well after hours, in various states of shock and confusion is by the by. The tea is a magical elixir, making everything fine for the moment.
John uses the sleeve of Katerina’s cardigan to wipe the teardrop from the horse book. He is relieved to find no permanent damage has been done. The book will still be able to go out into stock, where it will stand spine outwards or maybe even face on, until it is checked out by an adolescent girl. Suddenly self conscious, John shrugs the cardigan off his shoulders and hands it back to Katerina.
‘Thanks. You feeling a bit better?’
John nods. His head hurts. He thinks all the blood vessels have burst. He can feel tiny gunpowder explosions behind his eyes. It’s preventing him from thinking straight. But he does feel a bit better than he did.
Bob, the only one at the tea party not actually drinking tea, paces behind Garry. He is bothered by the fact that Rosalyn is sitting on his desk, and by the presence of Garry in his chair. Bob’s territory is being violated, but he is impotent. He is not himself. He wants to tell Garry to shift, and to shove the hairy bint off so she falls on the floor, but he doesn’t say a word. He can’t even bring himself to glare at Garry. He fixes his eyes on his stapler, marooned in the river of Rosalyn’s hair. It’s like a barrel about to sail over the edge of a waterfall. A hairy, cascading-over-the-desk waterfall.
Katerina catches Bob’s eye and mouths,’Who’s she?’
‘Trouble,’ Bob mouths back, shaking his head.
56: Paper Roses, Only Imitation, Just Like Your Imitation Love, For Me
The Borrowers fold origami flowers from pages ripped out of the books. They cross out the swear words and complain about the bad plots, but still they tear and fold, making a huge paper wreath that they place gently at Complaining Borrower's Feet.
Complaining Borrower's head is leaking. It leaks all over the roses, all over the carpet. The roses are white, the roses are white and red, the roses are red.
The Borrowers stare. They turn as one, stop to listen, and head towards the kitchen, marching slowly, muttering softly. As they pass the barricade, they stop, and stare again. They think.
55: The One True Grail
The kitchen is a poky little room. It is just like a lift, but a bit more compact, and minus the ability to move up or down. It doesn’t have the benefit of sliding doors, either. In accordance with Fire Regulations, the door has to be a Fire Door, which means it has to be a big, heavy lumbering thing that is impossible to prop open. And even if it could be propped open, it would be Against All Regulations to do so. The room has to be vacuum sealed at all times. The occupants have to survive on whatever air is in there for the duration of their stay. The kitchen is a place that is used for the smallest amount of time possible, and only in moments of dire need. Tea is one of these dire needs. Tea is the reason that brings anyone and everyone to the almost-cupboard. They come in search of the one true Grail - a Morphy Richards Accents stainless steel jug kettle.
Standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the kettle are Garry and Katerina. They are watching the water, lit up all blue, hoping it will start to bubble soon. Tea is needed and it’s needed fast. John has lost his marbles and Garry has a lovely new lady friend in need of rehydration. Katerina is in need of something sugary, too. She can feel her blood sugar reaching an all time low. She has been running to and fro all day. Standing in the blue glow of the kettle finally allows the fact that she is exhausted to seep into her consciousness.
‘What a day,’ she says, just to say it.
‘Yep. As first days go, I’d say this was a pretty pigging spectacular one.’ Garry is grinning. He can still feel the soft kiss on his cheek. He is happier than he’s ever been.
‘I think I just want to go home,’ says Katerina. ‘Do you reckon it’s all safe now? I’ve not had a lunch break, so I could technically just go now.’
‘I don’t know. There are still lots of questions that need answering. Do you know what the music was? Or where it’s gone? Or where it came from? I’m new here so I don’t know how everything works exactly...’
‘Didn’t you have your Induction?’
‘Yes, I think that’s what it was. But all this happened after that. And I didn’t get the chance to read all the Staff Manual.’
The kettle purrs and then clicks off with a faint whistle. Katerina pours the boiling water into four cups. The tea brews, curls of steam rising up to the strip lighting. After stirring in enough milk and sugar to keep a woolly mammoth alert, they both leave the tiny room, letting the door crash firmly, heavily shut behind them.
54: Dealing with Borrowers
An Extract From The Staff Manual.
When dealing with 'Borrowers' it is always best to assume a blank, neutral smile. Remember, Borrowers are not built like you and me. They are apt to fly into irrational rages, threaten to write letters to the local rag, sit in the library until their fines are refunded, and take sole charge of selecting and displaying new stock.
The smile helps. If it fails, say something like, 'I can see you are very upset, Sir/Madam, perhaps you'd like to fill out one of our feedback forms? The Authority take customer feedback very seriously, you know.'
In no circumstances must completed feedback forms be inserted into the Suggestions Box. They can be disposed of as sensitive waste in the usual way, by burning or flushing.
If the situation escalates, and develops into General Borrower Unrest, Revolt, or Anarchy (particularly during half term or Saturday mornings) please refer to: Terrorist Threat and apply the instructions found therein accordingly.
The smile helps. If it fails, say something like, 'I can see you are very upset, Sir/Madam, perhaps you'd like to fill out one of our feedback forms? The Authority take customer feedback very seriously, you know.'
In no circumstances must completed feedback forms be inserted into the Suggestions Box. They can be disposed of as sensitive waste in the usual way, by burning or flushing.
If the situation escalates, and develops into General Borrower Unrest, Revolt, or Anarchy (particularly during half term or Saturday mornings) please refer to: Terrorist Threat and apply the instructions found therein accordingly.
53: An Army of Borrowers.
The Borrowers aren't just Borrowers. They are individuals who require a User Centred Service. They are a Community that requires Engaging. They are Customers who desire Full and Frank Consultation on Service Development and Delivery. They have Cultural Needs. They have Information Requirements that need to be addressed. They have Learning and Literacy Challenges, or present Behavioural Obstacles to Patron Centred Service.
Sometimes Borrower who Leaves Pictures Torn Out Of Porn Magazines Inside The Children's Books and Borrower Who Rips Out The Barcodes and Then Denies It and Borrower Who Complains about Blasphemous Books and Borrower Who Asks for The Karma Sutra Every Single Pigging Day And Never Pigging Borrows It, and Borrower Who Winks For No Reason, and Borrower who Complains about Mobile Phone Noise Pollution, and Borrower Who Leaves His Books on the Newspaper Table then Gets Angry When They Are Still on His Ticket, and Borrower Who Brings Quality Street In At Christmas and Borrower who Cries, Silently, in the Science Fiction Section, come together and become something more than Borrowers.
Sometimes, they plan things. Sometimes Petitions, sometimes letters to The Council, and sometimes, much worse things.
The Borrowers who have managed to get up in the lift from the Basement Area walk towards the queue. But they keep on walking. They walk through the library, past the shining Rubber Plants and the Poster Paint on the carpet, and into The Dead Zone.
They circle the lump on the carpet. They kneel and pat Complaining Borrower gently. They make little growling noises, groans and confused whimpers.
When it becomes clear Complaining Borrower is not going to wake up, they gather together to mutter and plan.
They have come together. They are an Army of Borrowers now. They are not planning a petition.
They are planning a War.
Sometimes Borrower who Leaves Pictures Torn Out Of Porn Magazines Inside The Children's Books and Borrower Who Rips Out The Barcodes and Then Denies It and Borrower Who Complains about Blasphemous Books and Borrower Who Asks for The Karma Sutra Every Single Pigging Day And Never Pigging Borrows It, and Borrower Who Winks For No Reason, and Borrower who Complains about Mobile Phone Noise Pollution, and Borrower Who Leaves His Books on the Newspaper Table then Gets Angry When They Are Still on His Ticket, and Borrower Who Brings Quality Street In At Christmas and Borrower who Cries, Silently, in the Science Fiction Section, come together and become something more than Borrowers.
Sometimes, they plan things. Sometimes Petitions, sometimes letters to The Council, and sometimes, much worse things.
The Borrowers who have managed to get up in the lift from the Basement Area walk towards the queue. But they keep on walking. They walk through the library, past the shining Rubber Plants and the Poster Paint on the carpet, and into The Dead Zone.
They circle the lump on the carpet. They kneel and pat Complaining Borrower gently. They make little growling noises, groans and confused whimpers.
When it becomes clear Complaining Borrower is not going to wake up, they gather together to mutter and plan.
They have come together. They are an Army of Borrowers now. They are not planning a petition.
They are planning a War.
52: Something Nasty In the Library
As Mike runs into the office something strange happens to The Boss.
She was starting to feel like she'd been dangling upside down for a long time. A really long time. She was starting to wonder if everyone in the library and the outside world (it's been years since she's even remembered there was such a disordered, noisy, bookless place) had forgotten about her.
And then the blood started to throb through her brain, beating like a drum, like a whole pit of percussionists, like a bin-bag of pots and pans being thrown down the stairs. Her gums and eyeballs started to throb. Her skirt, brushing against her chin, seemed to be throbbing too, although that wasn't possible.
These migraines are enough to make the library itself tremble, The Boss thought, and then the sentences in her head scattered and made themselves into a picture that looked like a heap of broken twigs and umbrella spokes, and was frightening.
The Boss closed her thrumming eyes and let her legs go limp just as Mike opened the stationery cupboard door.
She collapses into his arms, and he catches her, but she doesn't know anything about it.
'Linda,' Mike says, 'get the First Aid Box, The Boss has...'
Linda hesitates at the door. 'I'm not allowed to do First Aid on The Boss,' she says, 'it's a rank thing. It's about line-management structure, and council hierarchy. It's in the Staff Manual.'
Mike sinks to the carpet on his knees, half in and half out of the cupboard. He pulls The Boss' skirt over her legs and doesn't look.
'She's fainted!' he says, 'she needs some First Aid.'
'What she needs,' Linda says, 'is a cup of tea and some Fresh Air.'
Mike opens his mouth to argue, but The Boss twitches in his lap. She flutters her eyes open.
'There's something nasty in the library,' she slurs, 'Games and Puzzles.'
The Boss closes her eyes again. Mike taps her face gently. He doesn't quite dare a slap. How old is The Boss anyway? She could be twenty-nine, or eighty. There's something strange about her face, like the skin has been creased up and ironed out again hundreds of times, for hundreds and hundreds of years. He doesn't quite want to touch her, but she is a woman, and she is ill, and Mike is a Gentleman.
'What's she talking about?' Linda says, 'lets get her downstairs to the Staff Room.'
'Hide the Evidence!' The Boss screeches, eyes still closed. 'Dishonour! Shame! The tax-payer!'
Mike looks at Linda, and shrugs. 'Maybe a cup of tea would help,' he says, and shakes his head, 'we've all had a hard day.'
She was starting to feel like she'd been dangling upside down for a long time. A really long time. She was starting to wonder if everyone in the library and the outside world (it's been years since she's even remembered there was such a disordered, noisy, bookless place) had forgotten about her.
And then the blood started to throb through her brain, beating like a drum, like a whole pit of percussionists, like a bin-bag of pots and pans being thrown down the stairs. Her gums and eyeballs started to throb. Her skirt, brushing against her chin, seemed to be throbbing too, although that wasn't possible.
These migraines are enough to make the library itself tremble, The Boss thought, and then the sentences in her head scattered and made themselves into a picture that looked like a heap of broken twigs and umbrella spokes, and was frightening.
The Boss closed her thrumming eyes and let her legs go limp just as Mike opened the stationery cupboard door.
She collapses into his arms, and he catches her, but she doesn't know anything about it.
'Linda,' Mike says, 'get the First Aid Box, The Boss has...'
Linda hesitates at the door. 'I'm not allowed to do First Aid on The Boss,' she says, 'it's a rank thing. It's about line-management structure, and council hierarchy. It's in the Staff Manual.'
Mike sinks to the carpet on his knees, half in and half out of the cupboard. He pulls The Boss' skirt over her legs and doesn't look.
'She's fainted!' he says, 'she needs some First Aid.'
'What she needs,' Linda says, 'is a cup of tea and some Fresh Air.'
Mike opens his mouth to argue, but The Boss twitches in his lap. She flutters her eyes open.
'There's something nasty in the library,' she slurs, 'Games and Puzzles.'
The Boss closes her eyes again. Mike taps her face gently. He doesn't quite dare a slap. How old is The Boss anyway? She could be twenty-nine, or eighty. There's something strange about her face, like the skin has been creased up and ironed out again hundreds of times, for hundreds and hundreds of years. He doesn't quite want to touch her, but she is a woman, and she is ill, and Mike is a Gentleman.
'What's she talking about?' Linda says, 'lets get her downstairs to the Staff Room.'
'Hide the Evidence!' The Boss screeches, eyes still closed. 'Dishonour! Shame! The tax-payer!'
Mike looks at Linda, and shrugs. 'Maybe a cup of tea would help,' he says, and shakes his head, 'we've all had a hard day.'
51: A Cup Of Tea Solves Everything
The lift doors open. Garry strides out, Rosalyn still in his arms. Her shoes clang against the sides on the way out, but she is unconcerned. Garry plops her down on Bob’s desk. She makes a sound like a disturbed goose. It is part-honk, part-squeal. Garry freezes on the spot. He imagines his heart slowly deflating. But then Rosalyn lifts one buttock and pulls a paper knife out from underneath her, and lowers herself back down, smiling. The paper knife is not sharp. It looks like it has been used for cutting something other than paper. And it doesn’t smell right. The smell reminds her of something she can’t quite place. Rosalyn uses the very tip of her index finger to push the weird-smelling paper knife as far away from her as she can. She smiles again at Garry. He smiles back. His heart is fine. His heart is going to be okay.
Bob stands behind Garry. He is flanked by Borrower Who Eats Scotch Eggs At The Computer and Borrower Who Borrows Black Lace Books But Always Puts A War Book On Top. (Who is he trying to kid?) Bob seems to have shrunk. His usually puffed-out chest is not puffed-out at all. The two Borrowers are looking to him for directions, but he is not meeting their eyes. Bob is looking around the room. Bob is staring at the floor.
‘Oi,’ says Garry, ‘get them out of here. This is a Staff Only area.’
Bob nods and sweeps the two Borrowers back out to the front desk. They rejoin the queue. They scratch their heads.
‘Now let’s get you a cup of tea,’ Garry says softly. Rosalyn gazes after him as he heads off towards the kitchen.
Bob stands behind Garry. He is flanked by Borrower Who Eats Scotch Eggs At The Computer and Borrower Who Borrows Black Lace Books But Always Puts A War Book On Top. (Who is he trying to kid?) Bob seems to have shrunk. His usually puffed-out chest is not puffed-out at all. The two Borrowers are looking to him for directions, but he is not meeting their eyes. Bob is looking around the room. Bob is staring at the floor.
‘Oi,’ says Garry, ‘get them out of here. This is a Staff Only area.’
Bob nods and sweeps the two Borrowers back out to the front desk. They rejoin the queue. They scratch their heads.
‘Now let’s get you a cup of tea,’ Garry says softly. Rosalyn gazes after him as he heads off towards the kitchen.
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