smiles. ‘I’ll print it for you,’ she says. She comes and sits on the chair next to mine. I don’t want her reading what I’ve written, but she doesn’t. She presses some buttons and gets the printer set up. Across the room, it gurgles to life.
She jumps up and returns with my English homework.
I fold the paper and put it into my bag. ‘Thank you,’ I say.
She bows slightly as Rain comes bounding over from the children’s section. ‘Jenny really loved that!’ she says. Her face is flushed from dancing and singing.
‘It was nice of you to bring her along,’ I say. I’m being sort of sarcastic, but Rain doesn’t notice. ‘OK, shall we get books so you have something to do at home for the rest of the week?’ I ask.
The librarian frowns and looks like she’s about to ask a question. I quickly pull Rain by the arm back into the children’s section.
‘Right, you need some fiction and non-fiction. I think if you get one history, one science and two novels, that’ll be enough for today.’
Rain looks around at the shelves. ‘Can I take them home?’
‘It’s a library, Rain, of course you can. Haven’t you ever borrowed a book from a library?’
‘Nope. I read stuff on Mum’s iPad.’
‘But . . .’ I look along the shelves. I never choose a book without picking it up and flicking through the pages. I always read the first few lines. ‘Come on, I’ll show you the ones I like,’ I say. I take her to the fiction section, and we explore.
Rain is sitting on the floor with her legs crossed, completely engrossed in a mystery about a girl who goes to sleep one night in her parents’ boring old house in Croydon and wakes up the next day in a Victorian London orphanage. I’m reading the brand new Mallary Ford novel, which I’ve been waiting for ages for the library to get in. I’ve also found a book of poems by someone called Emily Dickinson. Most of them are short. I scan my eye over one or two and decide to give the collection a try.
‘Shall we get these then?’ I say. I pat the pile of books we’ve chosen.
Rain doesn’t look up from her reading.
‘Let’s get going.’ I pull her to her feet.
We’re on our way to the front desk when I see Nana chatting with the white-haired librarian. I yank Rain behind a bookcase.
‘Ouch. Don’t hurt me.’
‘Shh.’ I press my index finger to my lips. ‘Nana’s here. If she sees us . . .’ I stop because I don’t know what she’d do. All I know is that I don’t want to find out.
‘She’s not my nana,’ Rain says.
‘Yes, she is. Or your nan or gran or grandma or whatever you want to call her,’ I whisper.
Rain peers around the bookcase. ‘Is she nice?’
‘Yes. She’s . . . very nice.’ I take a peek myself, using one eye.
Nana is leaning on the issuing desk, watching the librarian scan the barcodes. She isn’t crying or frowning or anything like that, but she looks sad. Her eyes look sad. And her shoulders are rounded.
I hide behind the bookcase again.
‘Is she OK?’ Rain asks, seeing it too.
‘Don’t know. Maybe Derry’s sick or Nana fell out with someone at the church,’ I say. But if it is one of those things then why do I feel so guilty? I sneak another look as Nana drops her books into her shopping trolley and slowly shuffles out of the library. I’ve always thought of Nana as old-fashioned but I never thought she was old . Not until now, and it makes me want to chase after her.
‘What’s happening?’ Rain asks.
‘Nothing,’ I say.
I take her to the desk to have our books issued.
‘You’re lucky to snap this one up,’ the librarian says. She holds up the Mallary Ford novel.
‘I know. I love her books,’ I say quietly.
I don’t sound excited – I can’t be. All I can think about are Nana’s sad eyes and rounded shoulders. All I can think about is how I probably should have helped her wheel home the shopping trolley.
26
Even though Mum’s not home at five o’clock like she
She jumps up and returns with my English homework.
I fold the paper and put it into my bag. ‘Thank you,’ I say.
She bows slightly as Rain comes bounding over from the children’s section. ‘Jenny really loved that!’ she says. Her face is flushed from dancing and singing.
‘It was nice of you to bring her along,’ I say. I’m being sort of sarcastic, but Rain doesn’t notice. ‘OK, shall we get books so you have something to do at home for the rest of the week?’ I ask.
The librarian frowns and looks like she’s about to ask a question. I quickly pull Rain by the arm back into the children’s section.
‘Right, you need some fiction and non-fiction. I think if you get one history, one science and two novels, that’ll be enough for today.’
Rain looks around at the shelves. ‘Can I take them home?’
‘It’s a library, Rain, of course you can. Haven’t you ever borrowed a book from a library?’
‘Nope. I read stuff on Mum’s iPad.’
‘But . . .’ I look along the shelves. I never choose a book without picking it up and flicking through the pages. I always read the first few lines. ‘Come on, I’ll show you the ones I like,’ I say. I take her to the fiction section, and we explore.
Rain is sitting on the floor with her legs crossed, completely engrossed in a mystery about a girl who goes to sleep one night in her parents’ boring old house in Croydon and wakes up the next day in a Victorian London orphanage. I’m reading the brand new Mallary Ford novel, which I’ve been waiting for ages for the library to get in. I’ve also found a book of poems by someone called Emily Dickinson. Most of them are short. I scan my eye over one or two and decide to give the collection a try.
‘Shall we get these then?’ I say. I pat the pile of books we’ve chosen.
Rain doesn’t look up from her reading.
‘Let’s get going.’ I pull her to her feet.
We’re on our way to the front desk when I see Nana chatting with the white-haired librarian. I yank Rain behind a bookcase.
‘Ouch. Don’t hurt me.’
‘Shh.’ I press my index finger to my lips. ‘Nana’s here. If she sees us . . .’ I stop because I don’t know what she’d do. All I know is that I don’t want to find out.
‘She’s not my nana,’ Rain says.
‘Yes, she is. Or your nan or gran or grandma or whatever you want to call her,’ I whisper.
Rain peers around the bookcase. ‘Is she nice?’
‘Yes. She’s . . . very nice.’ I take a peek myself, using one eye.
Nana is leaning on the issuing desk, watching the librarian scan the barcodes. She isn’t crying or frowning or anything like that, but she looks sad. Her eyes look sad. And her shoulders are rounded.
I hide behind the bookcase again.
‘Is she OK?’ Rain asks, seeing it too.
‘Don’t know. Maybe Derry’s sick or Nana fell out with someone at the church,’ I say. But if it is one of those things then why do I feel so guilty? I sneak another look as Nana drops her books into her shopping trolley and slowly shuffles out of the library. I’ve always thought of Nana as old-fashioned but I never thought she was old . Not until now, and it makes me want to chase after her.
‘What’s happening?’ Rain asks.
‘Nothing,’ I say.
I take her to the desk to have our books issued.
‘You’re lucky to snap this one up,’ the librarian says. She holds up the Mallary Ford novel.
‘I know. I love her books,’ I say quietly.
I don’t sound excited – I can’t be. All I can think about are Nana’s sad eyes and rounded shoulders. All I can think about is how I probably should have helped her wheel home the shopping trolley.
26
Even though Mum’s not home at five o’clock like she
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