‘Because she doesn’t know everything. She doesn’t know what I was reduced to, what I did, and what, even worse, I failed to do. She doesn’t know, and you’ll never know.’ She shrugged lightly. ‘You see. A woman of secrets. And not the woman for you.’
He was too shocked to remonstrate, and so walked away.
* * *
Augi returned inside the library, now empty of adults.
She breathed in the smell of polish, books and coffee once more, willing it to quiet her spirit. She hadn’t intended to tell Dan the truth, but she couldn’t let him go without knowing that his instincts were true. It was hers that weren’t.
Chapter Seven
The next day Augi was happily ensconced back in her safe place, with most of her equilibrium returned.
She looked up to see one of her regulars — Mrs Henderson — peering in through the open door, handbag clutched to her chest as if the library might vanish if she didn’t get inside quickly enough.
‘Good morning,’ Augi said, smiling. ‘I have the reserve you ordered.’
She disappeared briefly into the back room and returned with the book, along with the pair of reading glasses she kept in a drawer for precisely moments like these. Mrs Henderson never remembered her glasses and couldn’t read without them.
Mrs Henderson beamed as she slipped them on. ‘Oh, that’s lovely,’ she said, flipping the book open. ‘You know this is all about the old days, when my family first moved into the area.’
‘I thought you’d enjoy it,’ Augi replied.
She listened as the woman talked — about houses that no longer stood, about dances held in halls that had been pulled down, about people who lived on only in stories. It was oddly comforting.
Her own mother used to talk of their family’s past in Thessaloniki. She’d been fiercely proud of their history, of the long line of stubborn, resilient people they came from. She’d died while Augi was still a teenager.
Augi excused herself and moved to the computer desk, determined not to think about her family today. She had learnt, the hard way, that some memories were better handled in private. Preferably at night, when there was no one around to see what they did to her.
As she logged in, a flicker of movement caught her attention.
An elderly man stood near the doorway, hesitating, his cap held awkwardly in both hands. He smiled when he saw her.
‘Mr Gardner,’ she greeted.
‘Χρ?νια πολλ?,’ he said carefully. ‘Happy Greek Independence Day.’
She swallowed, feeling the effect of the words like a chill settling in her gut, making her feel queasy. She hadn’t thought about it. Not consciously.
She managed a smile. ‘Thank you. I’d… almost forgotten.’
‘Ah, well, you’re a long way from home.’ He paused. ‘And of course it’s best to live in the now, isn’t it? Rather than the past,’ he added kindly.
She nodded. She certainly didn’t disagree with that. If only she could manage it all the time.
He lingered a moment longer, as if weighing something.
‘I nearly forgot,’ he said, frowning slightly. ‘I heard something… on the radio this morning. About Athens.’
Her fingers froze on the keyboard.
‘What about it?’ she asked, though she already knew.
‘They were marking the anniversary. Of the protests in 2010. The strikes and demonstrations. And the deaths.’
The word echoed in her head as the memories rose without permission.
The noise first — sharp, impossibly loud, splitting the night open. The smell of smoke. Sirens screaming. Explosions sounding. People banging on their door, demanding access, demanding blood. The terror in her husband’s eyes. It had only been then that she’d realised what he’d been unable to prevent. What she would have seen if she hadn’t been looking away from her husband… at another man.
