“I really am sorry about soaking you,” I say. “Here.” I rummage in my shoulder bag and pull a crumpled black cardigan from the bottom. It’s dotted with tiny, sparkling buttons and has matching little cuffs on the elbow length sleeves. I haven’t even worn it yet and it cost a small fortune – it was my I’m-off-to-live-in-London cardigan. “It’s clean, just a bit wrinkled. You can borrow it if you want. It should fit.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course, take it.”
Tasha grins and disappears into a cubicle, re-emerging with her damp top wadded in her hands. She shoves it into a pocket of her bag and straightens up, admiring her reflection.
“This is so pretty!” She brushes her fingers along the velvet ribbon that lines the closure. “I’ll give it back to you tomorrow, pinkie promise.”
“It looks good on you.” I offer a watery smile.
Tasha nods towards the door. “Are you coming?”
I hesitate.
“I mean, I’ll walk with you,” Tasha offers, before adopting a dramatic pose, “but only if you do it withpurpose.”
I grin and follow her out the door. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.
The afternoon is much more bearable. No more workshops, we’re told, just a lecture about what we’ll be doing for the next few weeks.
As we file into the lecture theatre and wait for the speakers, Tasha and I chat. I warm to her immediately. She’s from a little town up in the North of England and we quickly bond over the desperation to leave our hometowns for somewhere more exciting. I knew I wasn’t the only one.
The room is warm, and the lights have been dimmed. Past students are on a big screen, sharing their experiences of being on work placements out in the wider community. I try my best to listen to a redhead discussing the challenges of pretending to be an animal for the tourists at London Zoo. Good God, please don’t let that be my work placement. We’ll be assigned them in the next few days.
“Hey.” Tasha nudges me and I realize I’m close to dozing off. She hands me her phone. “Put in your number there.” I pull my phone out of my bag and show her the cracked screen. She grimaces.
“I need to get it fixed after class, so I can call home,” I whisper. “My mammy is having a fit.”
“Can’t think why,” Tasha replies. “You only discovered a murder.”
I start to reply until we’re actually shushed by the girl in front. We promptly dissolve into silent giggles and return our attention to the proud graduate who is now sharing the life lessons she learned while pretending to be a tiger.
Once I’ve waved Tasha off, I walk to the nearby phone repair shop that she googled for me. It’s only round the corner. They promise to have it fixed before they close but that’s more than three hours away, so I decide to go back to the canteen and finally read the course material while I wait.
I head to the canteen but spy Jasmine holding court with a group at the little coffee bar in the corner, all holding refillable coffee cups and loudly discussing the lack of “real” vegan options on the menu. I swerve down the nearest corridor, before she can spot me and force me to relive the worst moment of my life, and land in front of a pair of double doors bearing a small plaque that reads “Library”.
Perfect.
I push open one of the large, wooden doors and pass through the grey security gates that stand sentry on either side. It’s dark and a little cramped in here but I immediately feel safe, cocooned. I love libraries.
I wander past the checkout desk to my left and inch forwards to trail my fingers over the large, leather padded table in the centre of the room. It’s encircled with rickety wooden chairs, and tall shelves loom above me on a second level, a short flight of steps leading up into the stacks, which stand tall behind a wooden railing. I’m staring up into the gloom, marvelling at the height of the shelves, all those books, when a tall, lanky figure emerges from them and sends my pulse racing.
“Oh!” I hold a hand up to my chest, a thump sounding loudly behind my breastbone. It’s the guy from the phone booth earlier, and he looks just as unfriendly, glaring at me with the same cutting stare. His hair is stringy in the overhead lights and startlingly dark against his pale, waxy skin. His mouth and chin are peppered with painful looking acne. “Sorry, I didn’t know there was anyone else here.”
He says nothing, just grabs a trolley, grunts and disappears back into the darkness. The wheels squeak behind him.
“Don’t mind him.” Another small heart attack rocks me as a friendly voice pipes up from behind. I spin around to see a small, plump woman emerge from the little office behind the checkout desk. “That’s just Will. He doesn’t talk much.” She smiles and I immediately warm to her; there’s something comforting and motherly about her. “Can I help you?”
“I was just looking for somewhere quiet.” My voice is croaky. I clear my throat and hold up my enrolment folder. “To read this. Is that OK?”
“Of course!” She walks around the desk and I see she’s leaning on a walking stick and breathing heavily. “We don’t get many people in here in the summer months. I can give you a temporary library card, if you’d like?”
“That would be great.” I agree, and she shuffles back to her computer, fingers flying deftly over the keys.
“Which course are you doing?”
“Drama.”
