Banner holds a book, a hardback. Check it out. No dust cover, worn at the corners. It’s a novel, a good one. Five pounds.

Ultimate says way too much. Three pounds, not a penny more. If I were in the market, which I’m not. Banner’s ‘shaking like a leaf’. To be honest, even that’s a generous offer. One pound fifty’s fit.

You’ll be hooked on page one, believe you me. Banner stops shaking, then starts up again.

Ultimate watches Banner reading his book. Banner has the seat by the window in the library’s reading room. He occupies the same seat each day and reads for hours on end. Ultimate prefers to keep moving and never sits in the same place twice; he wouldn’t want anyone saying they’d seen him there yesterday. You’re always in the same seat. Not on your life.

The librarian’s been here for ever. Not ‘for ever’; there must be a time before her. People must remember the one they had before her. Ultimate easily confuses her with the librarian when he was six years old. A different library. She’d smile at him and pat him on the head, good boy. This librarian is always busy with books left on tables. He’d have seen her with a boyfriend or girlfriend, maybe wondered what they got up to. Banner turns another page.

Sender pushes the trolley loaded with books. She waits for returns to accumulate, then pushes the trolley to all the different shelves. In a day, she does this many times. Her hands smell of books. She knows both Banner and Ultimate by sight; they’re regulars. But what happens when they’re not here? On her day off, she might go to her brother’s house for lunch, then see a film. She makes a day of it.

You should ask someone, her brother thinking he’s helpful. You should have company.

I’d rather not. She sips tea. Her brother makes a poor cup of tea. Sender smiles, knowing she could so easily say this aloud; she could explain how much effort’s involved, coming here for lunch, to drink his tea and keep him company.

Why are you smiling?

I must have a secret. She finishes her tea.

Another cup?

Time I was on my way.

You’ve a film to see?

Ultimate watches the librarian put books on shelves. He doesn’t know her name is Sender. He doesn’t know she has a brother who hasn’t left the house in years; they’ve seen doctors about it. He relies on his sister the librarian to tell him how the world has changed since he last walked down the street. She tells him places are no longer there for a start, you’d hardly recognise it, what they’ve done. Urban renewal. Well it always used to be there – you must remember. Not any more it isn’t. And anyway – before my time; for me, it was never there. I’d be lost, I went out now. So she bought him a book of maps for his birthday; I saw it and thought what a perfect gift. This is where you live, here; and this is where I live, just an inch away. What a lovely present. You could visit me. I couldn’t. Nothing to it. Think about it – maybe next week. After my birthday. But that’s such a long time now; too long. Maybe then, I’ll have to think about it, a conversation they’ve had often since she gave him the book of maps. And he knows nothing about films on her days off.

Reading, Banner doesn’t shake. Ultimate sees the librarian leave the cinema, which reminds him of Banner in the reading room, by the window. I never saw him shake, not once. It’s just before five, and he’s thinking about food. He’s on his way to the shop and wants to make up his mind before he gets there. He doesn’t want to go in and have people say hurry up; there’s a queue, make your mind up. I wonder what she thought of that film. Ultimate goes to the cinema once a year if that.

Sender sees the man from the library. If she spoke to him, and if her brother just happened to be passing at that very moment, and saw them together, he might easily infer she’d left the cinema ‘with a man’. Even: ‘attractive young man’. He’d be intrigued, if not envious; quite the fool, he’d even think he now knew his sister’s secret. The man from the library has seen and recognised her, there’s no denying it. He’d say something like: I know you. And she’d agree: I know you also. He’d ask about the film. She’d say it was good, very enjoyable; it kept her guessing to the end. He’d say he hates films where you know everything after only five minutes. She couldn’t agree more, we’re so alike. And then her brother, turning the corner, would see their intimate exchange. Without telling her, he ventures out, going further each day until he uncovers her secret existence.

*

Eventually, Mane washes up after lunch. Sometimes his sister stays and helps. Sometimes she leaves abruptly. Just up and goes. His sister has poor manners, but Mane would never say as much. (She’s eleven years younger, their parents’ ‘afterthought’; he’s never known her any different.)

Ultimate pretends he hasn’t seen the librarian and crosses the road to avoid her. Or: having seen her large as life, he pretends he didn’t recognise her. But he might ask her about the film when he next visits the library. I thought it was you. I didn’t want to speak; you might have thought me forward.

In the shop he sees Banner with the book he was reading earlier. He recognises the book by its well-worn corners. Why would I want to buy your book? Banner might have pretended he didn’t know him; they’ve never once spoken in the library. Ultimate considers the librarian’s likely response when he tells her Banner steals books from her library.

A real page-turner, Banner ‘moving in for the kill’. You won’t be able to put it down.

Ultimate has now reached the checkout. Banner’s next in line, but Ultimate has no intention of waiting; he’ll be off down the road like a flash. The girl on the checkout smiles. Why are you smiling at me?

She moves stuff from his basket and scans each purchase. I see you here all the time. Just being friendly. I don’t fancy you or anything. Not my type.

Now you mention it, I’ve seen you before.

You’re here all the time. You never say hello or anything.

Neither do you. He pays his bill and goes out. He doesn’t look back.

The girl from the checkout rings the doorbell and waits. Sender opens the door and smiles warmly, so glad to see you. The girl from the checkout followed Sender home and waited, five minutes long enough to be sure. Then she points her finger at the buzzer. She still has time to change her mind before she hears the ringing indoors.

I love books. I love the way you spend all your time with books. I wish I could have a job like that, with books. I’d talk to people about the books they borrowed. I’d make sure I knew every single one of them, every book on all the shelves. I’d comment with quiet authority on every single title. There might be thousands, but I could do it.

She stands on the doorstep to press the buzzer, then steps back. It’s a good idea to give the librarian space when she opens the door, so she won’t feel threatened or anything. The girl from the checkout’s amused to think she might threaten anyone. She’s barely five feet tall; to the librarian, standing in the doorway looking down the path, she’d appear quite tiny; but people easily feel threatened when their space is ‘compromised’. Her boyfriend spoke to her about it just before he dumped her. I need my space, you’ve taken it over. I can hardly breathe. She consoled herself by thinking he must have felt threatened, poor boy. She had a good cry and went to work. Sitting on the stool they give her at the check-out she watched the librarian putting stuff in her basket. She was in my sister’s class at school, and then she went to work at the library; she just appeared in the shop one day but didn’t recognise the girl whose sister she’d been at school with all those years. They keep telling her to ‘keep an eye open’ for shoplifters. No way’s the librarian a shoplifter, but I suppose you never can tell. She seldom has time for books these days, what with her job, and a boyfriend taking up so much time. He’s so demanding, my boyfriend. And then she reminds herself she no longer has a boyfriend (or even wants one, thank you very much).

The librarian invites the girl from the checkout into her house. Would you like a sandwich?

I’ve had nothing to eat all day – you’ve saved my life. I just finished work. Hours and hours on the check-out, watching food go by. Watching people make decisions about food. On the look-out for shoplifters; you’d never believe it, what some people get up to if they think there’s no one watching.

I knew I’d seen you somewhere. I’d never invite a stranger into my home.

Mane rings the doorbell. It’ll be a nice surprise for his sister, a visit ‘out of the blue’.  Her turn to play host and make the tea. Day after day he’s studied the book of maps and memorised road names, landmarks, directions; he’s often turned left, then third right – or is it fourth? – no, third right, one-two-three, third, just after the restaurant – what they say’s a restaurant; a strange place for a restaurant, you ask me; it doesn’t even look like a restaurant when he finally sees it up close – then straight on. Oh I’ve made this short journey many times; I know it like ‘the back of my hand’. Not once since I moved here. I used to be here all the time in ‘the old days’, a regular visitor. My baby sister, my favourite person in all the world. And always stayed to help with the washing up, mind. But I’ve not lived here that long; I just moved here. I used to live somewhere else; I told you all about it, the move, hiring a van. What with everything else – you can’t remember everything, no one can. You should write things down. In a book you keep for writing things down in, so you don’t forget. I could say – have you written it down yet? Quickly – before you forget.

He doesn’t recognise the girl who opens the door. I must have come to the wrong place.

Ultimate sips his pint of beer. He opens the book to page one.

…

Paul Nightingale is currently working on two novels, one he’s tinkering with and one he’s stuck in the middle of. Elsewhere he has published on education policy in the UK, and he needs to get back to the blog.