The Library of Lost and Found. Phaedra Patrick

and it was as if a thick grey smog hung over the town ever since. There had only been one survivor that fateful night, a young man called Siegfried Frost, the eighth person on board the boat.

      Even though the accident happened before she was born, the roots of Martha’s hair still stood to attention when she read the names of the seven crew members. She knew them by heart, but still looked at them each day.

      Using a tissue, she plucked a piece of chewing gum off the mermaid’s tail, threw it in a bin and set off back up the hill, still punching her arms.

      When Martha stepped inside the library, she closed her eyes and inhaled the earthy, almond scent of the books. If she could bottle the aroma, she’d wear it as a perfume, L’eau de la Bibliothèque.

      She took the small battered book from her bag and gave that a sniff too. It smelled musty and sweet with a hint of something else that she couldn’t place, maybe amber or cinnamon.

      The library was part-run by the community since the local council had made some drastic budget cuts. It was overseen by Clive Folds from his modern office in Maltsborough, where he was supposed to plan and ensure that two assistant librarians were always on duty. But since their colleague Judy went on long-term sick leave with a bad back, more responsibility had fallen on Suki’s and Martha’s shoulders.

      Fortunately, Thomas and Betty had left Martha and Lilian a fair-sized chunk of money in their will. Martha had almost used up her amount and, more than anything, she wanted a permanent position at the library.

      She’d helped out there for over four years, had a diploma in English literature, adored the books and wanted to help people. However, Clive had personally turned down three of her job applications. He displayed a penchant for younger, fresh-faced workers.

      Martha now had a job application form in her desk drawer for her fourth attempt.

      She had scanned through it many times already. With almost three weeks until the deadline, she hadn’t yet made a start on it. Each time she looked at the headings for qualifications, experience and previous employment, her heart stung from Clive’s rejections.

      Working at the library made her feel more alive. She could picture crawling on all fours across the floor, with Zelda. They used to walk their fingers across the rainbow of book spines and stroke the covers. They whispered and shared stories.

      When Zelda died, Martha found solace in the grey stone building with its flat roof and tall skinny windows that looked out over Sandshift Bay. She spent hours with her cheeks pressed to the cool glass, furiously wiping away her tears as she stared down at the golden curve of the beach.

      She wedged herself in the corner of the fiction section, knees tucked up to her chin, reading books after school or at the weekend. And as the pages grew bumpy with her tears, they helped her to cope with her grief. She shuddered at James Herbert and Stephen King, read about misfit schoolgirls and ravenous rats, got lost in the lush worlds of Evelyn Waugh, and learned some of the mysteries of men from the steamier moments in Mills & Boon. The library had been her Narnia, and it still was.

      Martha found Suki sitting behind the front desk with a pile of books stacked almost as high as her nose. She had worked here for less than five months, another of Clive’s young appointees.

      Even though she wore floaty paisley dresses down to her ankles, beaded sandals and a nose ring that looked more suited to a California music festival, Martha thought that Suki was good at her job. She was practical and nothing fazed her. Were they friends? She didn’t know, unsure what you had to do to make that happen.

      Now Suki peered out with red-rimmed eyes from under her blunt blonde fringe. The lilac dip-dyed ends of her hair were soggy with tears.

      Instinctively, Martha flew into action mode, shoulders back, chin raised. She dug her hand into her pocket and pulled out a packet of tissues. Holding one out at arm’s length, she waited until it tugged like a fish pulling on a line. There was a loud nose blow from behind the book pile.

      ‘Is this about Ben, again?’ Martha asked gently. ‘Didn’t he like the the food you made for him?’

      Suki’s nostrils flared and she fanned a hand in front of her face. ‘He collectioned his stuff from the spare room and didn’t even try my cheese and onion pie.’

      Martha had grown used to Suki’s misuse and mispronunciation of her words and didn’t correct her this time. She glanced at her burgeoning belly. ‘I bet they were delicious. Let me get you a nice cup of tea and a biscuit. I’ve brought a cushion for your back, and an article on breastfeeding. How long is it now, until the baby arrives?’

      ‘Six weeks. Ben’s still hooking up with that girl he works with. He says he can’t make up his mind between us. I’ll have to give him a culmination.’

      ‘Do you mean an ultimatum?’

      ‘Yeah, one of those. Me and the bump might have to get by without him…’

      ‘Are you sure you can’t work things out?’ Martha opened a drawer and slid her hand around inside. ‘You could take a minibreak together. Or, I’m sure I saved a magazine piece on couples counselling.’

      Suki wrung the tissue in her hands. ‘He just needs to make up his bloody mind. I still love him, though. You know what that’s like, yeah? Even you must have been in love, once.’

      Martha retracted her hand. Her blood cooled at the words ‘even you’.

      There had been someone who loved her, a long time ago, before she moved back into her family home to care for her parents.

      She and Joe used to dance in the sea at dusk, whatever the weather. They sat on a blanket on the floor of the teardrop-shaped cave and read aloud from books together. He scratched their initials onto the cave wall, and she painted her toenails petal pink for him.

      For five years he’d been part of her life, helping to fill the gap that Zelda left behind. Martha had imagined marriage, and their carpets scattered with brightly coloured picture books. But then she’d made a huge decision and her dreams had fallen apart.

      These days, Martha knew she wouldn’t ever win a beauty contest, but when a reader sidled up to the desk, rubbed their chin and said, ‘I don’t know the title of the book, but the cover is red, and I think there’s a picture of a dog on the front,’ she had the answer.

      ‘We’re talking about you, not me,’ she said hurriedly. She made Suki a cup of tea and placed a heart-shaped biscuit on her saucer. She took a blue satin cushion from her shopping bag and plumped it up. Drawing Zelda’s book from her bag, she set it on the table.

      ‘Urgh. Is that one of ours?’ Suki dabbed her eyes. She positioned the cushion behind her back and bounced against it several times.

      ‘No. I saw someone lurking outside the library, last night. I think they left it for me.’

      ‘You came to work?’ Suki frowned. ‘For the author event?’

      Martha nodded.

      ‘But Clive was supposed to tell everyone that Lucinda couldn’t make it. Her publisher called him.’

      Martha quickly lowered her eyes. ‘He didn’t tell me.’

      Suki’s face fell. ‘Oh God, sorry, Martha. I didn’t know. I was occupational with Ben and the baby.’

      ‘It’s fine,’ Martha said, even though it wasn’t. ‘It means that I found the book. It’s from someone called Owen Chamberlain.’

      Suki sat more upright. ‘Oh, yeah. Chamberlain’s is the new bookshop behind Maltsborough lifeboat station. Well, it’s new but sells old books.’ She picked the book up and leafed through it. ‘These illustrations are gorgeous.’

      ‘There’s a message inside from my grandmother, Zelda. But she passed away three years before the date.’

      Suki