Page 52 of Birds of a Feather

‘There’s more?’

‘Ooo, yes, mi amor. This journey is far from over.’

~

Gerry and Elise caught the bus from the cemetery to the stop outside London’s Natural History Museum. The spectacular gothic building dwarfed the people gathered at the entrance.

‘Impressive, isn’t it?’ Gerry said as they admired the intricate sculptures that adorned the facade, and the patterns created by different coloured bricks in the building’s many arches. Elise paid particular attention to the gargoyles – each with its own unique expression.

‘The architect designed it as a “cathedral to nature”,’ Gerry said.

‘I think he nailed his brief,’ Elise said as they walked towards the impressive front entrance.

Once inside and away from the hum of the London streets, the women were enveloped by Hintze Hall. The treasures housed in the nooks – each a giant in its own right – offered a reference to the scale of the hall’s gigantic proportions. An American mastodon, with its long protruding tusks; a taxidermied giraffe standing alongside a tall giraffe skeleton; and a giant swordfish in a tank all looked comparatively small in that vast chamber.

Elise stood underneath a giant blue whale skeleton that was suspended from the ceiling. But it was the magnificent tapestry of botanical artworks from around the world behind it that caught her attention.

Gerry made her way to the information booth. After a short exchange with a man behind the desk who gave her directions, she beckoned Elise to follow her.

They walked to the end of the hall and then along a corridor to the right. They reached the door of the Reading Room and Gerry pressed a doorbell. While they waited to be let in, they watched on as a woman gave a captivated audience an animated account of cordyceps – a fungus that turns ants into zombies.

The chatter and laughter of tourists and other visitors bounced off every hard surface, and the piercing squeals of toddlers protesting at being strapped into their prams accented the cacophony. Groups of excited school children, being corralled by weary-looking teachers, dodged and darted around, clipboards in hand. But within moments of walking through the heavy glass door to the library, Elise felt like she’d escaped to another world. The library was quiet and calm.

‘Now, behave yourself while you’re here,’ Gerry whispered to Elise with mock seriousness as they made their way down a short corridor to a reception desk. ‘I won’t have you getting me thrown out of here.’

Elise smiled as she recalled the hours she and Gerry had spent in the university library. They’d pick one of the less popular sections – usually an obscure ancient history, or a dead language – and shelter in the privacy of the aisles. One afternoon they were ejected from the library after they caught an incurable case of the giggles. Elise couldn’t remember what they’d found so funny, only that the librarian did not share their amusement. But they had an assignment due the following day, for which they needed access to a number of books, so they had returned, and, while Elise had weathered the brunt of the librarian’s whispered shouts, Gerry snuck in and concealed the books they needed up her jumper.

A young man at the reception desk looked up and smiled.

‘Hello,’ Gerry began, ‘we’re here to see Daphne Carmichael. I’m Gerry Burnsby.’

‘Ah, yes,’ he replied. ‘She’s expecting you. Just take a seat over here.’ He pointed to one of several tables in the centre of the room. ‘I’ll get you to clean your hands while you wait, if you don’t mind.’ He gestured to a box of wet wipes on the table before returning to his desk.

Elise looked to Gerry for context.

‘You’ll see,’ she said coyly.

As Elise dragged the wipe across her hands, she took in the room. The library walls were lined with dark timber bookshelves that reached more than five metres in the air. Tightly spiralled staircases led to a balcony that traversed the inside of the room, providing access to the books on the upper shelves.

A couple of metres from their table, a life-sized statue of Charles Darwin, crafted in a bright white stone, sat on an antique chair with one leg crossed over the other. He was engrossed in the book he was holding, which was decorated with flowers.

‘I wonder what he’d make of all this,’ Elise said, gesturing around the room, but implying the world.

‘God only knows,’ Gerry replied. ‘And he was basically an atheist.’

A handful of people sat at the tables around them, hunched over books or tapping away at keyboards. A cohort of librarians busied themselves at the shelves and desks around the room.

‘Gerry!’

A woman with long, blonde hair, a soft wispy fringe and elfin features approached them. She was carrying an enormous book and what looked to be some kind of foam bricks.

She reached the table, set down her load and pulled Gerry in for a long hug.

‘It’s so good to see you, Gerry,’ she said as she exited the embrace. ‘I’m so glad you got in touch. It’s been too long.’

‘I know,’ Gerry replied warmly. ‘It certainly has. I’m so grateful you made time for this.’

‘Of course! Anything for you, you know that.’

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