Page 2 of Read Between The Lines

That was another thing that had drawn me to Brian when we’d first started exchanging messages. Instead of going down the librarian stereotype route, the way so many sleazy guys had done on the previous app I’d tried, asking if I wore glasses (I prefer contacts) and whether I kept my hair back in a tight bun which they could take out (always sounds like the recipe for a headache), he’d immediately told me about his favourite books (self-improvement ones, definite green flag) and asked me about mine (even bigger green flag). I normally worried about coming across as too much of a book-ish buff, but with Brian I’d been confident from the beginning that I could be my authentic self, just like he was with me.

I quickly surveyed the library floor as I walked back to the front desk, waving to a couple of regulars, and making a brief superficial assessment of those I didn’t recognise. As expected, there was a growing queue, and the comfy sofas which were placed near the entrance were also full. Mondays were always the busiest day of the week. Problems escalated on Sundays when we, along with most other services, shut down, leaving those in difficult circumstances even more desperate for help as a new week started. What many didn’t appreciate was that librarians are social workers, counsellors, and problem-solvers, all tied up in one. Where else could people come and sit in the warm for hours for free, borrow books and access the internet without charge, or even just use the loo without having to buy something? The books were what had drawn me to the profession nearly five years ago now, but the people we supported were the ones who kept me from pursuing a potentially more lucrative career. From the harassed families who couldn’t navigate the complexities of the child tax credit system to pensioners who were being left behind because they didn’t have smart phones, we helped them all, filling out forms, mopping up tears, listening, caring, and simply being there for people. There was so much more to my job than stacking shelves and putting books in alphabetical order. Although I did a fair bit of that too.

‘Hello, welcome to Oxford Community Library. I’m Kat, how can I help?’

The next few hours passed in a blur of navigating job applications, arguing with the council about why it wasn’t right to exclude Gavin and his beloved dog Robin from the homeless hostel, and recommending the spiciest of reads for library favourite Doris, who outwardly looked like she’d be the type to disapprove of an unmarried couple even holding hands.

‘I do love a bit of demon action,’ said Doris, after she’d finally settled on her choice. She slipped the well-thumbed volume into the sleeve she’d crocheted with innocuous-looking flowers and bumble bees. ‘These reads help me save on the heating bills.’ She let out a throaty chuckle which made me smile in response.

‘I can imagine,’ I replied. ‘How many followers do you have for your bookstagram account now?’

‘Oh, I don’t really keep tab. Maybe something approaching ten thousand?’

‘That’s amazing, Doris. That’s way more than this library has on its socials. I need to ask you for some tips.’

‘Always happy to help.’ Doris lowered her voice. ‘Actually, I was wondering if I could ask your advice about something, pet?’

‘Of course, what’s on your mind?’

She glanced around to make sure nobody was listening. ‘The thing is, I keep getting all these direct messages from people claiming to work in the publishing trade. They’re offering me advance copies and proofs, but I don’t want to be handing out my home address to any old so-and-so, even if it is flattering that they think a review from me is worth having. I’ve done my due diligence, and they look like they’re legitimate, but they’re always saying on the news that you can’t be too careful, and well, you know what happened before…’ Her voice tailed off.

I nodded, experiencing the familiar ache of sadness and anger that I got whenever I thought about the reduced circumstances Doris now lived in, after an unscrupulous financial advisor she used to date persuaded her to go against her normally savvy judgement and invest her pension in a scheme which had promised high returns and delivered precisely nothing. She always appeared cheery, but she’d once confided in me that she feared she’d never recover from the damage the incident had inflicted on her self-esteem.

‘That’s very sensible; you’re doing the right thing.’ I reached across the counter and squeezed her hand, wishing once again that I could fix things for her. ‘But getting an advance copy of your favourite author’s next book is not to be sniffed at. Tell you what, why don’t you give them the library address? We’ll happily take delivery of the books here, and if any dodgy types try asking for information about you, I promise we’ll protect your privacy to the last.’

‘I don’t doubt it, Kat pet. Thank you for the offer, I’ll have a think about it.’ She straightened up and I recognised her armour of positivity going back on. ‘My to-be-read pile is already fairly hefty as it is. My son keeps muttering about needing to get the floor strengthened if I bring any more books home. Hence hiding my borrowings with the craftwork.’

‘Oh I…’

‘You thought I didn’t want people to see what I was reading?’ There was a glint of amusement in her eyes as she spoke. ‘I’m long past the age of caring what strangers think about me. If they want to get sniffy about other folk’s reading material, that’s up to them. They’re the ones who are missing out on some brilliant tales.’

‘You’re absolutely right. I wish more had your attitude.’ While I never judged reading choices, I knew I was definitely guilty of caring too much about other people’s opinions of me. I vowed to try to follow Doris’s example.

‘Mind you, it does amuse me the contortions folk get themselves into when they’re trying to read over my shoulder on the bus. One of them nearly fell into the aisle on the way here.’ She chuckled. ‘Tremendously unsubtle. I ended up writing down the name of the book and the author on a piece of paper and handing it over. The man pretended he didn’t know what I was referring to, but I noticed him tucking the note into his breast pocket as I got off at my stop. You’ll probably see him in here before long. I made a point of telling him that the library could get hold of any book.’ She checked the contents of her rucksack. ‘Right, I’ll probably be back tomorrow, pet. The Wi-Fi here is so much better than at mine, and I enjoy the company. I need to make the most of it before you lot grow sick of the sight of me and ban me for my own good.’

‘We wouldn’t dream of it. It wouldn’t be Oxford Community Library without you. And I promise I’ll chase up that inter-library request. I’m sorry it’s taking so long. I’m told the system hasn’t quite recovered from that attempted cyber-attack the other week.’

‘That’s very kind. I hear it’s you we’ve got to thank for making sure the effects weren’t any worse.’

I pulled a face. ‘You give me greater credit than I’m due. The IT bods were the ones who drew up the drawbridge and stopped the hackers getting any further. Quite why anyone would want to attack a library, I do not know.’

‘Ah, but you were the one who flagged the dodgy phishing email in the first place,’ said Moira, joining the conversation. ‘She’s very switched on, is our Kat.’

‘That she is,’ said Doris. ‘See you later, ladies.’

We waved her off, marvelling at how she managed to keep upright while carrying her heavily laden rucksack full of books.

‘Good old Doris, it’s always great to see her,’ I said. ‘I wonder if she’d be up for teaching one of the seniors’ social media sessions? She clearly knows way more than we do.’

‘Undoubtedly, and they’d probably be far more likely to do what she tells them,’ said Moira with feeling. ‘Give me the little ones’ story time any day. Toddlers might act like tiny drunks, but they’re still easier to control than the bunch of retired academics from the social media group, who like to turn everything into a philosophical discussion. If I have to debate what Socrates would have thought of TikTok one more time, I shall throw their phones out of the window.’

‘Well, it is Oxford,’ I said.

‘And don’t we bloody know it. Right, do you want to do the reshelving rounds? I can hold the fort here,’ said Moira, looking around the emptying foyer. ‘I think we’re over the worst of the rush now, and you’ll want to get your legs moving after manning the desk for so long, while I’ve swanned about looking decorative.’

I playfully nudged my hip against hers. ‘It’s what you do best. Sure, I’ll get to work. If it’s anything like last Monday’s round though, I’ll need an emergency nap before I go to class tonight.’

Moira pulled a face. ‘Or you could just go straight home and chill out for a change,’ she suggested. ‘That suffragette history class of yours sounds a lot more energetic than advertised.’

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