How
did she know? Before I got married I’d been a sailor –
I’d loved the sea, adored the wild, unfathomable mystery of
it. I’d travelled everywhere – to fantastic, indescribable
places and it had been on one of my last brief stints in Folkestone
that I’d met Maggie – in a café down by the harbour.
We’d shared a pot of tea and a plate of sandwiches and I’d
known instantly that this was the woman I’d been waiting for
– I’d travelled the whole world looking for her and
had ended up where I’d started!
Leafing through the thick tome, the sketchy illustrations evoked
distant memories which now came flooding back to me. Suddenly the
tears came. They fell slowly, silently, dropping onto the pages
and smudging the dark lettering. I pulled out a handkerchief and
wiped them away as I didn’t want anyone to see. But it was
a quiet day in the library so nobody noticed, nobody except for
Liz who put a comforting hand on my shoulder.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I’m fine. I’m really sorry – I don’t
know what came over me.’
‘Look it’s my break now. Do you want to talk about it?’
I don’t know how or why but for the first time since Maggie
died, I opened my mouth and spoke – I told Liz of my feelings,
the pain of the last few difficult years and my desperate
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sadness
at losing the woman I loved. She looked at me with empathy, listening
with her heart, absorbing my anguish and when I’d finished
she gave me a big hug.
‘You
really loved Maggie, didn’t you?’ she said.
‘Yes and I miss her so much, I don’t know how I’m
going to cope.’ I replied.
‘You’ll be okay,’ she said affectionately.
I could feel tears welling up again and I knew it was time to leave.
‘I think I should go, thanks so much, Liz.’
After that the library became for me a kind of refuge, a place to
work through my grief and come to terms with my loss. Liz was a
constant presence, gently suggesting books I might like, authors
I should try – she even persuaded me to join a book group!
There was always something almost familiar about her which I could
never quite put my finger on. That was until one evening several
months later when my grandson and I were up in the attic sorting
out some of Maggie’s things.
I was flicking through an old biography when a faded black and white
photograph fell out. I put on my glasses so I could see more clearly
when suddenly I felt my heart lurch so I steadied myself against
the wall.
‘Grandpa, what is it?’ asked Daniel frantically.
Putting my arm around the little boy, I pulled him closer towards
me.
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