Broken Places Read Online Free Page A

of a story, with characters, or a book that told you how to identify birds?’
    ‘A story – for my grandchildren.’
    ‘Ah, I think you need the children’s library. I’m just going up there myself.’ However busy he might be, he had to have a word with Stella, to beg her help at lunchtime.
    Once Harriet had relieved him at the desk, he took the stairs at a snail’s pace, so the old lady could keep up with him, then left her in Kath’s hands. Despite her youth, Kath was proving a real asset, although Harriet had complained, of course, about employing kids who should be still at playschool. But he, too, had started as a library assistant, at the age of just sixteen, so he felt a bond with Kath; still recalled the sense of being confused and overawed by all one had to learn.
    The colourful shelves and frieze of children’s drawings pinned in rows above them reminded him of being younger still; the pride he’d felt when his own pictures were displayed. The library had been his childhood refuge – in fact, almost a sort of prep school – and he’d continued to use it through his teens, not just as crammer and college, but as an escape from noise and bullying and the whole round of petty punishments. Without it, he’d be nothing now, or maybe – worse – a criminal or dope-head. Admittedly, reaching his favourite haven had often been a problem, sincehe’d had to rely on busy, non-bookish adults, with a thousand more important things to do. But, once there, he felt secure and – more important still – could be instantly transported to other, better worlds, simply by opening the pages of a book.
    Stella’s voice returned him to the present. She was just finishing her ‘Rhyme-Time’ session – clearly one with a marine theme, since she had set up a stretch of ocean (a blue tarpaulin), a beach (a yellow rug), and brought in various ‘fishy’ toys, including a green-plush crocodile, with a cavernous scarlet mouth.
    ‘Now, our last song is “Row Your Boat”. We learned that one last week, so shall we all join in?’
    Eric found himself singing along with toddlers, mothers, nannies; even managing a creditable shriek when they reached the verse, ‘If you see a crocodile, don’t forget to scream.’ The contrast with the church-like silence of libraries in the old regime never failed to strike him, in these days of exuberant sing-songs and boisterous events. He continued watching with a twinge of envy as the mothers prepared to take their children home; buttoning coats; retrieving hats and gloves; each mother or each nanny leaving hand-in-hand with a child. Incredible to have someone all to yourself , someone you didn’t have to share, someone linked to you by blood-ties.
    Once everyone had gone, Stella tidied away the rugs and books and toys. ‘I’m off for my tea-break now, Eric. Any chance you can join me?’
    ‘Well, only for five minutes. We’re up to our eyes down there.’
    Having left Kath to do some shelving, Stella followed him to the staffroom, where he remained standing by the door, too pressured to bother with tea.
    ‘Stella, could you do me a favour?’
    ‘Depends. If you want me to dress up in a rah-rah skirt and perform the cancan on top of the returns-desk, then—’
    ‘No, nothing so exciting. I just wondered if you could heat the lunchtime soup.’
    ‘I thought Helen usually did it?’
    ‘She does, but she called in sick first thing. It won’t take long, I promise. The stuff’s all ready, right there on the worktop.’
    ‘OK.’ Stella flung a teabag into a mug. ‘But I think I ought to warn you that Harriet’s still pissed off about the whole idea of soup.’
    ‘I know. But then she dislikes the group, full-stop. It just happens to beworking, though, whatever she might think. The numbers are up every week, and hot soup helps to bring the punters in.’
    ‘Yes, but she’s worried that books will get nicked by what she calls “undesirables”.’
    He bristled in