The Midnight Library (24 page)

And just because it was possible that the man was Ash, it was also possible that it wasn’t. There was no predicting every future outcome after a single decision. Going for a coffee with Ash might have led, for instance, to Nora falling in love with the person serving the coffee. That was simply the unpredictable nature of quantum physics.

She felt her ring finger.

Two rings.

The man turned over.

An arm landed across her in the dark and she gently raised it and placed it back on the duvet. Then she took herself out of bed. Her plan was to go downstairs and maybe lie on a sofa and, as usual, do some research about herself on her phone.

It was a curious fact that no matter how many lives she had experienced, and no matter how different those lives were, she almost always had her phone by the bed. And in this life, it was no different, so she grabbed it and sneaked out of the room quietly. Whoever the man was, he was a deep sleeper and didn’t stir.

She stared at him.

‘Nora?’ he mumbled, half-asleep.

It was him. She was almost sure of it. Ash.

‘I’m just going to the loo,’ she said.

He mumbled something close to an ‘okay’ and fell back asleep.

And she trod gently across the floorboards. But the moment she opened the door and stepped out of the room, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

For there, in front of her in the half-light of the landing, was another human. A small one. Child-size.

‘Mummy, I had a nightmare.’

By the soft light of the dimmed bulb in the hallway she could see the girl’s face, her fine hair wild from sleep, strands sticking to her clammy forehead.

Nora said nothing. This was her daughter.

How could she say anything?

The now familiar question raised itself: how could she just join in to a life that she was years late for? Nora closed her eyes. The other lives in which she’d had children had only lasted a couple of minutes or so. This one was already leading into unknown territory.

Her body shook with whatever she was trying to keep inside. She didn’t want to see her. Not just for herself but for the girl as well. It seemed a betrayal. Nora was her mother, but also, in another, more important way: she was not her mother. She was just a strange woman in a strange house looking at a strange child.

‘Mummy? Can you hear me? I had a nightmare.’

She heard the man move in his bed somewhere in the room
behind her. This would only become more awkward if he woke up, properly. So, Nora decided to speak to the child.

‘Oh, oh that’s a shame,’ she whispered. ‘It’s not real, though. It was just a dream.’

‘It was about bears.’

Nora closed the door behind her. ‘Bears?’

‘Because of that story.’

‘Right. Yes. The story. Come on, get back in your bed . . .’ This sounded harsh, she realised. ‘Sweetheart,’ she added, wondering what she – her daughter in this universe – was called. ‘There are no bears here.’

‘Only teddy bears.’

‘Yes, only—’

The girl became a little more awake. Her eyes brightened. She saw her mother, so for a second Nora felt like that. Like her mother. She felt the strangeness of being connected to the world through someone else. ‘Mummy, what were you doing?’

She was speaking loudly. She was deeply serious in the way that only four-year-olds (she couldn’t have been much older) could be.

‘Ssh,’ Nora said. She really needed to know the girl’s name. Names had power. If you didn’t know your own daughter’s name, you had no control whatsoever. ‘Listen,’ Nora whispered, ‘I’m just going to go downstairs and do something. You go back to bed.’

‘But the bears.’

‘There aren’t any bears.’

‘There are in my dreams.’

Nora remembered the polar bear speeding towards her in the fog. Remembered that fear. That desire, in that sudden moment, to live. ‘There won’t be this time. I promise.’

‘Mummy, why are you speaking like that?’

‘Like what?’

‘Like that.’

‘Whispering?’

‘No.’

Nora had no idea what the girl thought she was speaking like. What the gap was, between her now and her, the mother. Did motherhood affect the way you spoke?

‘Like you are scared,’ the girl clarified.

‘I’m not scared.’

‘I want someone to hold my hand.’

‘What?’

‘I want someone to hold my hand.’

‘Right.’

‘Silly Mummy!’

‘Yes. Yes, I’m silly.’

‘I’m really scared.’

She said this quietly, matter-of-fact. And it was then that Nora looked at her. Really, properly looked at her. The girl seemed wholly alien and wholly familiar all at once. Nora felt a swell of something inside her, something powerful and worrying.

The girl was staring at her in a way no one had stared at her before. It was scary, the emotion. She had Nora’s mouth. And that slightly lost look that people had sometimes attributed to her. She was beautiful and she was hers – or kind of hers – and she felt a swell of irrational love, a surge of it, and knew – if the library wasn’t coming for her right now (and it wasn’t) – that she had to get away.

‘Mummy, will you hold my hand . . .?’

‘I . . .’

The girl put her hand in Nora’s. It felt so small and warm and it made her feel sad, the way it relaxed into her, as natural as a pearl in a shell. She pulled Nora towards the adjacent room – the girl’s bedroom. Nora closed the door nearly-shut behind her and tried to check the time on her watch, but in this life it was a classic-looking analogue watch with no light display so it took a second or two for her eyes to adjust. She double-checked the time on her
phone as well. It was 2:32 a.m. So, depending when she had gone to bed in this life, this version of her body hadn’t had much sleep. It certainly felt like it hadn’t.

‘What happens when you die, Mummy?’

It wasn’t totally dark in the room. There was a sliver of light coming in from the hallway and there was a nearby streetlamp that meant a thin glow filtered through the dog-patterned curtains. She could see the squat rectangle that was Nora’s bed. She could see the silhouette of a cuddly toy elephant on the floor. There were other toys too. It was a happily cluttered room.

Her eyes shone at Nora.

‘I don’t know,’ Nora said. ‘I don’t think anyone knows for sure.’

She frowned. This didn’t satisfy her. This didn’t satisfy her one bit.

‘Listen,’ Nora said. ‘There is a chance that just before you die, you’ll get a chance to live again. You can have things you didn’t have before. You can choose the life you want.’

‘That sounds good.’

‘But you don’t have to have this worry for a very long time. You are going to have a life full of exciting adventures. There will be so many happy things.’

‘Like camping!’

A burst of warmth radiated through Nora as she smiled at this sweet girl. ‘Yes. Like camping!’

‘I love it when we go camping!’

Nora’s smile was still there but she felt tears behind her eyes. This seemed a good life. A family of her own. A daughter to go on camping holidays with.

‘Listen,’ she said, as she realised she wasn’t going to be able to escape the bedroom any time soon. ‘When you have worries about things you don’t know about, like the future, it’s a very good idea to remind yourself of things you
do
know.’

‘I don’t understand,’ the girl said, snuggled under her duvet as Nora sat on the floor beside her.

‘Well, it’s like a game.’

‘I like games.’

‘Shall we play a game?’

‘Yes,’ smiled her daughter. ‘Let’s.’

The Game

‘I ask you something we already know and you say the answer. So, if I ask “What is Mummy’s name?”, you would say “Nora”. Get it?’

‘I think so.’

‘So, what is your name?’

‘Molly.’

‘Okay, what is Daddy’s name?’

‘Daddy!’

‘But what is his actual name?’

‘Ash!’

Well. That was a really successful coffee date
.

‘And where do we live?’

‘Cambridge!’

Cambridge. It kind of made sense. Nora had always liked Cambridge, and it was only thirty miles from Bedford. Ash must have liked it too. And it was still commutable distance from London, if he still worked there. Briefly, after getting her First from Bristol, she had applied to do an MPhil in Philosophy and had been offered a place at Caius College.

‘What part of Cambridge? Can you remember? What is our street called?’

‘We live on . . . Bol . . . Bolton Road.’

‘Well done! And do you have any brothers or sisters!’

‘No!’

‘And do Mummy and Daddy like each other?’

Molly laughed a little at that. ‘Yes!’

‘Do we ever shout?’

The laugh became cheeky. ‘Sometimes! Especially Mummy!’

‘Sorry!’

‘You only shout when you are really, really, really tired and you say sorry so it is okay. Everything is okay if you say sorry. That’s what you say.’

‘Does Mummy go out to work?’

‘Yes. Sometimes.’

‘Do I still work at the shop where I met Daddy?’

‘No.’

‘What does Mummy do when she goes out to work?’

‘Teaches people!’

‘How does she – how do I teach people? What do I teach?’

‘Fill-o . . . fill-o-wosso-fee . . .’

‘Philosophy?’

‘That’s what I said!’

‘And where do I teach that? At a university?’

‘Yes!’

‘Which university?’ Then she remembered where they lived. ‘At Cambridge University?’

‘That’s it!’

She tried to fill in the gaps. Maybe in this life she had re-applied to do a Master’s, and on successfully completing that she had got into teaching there.

Either way, if she was going to bluff it in this life, she was probably going to have to read some more philosophy. But then Molly said: ‘But you are stopping now.’

‘Stopping? Why am I stopping?’

‘To do books!’

‘Books for you?’

‘No, silly. To do a grown-up book.’

‘I’m writing a book?’

‘Yes! I just said.’

‘I know. I’m just trying to get you to say some things twice.
Because it is doubly nice. And it makes bears even less scary. Okay?’

‘Okay.’

‘Does Daddy work?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you know what Daddy’s job is?’

‘Yes. He cuts people!’

For a brief moment she forgot Ash was a surgeon and wondered if she was in the house of a serial killer. ‘Cuts people?’

‘Yes, he cuts people’s bodies and makes them better!’

‘Ah, yes. Of course.’

‘He saves people!’

‘Yes, he does.’

‘Except when he is sad and the person died.’

‘Yes, that is sad.’

‘Does Daddy work in Bedford still? Or does he work in Cambridge now?’

She shrugged. ‘Cambridge?’

‘Does he play music?’

‘Yes. Yes, he plays the music. But very very very very badly!’ She giggled as she said that.

Nora laughed too. Molly’s giggle was contagious. ‘It’s . . . Do you have any aunts and uncles?’

‘Yes, I have Aunt Jaya.’

‘Who is Aunt Jaya?’

‘Daddy’s sister.’

‘Anyone else?’

‘Yes, Uncle Joe and Uncle Ewan.’

Nora felt relieved her brother was alive in this timeline. And that he was with the same man he was with in her Olympic life. And he was clearly in their lives enough for Molly to know his name.

‘When did we last see Uncle Joe?’

‘Christmas!’

‘Do you like Uncle Joe?’

‘Yes! He’s funny! And he gave me Panda!’

‘Panda?’

‘My best cuddly!’

‘Pandas are bears too.’

‘Nice bears.’

Molly yawned. She was getting sleepy.

‘Do Mummy and Uncle Joe like each other?’

‘Yes! You always talk on the phone!’

This was interesting. Nora had assumed that the only lives in which she still got on with her brother were the lives in which she had never been in The Labyrinths (unlike her decision to keep swimming, the coffee date with Ash post-dated her experience in The Labyrinths). But this was throwing that theory. Nora couldn’t help but wonder if this lovely Molly herself was the missing link. Maybe this little girl in front of her had healed the rift between her and her brother.

‘Do you have grandparents?’

‘Only Grandma Sal.’

Nora wanted to ask more about her own parents’ deaths, but this probably wasn’t the time.

‘Are you happy? I mean, when you aren’t thinking about bears?’

‘I think so.’

‘Are Mummy and Daddy happy?’

‘Yes,’ she said, slowly. ‘Sometimes. When you are not tired!’

‘And do we have lots of fun times?’

She rubbed her eyes. ‘Yes.’

‘And do we have any pets?’

‘Yes. Plato.’

‘And who is Plato?’

‘Our dog.’

‘And what type of dog is Plato?’

But she got no answer, because Molly was asleep. And Nora lay there, on the carpet, and closed her eyes.

When she woke up, a tongue was licking her face.

A Labrador with smiling eyes and a waggy tail seemed amused or excited to see her.

‘Plato?’ she asked, sleepily.

That’s me
, Plato seemed to wag.

It was morning. Light flooded through the curtains now. Cuddly toys – including Panda, and the elephant Nora had identified earlier – littered the floor. She looked at the bed and saw it was empty. Molly wasn’t in the room. And there were feet – heavier feet than Molly’s – coming up the stairs.

She sat up and knew she must look terrible after sleeping on the carpet in a baggy Cure T-shirt (which she recognised) and tartan pyjama bottoms (which she didn’t). She felt her face and it was creased from where she had been lying, and her hair – which was longer in this life – felt dirty and bedraggled. She tried to make herself look as presentable as it was possible to look in the two seconds before the arrival of a man she simultaneously slept with every night and also hadn’t ever slept with. Schrödinger’s husband, so to speak.

And then, suddenly, there he was.

The Perfect Life

Ash’s gangly handsome boyishness had only been modestly dented by fatherhood. If anything, he looked healthier than he had done on her doorstep and, like then, he was wearing running gear – though here the clothes seemed a bit fancier and more expensive, and he had some kind of fitness tracker attached to his arm.