Chapter 3

I lay in bed for a while just listening to the wind. Then I got up, got my book, and went back to bed: it was cold in the flat. I finished the book, and then got dressed and began to collect the things together to take to the launderette. I didn’t often read in bed in the mornings, and the morning had an unreal air about it as a result; I had the distinct feeling of being an independent observer, watching the world through the unfamiliar eyes of an unfamiliar body which was getting on with its unfamiliar life quite without any contribution from me.

I made myself an egg sandwich, and then set off for the launderette, black plastic bag over my shoulder like the caricature burglar. It was very blowy, and the sky was a racetrack of miscellaneous clouds against a blue background. Quite cold.

At the lauderette the price of the wash had gone up, and the time on the driers seemed to have gone down again; I had to start another tenner. There wasn’t an attendant, but fortunately there was a woman with her two small children who had a screw-top jar full of coins and were quite happy to change my tenner for me. The wash had been the same price for a long time, and it surprised me to notice how strange it felt putting the extra coin in. And it took two more coins than usual to get everything dry. Perhaps I should get a line and some pegs. In this weather things would dry in no time. And I bet it’s all bull about people getting their clothes nicked.

Back to the flat. Still early; so I did my sweeping up. Then, the weather still being dry and looking like staying that way, I decided to go to Raikeley again and see if I could join the library there.

I racked my brains for some means of identification, and finally took my benefit card, my medical card and my birth certificate. Only my benefit card carried my signature, and I hoped I wouldn’t need to use it. But I had decided I didn’t mind if the staff of Raikeley library knew I was a claimant, Raikeley being little and a long way away, and plenty of people knowing anyway. And I had a feeling they wouldn’t be so officious there.

Old railway. Falls Lane. Tow path. Only tiny bits of broken glass left where the kids had been the night before.

They weren’t so officious at Raikeley library. It was staffed by one woman of about forty, in carpet slippers and giving the impression that it was pure chance that she wasn’t in curlers. She was very friendly and didn’t ask for identification at all. There weren’t many books in comparison to the number in Burnfield library, but they seemed to be well selected. I found a beautiful old five-volume atlas of the world, and pored over it for an hour or more. The librarian came over and looked at it with me for a while, and observed that it was rather out of date, there was a much newer one at Burnfield, but it was only a single volume, less detailed in some parts, and wasn’t this a lovely book?

There was no-one else in the library at all.

The bulk of the atlas was physical maps, only a few smaller scale political maps, and I realized that only the political maps would really go out of date very much. Then I put it away and decided to go out for a while to give my eyes a rest, and get some chips, and then come back for another perusal of the shelves, and to borrow a couple of books.

Both the fish and chip shops were closed. One of them would be opening in about three-quarters of an hour, but there was a corner shop open and I bought myself a steak and kidney pie and an orange instead. I went up to the cemetery again to eat.

This time I went round the other side out of the wind, looking south away from Burnfield. Green fields below me, dotted with scattered old barns and a couple of farmhouses, and then the land rising beyond to the moors, blotches of dark green among browns and rusts and hints of purple, almost black; scattered rocks and a few sheep. A tractor pulling some kind of machinery in a little lane, the sound of its engine reaching me thinly against the wind.

Back down to the library. As I reached it, I realized my hands were sticky from the orange, and I’d have to wash them somewhere; the only place I could think of was the canal. With a wind like this my clothes would dry easily after I’d wiped my hands on them. So I carried on down through the village to the canal and lay down on the concrete and reached down into the water. It was very cold, and I pulled my hands out to rub them together, then a quick splashy rinse and a good shake. Getting up again without soiling my wet hands on the dusty concrete was quite difficult, and then I couldn’t brush the dust off my clothes or wipe my hands dry on my dusty clothes. So I stood on a little bridge with my frozen hands sticking out over the parapet drying in the wind. Some ducks swam out from under the bridge and erratically made their way westwards; it occurred to me that they couldn’t have been very pleased about all the new concrete canalsides.

After a few minutes my hands were dry and I brushed the dust off my clothes. They didn’t come perfectly clean; it still looked as though I’d been rolling in the dirt. Which I had, of course.

In the library I found a complete set of telephone directories for the entire country, and that reminded me of the fiasco with the directory enquiries operator the night before, and I writhed internally with renewed embarrassment. I selected the Burnfield directory and found the page with Jordan on it. There were indeed two – well, one and a half – columns of Jordans, and about ten of them had Burnfield numbers; but only two of them were in the right area of town, and they were a Doctor J. N. Jordan (his, or her, surgery) and a Mrs Elsie Jordan with a posh sounding address; so I concluded that they weren’t on the phone.

A little before three o’clock I selected an interesting looking book on geothermal energy and a couple of science fictions and took them to the counter; the librarian gave me a big smile and produced a little plastic card and then checked out the books with a light pen just like buying goods with a credit card in a big store. Then she gave me my card and told me to sign it soon and said she’d see me again soon. I thanked her and left, my books under my arm. Unless someone had been in early, or had nipped in and out quickly at lunchtime, I’d been the only customer all day; and she shut up shop five minutes early as soon as I left.

Strange place to have a computer check-out; I suppose they just automatically install them in all libraries now.

Walking along Wood Lane I had a good look at my new library card; it was the first thing of the kind I’d ever had. I thought about her instruction to sign it ‘soon’, and realized that it was a protection for me against the loss of the card. It had my name embossed on it; she must have had the embossing equipment on the premises. It seemed rather extravagant. I couldn’t imagine anything simple enough to be reasonable in a place like that.

Of course I couldn’t read the bar code, and there didn’t appear to be any magnetic stripe anywhere; the only things I could read apart from my name were ‘Burnfield District Libraries’ on the front, and ‘Books should be returned at the library from which they are borrowed, or renewed at any library, within three weeks’ on the back. As far as I could work out, it was valid for any library in Burnfield. I decided to leave it a few days until the staff at the town library had forgotten about my attempt to join, and then try to use it there. Maybe I should look at someone else’s card first, and see if there’s any difference.

Half-way through the wood I realized that I hadn’t brought my book with me to lend to Cathie, and that anyway it was still a bit early to go to the Britannia if I wanted to be there in the evening when I might be Cathie’s only customer. So I scrambled down the slope between the trees to the side of the river, and followed the bank as far as the aqueduct. Then up onto the tow path to cross the river, over the fields on South Hill, across Long Lane and into the little snicket that ran up to the bottom of Quarryside. Park Hill. Rose Lane. Walker Terrace.

There was a letter from the Electricity Board threatening to cut off my supply if I didn’t pay my bill – which I hadn’t had yet – within seven days of two weeks ago; and then I realized that it wasn’t addressed to me at all, but to Mike; and that on the outside of the window envelope he’d crossed out his own address and written mine. I wondered if he’d opened it and resealed it, or whether he’d known instantly what it was and never opened it at all. I assumed he’d paid the original bill in the meantime; but it started me wondering what had become of my bill for the quarter?

But I decided there was nothing I could do about it except wait and see; and I sat down to read about geothermal energy. There was a general chapter on ‘the energy crisis’ which was very pessimistic, but seemed well researched, apparently going back directly to material written by original researchers; not quoting quotes of quotes of quotes. The author was himself working in geothermal research, but the main text was quite readably presented and hung together well even skipping over the maths, much of the worst of which had been relegated to an appendix. There was a lot more use being made of earth heat worldwide than I’d realized, and the potential was apparently enormous.

After a couple of hours I needed a bit of activity, so I walked into town the long way, along the old railway and then down the embankment into Station Road when I reached the high chain-link fence closing off the main line. It was still light, and I decided to go into my canal-side retreat for a while and watch dusk gather in the town, and watch the scurryings of the townspeople at the end of their day.

When it was dark, and the streetlights had been on for a while, and activity in Wharfe Street had diminished to almost nothing, I picked up my books – Geothermal Energy and the one I was lending to Cathie – and walked back out into Quebec Street, down to Bridge Street, and over the zebra into the Britannia. I was beginning to feel very lonely; I wasn’t used to spending so much of my time alone. Still, Mike would be back tomorrow.

Cathie wasn’t in the Britannia; another girl was serving. I’d seen her before a few times, and the realization struck me that Cathie didn’t work there every evening. I wondered where she was, what she was doing, thinking.

‘Evening love. Cup of tea please.’ I’d intended to have a meal and stay all evening, but now I decided I’d not stay long and I’d eat at home.

‘Eighty pee, please.’ Shorter than Cathie, a bit plumper, sharper looking.

I went and sat at a table by the window, facing down the hill towards the canal. I had a great aching feeling of aimlessness; but there was no feeling of insecurity or threat and the strength of the feeling was quite pleasurable in a melancholic sort of way. I felt able to sit there staring at the lights and the darkness and the looming buildings for hours. I was warmer in the Britannia than I’d been all day.

A group of kids skylarking ran down the road; a girl seemed to have got a boy’s scarf. Then she rolled it into a ball and tossed it to another girl who ran back up the road. I recognized her green and red cardigan before I recognized her face; Tina? She was a lot younger than I’d imagined when I’d seen her in Andy’s, maybe fourteen or fifteen.

They disappeared back up Bridge Street and the street was quiet again. I absent-mindedly picked up my book and let it fall open at the bookmark. I looked down to start reading, but it was the wrong book, the one I’d finished that morning; and there was Cathie’s bookmark, ‘Can I borrow it when you’ve finished it, please, Pete? Don’t lose my place.’

I thought back to Sunday and my row with June; and then to seeing her in town on Monday and her pretending not to have seen me. Our few happy months before the strained weeks seemed like a different existence; even Sunday seemed remote and unreal.

And Cathie wasn’t in the Britannia that night. Obviously I was going to come again the following night; but that day Mike was coming back. I didn’t know what time he’d be arriving, but I did know he signed on at half past two, so I decided to meet him there. I didn’t expect to have to make deliberate excuses to get to the Britannia in the evening; but anyway, Friday night would do just as well for catching Cathie again. Wouldn’t it?

No it wouldn’t. Anyway, there was no guaranteeing my solitude on Friday night, either, so I decided to come into the Britannia in the morning. Of course, it might very well be quite busy then, but every extra opportunity would help. And I could certainly lend her my book if she was there, anyway, and sort of keep the pot boiling.

With my thoughts chasing each other round my head, geo­thermal energy didn’t get much of a chance. I spun my tea out for about an hour, then decided to patronize Andy’s to the tune of a cup of tea; I could watch a different bit of the world go by for an hour before going home to make myself something to eat.

‘See you.’ That surprised me – I hadn’t expected any acknowledgement from the other waitress.

‘See you.’ She’s friendlier than she looks.

Zebra. Market Street. Northgate. Arcade. Andy’s, not all steamed up. The noise hit me as I went in and I thought it was going to be too much, but I was in a very placid mood and very quickly got used to it. There were a lot of teenagers in there, but most of them were standing around the machines and there were plenty of seats. I chose one by the window and opened my book. That cup of tea lasted three-quarters of an hour. I hadn’t read much, but I’d quite enjoyed listening in to the banter going on between the kids, and I got myself another cup of tea, even though I was beginning to get hungry.

‘Do you play pool?’ Andy – if he really is Andy – from behind the bar.

‘Sometimes – I’m not very good.’

‘Doesn’t matter. I’m thinking of getting a table, wondered what you thought.’

‘Don’t know really. I suppose Mike and I might come in every now and then to play. Not very often I don’t think though. Be a bit crowded wouldn’t it? Be poking people in the face with cues all the time, wouldn’t you?’

‘Maybe.’

Jukebox competing with monotonous non-tunes from half a dozen video games. My second cup of tea lasted me half an hour and I’d had enough. Hungry.

‘See you.’ Thought of calling him ‘Andy’ and seeing what his reaction would be, but thought better of it.

‘See you Pete.’ Oh God, everybody knows my name. Is it a new phenomenon, or is it just that I’ve never noticed before?

Same old trek. Still a hole in the road and no streetlight at the top of Market Street, an eerie green glow on the dark stretch, turning suddenly red as the temporary lights changed.

Home. Fried sausage, fried egg, fried bread. Cup of tea and a slice of bread and jam; sitting in front of the gas fire and reading Geothermal Energy. Face scorching and back cold. Nearly nodded off.

Bed. Reading Geothermal Energy by table lamp. Just awake enough to turn the light out – after dozing for a bit.

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