Mrs Caton nods. “Jolene, could you make a start on putting those books away. and Maria, maybe you could see to the magazines. Put all the old ones in the cupboard. Yes, go on, Laurel. Lupin is Mr Pooter’s son—”
I say, “Yes, and he is a sore trial to him. Anyway.” I continue with my reading. “ By the time Carrie was due back I had painted the entire room. I had even painted the floorb —”
“Just a second, Laurel! Yes, Tom. What can I do for you?”
I wait, patiently, while Mrs Caton sorts out a problem with a book. Before she’s finished, someone else comes in with another problem. Why can’t they sort these things out for themselves? I would!
“ The floorboards ,” I say – and immediately have to stop again. This time it’s Jolene, wanting to know whether Elinor M. Brent-Dyer goes under B or D. She should havelearnt by now!
“Right,” says Mrs Caton. She turns back to me. “Where had we got to? He’s painted the room—”
“And he says, I thought it looked very bright and cheery and felt sure Carrie would agree with me. As soon as I heard her key in the door —”
“Over there,” says Mrs Caton, pointing to the magazine cupboard.
“ I went into the hall to meet her, saying, ‘Did you have a good day, my love? I am glad to see you back as I have a nice surprise for you. Pray go and —”
“It’s locked!” cries Maria. “It won’t open!”
The cupboard isn’t locked; it’s just a bit stiff. I say, “Tug it!” and she tugs, and all the magazines come spilling out on to the floor. that is because they were not put away properly to begin with. Mrs Caton goes over to help clear the mess. I trail after her, still reading. I’ve reached the bit where Carrie comes out of the parlour, screaming that there has been a terrible accident. “ I asked her —”
“Excuse me, Laurel!” Mrs Caton is busy collecting upmagazines. “Can you just move a bit to your right? That’s it, that’s better.”
I move away but go on reading. “… asked her what she meant, and she said, ‘Someone has been monstrously sick all over the floor.’ Oh, I did laugh! I thought that Carrie would also laugh when I explained to her that it was yellow paint, but I fear she has lost her sense of humour. She told me that she was not sure she wanted her parlour to look as though it was covered in sick. So now I have to go to all the trouble of re-doing it. A man’s work ,” I finish up, triumphantly, “ is never done. ”
“And neither, it seems, is a librarian’s,” says Mrs Caton, stuffing magazines back into the cupboard. “Jolene! Easy Readers…down there! That was excellent, by the way, Laurel. It really makes me want to read the book.”
I knew she would like it. I say maybe she could buy a copy for the library, and she says she will certainly think about it.
“Though I am not sure,” she adds, “how many people would share your enthusiasm. You’re obviously a verycommitted reader. But look,” she says, as we go back to the desk, “I’ve got all the help I need today. Why don’t you have a bit of a break and go outside in the sunshine?”
I tell her that I like being here, in the library.
“And I like having you here,” says Mrs Caton. “But if we’re not careful I shall get into trouble for overworking you! You don’t want me to get into trouble, do you?”
I hesitate. I’m almost certain she’s just joking. She has to be. I know that Jolene and Maria mean well and have to be encouraged, but I am the one Mrs Caton depends on. She said so herself! Where would she be without me?
“Laurel?” she says.
“I’ll just go and sort out the magazines,” I say. “Put them all in date order.”
Mrs Caton sighs. “Well, all right,” she says. “They could certainly do with it. But, Laurel—”
I wait, expectantly. Mrs Caton shakes her head. “Nothing,” she says. “Don’t worry. Go and see to the magazines.”
At the end of the day, I go home with Michael. We
I say, “Yes, and he is a sore trial to him. Anyway.” I continue with my reading. “ By the time Carrie was due back I had painted the entire room. I had even painted the floorb —”
“Just a second, Laurel! Yes, Tom. What can I do for you?”
I wait, patiently, while Mrs Caton sorts out a problem with a book. Before she’s finished, someone else comes in with another problem. Why can’t they sort these things out for themselves? I would!
“ The floorboards ,” I say – and immediately have to stop again. This time it’s Jolene, wanting to know whether Elinor M. Brent-Dyer goes under B or D. She should havelearnt by now!
“Right,” says Mrs Caton. She turns back to me. “Where had we got to? He’s painted the room—”
“And he says, I thought it looked very bright and cheery and felt sure Carrie would agree with me. As soon as I heard her key in the door —”
“Over there,” says Mrs Caton, pointing to the magazine cupboard.
“ I went into the hall to meet her, saying, ‘Did you have a good day, my love? I am glad to see you back as I have a nice surprise for you. Pray go and —”
“It’s locked!” cries Maria. “It won’t open!”
The cupboard isn’t locked; it’s just a bit stiff. I say, “Tug it!” and she tugs, and all the magazines come spilling out on to the floor. that is because they were not put away properly to begin with. Mrs Caton goes over to help clear the mess. I trail after her, still reading. I’ve reached the bit where Carrie comes out of the parlour, screaming that there has been a terrible accident. “ I asked her —”
“Excuse me, Laurel!” Mrs Caton is busy collecting upmagazines. “Can you just move a bit to your right? That’s it, that’s better.”
I move away but go on reading. “… asked her what she meant, and she said, ‘Someone has been monstrously sick all over the floor.’ Oh, I did laugh! I thought that Carrie would also laugh when I explained to her that it was yellow paint, but I fear she has lost her sense of humour. She told me that she was not sure she wanted her parlour to look as though it was covered in sick. So now I have to go to all the trouble of re-doing it. A man’s work ,” I finish up, triumphantly, “ is never done. ”
“And neither, it seems, is a librarian’s,” says Mrs Caton, stuffing magazines back into the cupboard. “Jolene! Easy Readers…down there! That was excellent, by the way, Laurel. It really makes me want to read the book.”
I knew she would like it. I say maybe she could buy a copy for the library, and she says she will certainly think about it.
“Though I am not sure,” she adds, “how many people would share your enthusiasm. You’re obviously a verycommitted reader. But look,” she says, as we go back to the desk, “I’ve got all the help I need today. Why don’t you have a bit of a break and go outside in the sunshine?”
I tell her that I like being here, in the library.
“And I like having you here,” says Mrs Caton. “But if we’re not careful I shall get into trouble for overworking you! You don’t want me to get into trouble, do you?”
I hesitate. I’m almost certain she’s just joking. She has to be. I know that Jolene and Maria mean well and have to be encouraged, but I am the one Mrs Caton depends on. She said so herself! Where would she be without me?
“Laurel?” she says.
“I’ll just go and sort out the magazines,” I say. “Put them all in date order.”
Mrs Caton sighs. “Well, all right,” she says. “They could certainly do with it. But, Laurel—”
I wait, expectantly. Mrs Caton shakes her head. “Nothing,” she says. “Don’t worry. Go and see to the magazines.”
At the end of the day, I go home with Michael. We
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