The interlibrary loan
1. Hattie was the one who made marks on the back covers of books. At least, I think it was Hattie: I have no memory for faces. But I knew that Hattie was the one who didn't wear a hat (that was Connie, who was balding). She came into the library on Wednesday mornings. I knew why she did it, of course. That is part of the library legendarium, along with the book that was returned with a slice of bacon in. My own grandmother did it, once upon a time. She was marking which books she had read. Her mark was a box with a line through it, and it was far from the only mark in the back of those books.
2. Except that one quiet Wednesday I sat and watched her do it. She went through the shelves methodically, one book at a time. She'd look at the book, turn a page or two. Sniff it. Give it a shake. You might have throught she was opening a present. Most of the time she'd put them back untouched. But occasionally she'd get her pen out and make her mark in the back. Then she'd return the book to the shelf.
3. Of course I asked her about it. "Just being helpful," she said. "These are the ones on interlibrary loan, I thought you'd like to know." "We don't have any books on interlibrary loan at the moment," I said. "You do," she replied, "Just not the usual sort." I didn’t know what to say. Hattie has never worked at the library. "Tell you what, check how long it is," she said on her way out. "Measure the library. Then you'll see."
4. At the time I was mostly wondering if she had a carer who I should mention my concerns to. But later on I had a look at one of the books she'd marked. It wasn't on the system at all, though it had some unidentified library's security sticker on. Maybe, I thought, Hattie is stealing them and putting them on our shelves. The book was an otherwise unremarkable hospital romance. Except for one thing: flicking through it, the language was a bit odd. Someone waited anxiously under a lightpost. Autos drove past. Later on, the doctors sat together under a beatiful sunfall.
5. The next morning I measured the library. It wasn't hard to do: it's only a single room with the office stuck on at the back. I wasn't sure what I was looking for. Something numerologically mysterious, perhaps? As if I could stick my thumb on the tape at 6 metres 66 and Satan would come smiling out of the stacks. But it seemed unremarkable. I didn't have any blueprints to compare it to.
6. But the next day (Hattie and Connie absent, Maud and Dottie arguing knitting patterns and swapping clandestine biscuits and vodka at the large print table) I measured the outside of the library. And it was shorter than the inside. Not by much - maybe 30cm - but still so on repeated measurements. I couldn't work out where the difference came. Somewhere between the windows, perhaps? Maud came up to ask me did I need help? I said no, we're just having carpets fitted.
7. Perhaps I should have called the central library. But I didn't know what to say. All weekend and through the start of the next week I was thinking about it.
8. Next Wednesday I watched the doors for Hattie to come in. She didn't. But she was in the library at 11 anyway, like usual. Later on I went to look for her and she was not there. I asked Maud if she had seen her go out. "Oh yes," she said. "She's very stealthy about it," I said. "Well she used her own door," said Maud. And she showed me where there was a shelf that could be shifted to one side, revealing a 30cm gap into a space that was not there on the other side.
9. Maud offered me her hip flask and so help me I drank from it. Through the gap I could see a long, book-lined corridor lit dimly by stained-glass lamps hanging from the ceiling. There was nobody in sight in there.
10. That evening, I stayed behind. I locked the door with me inside and went through every book in the library, separating out the ones that Hattie had marked. Then I posted every last one of them through the gap. For good measure I added a note: 'no more loans please'. Then I put the shelf in front back. I did not dare look for three more days. But sometime in that time the gap closed up.
11. Connie knocks on the wall sometimes. I have not seen Maud or Hattie since. But then there are some people who enjoy mysteries and adventures, and they are usually the ones who end up telling the stories. I hope they are doing well, wherever they are.
