I began to read the book at night. There was something sacred about those quiet, dark hours that made it feel special. I lit some candles (despite Madame Bowden’s repeated warnings against it) and arranged some cushions on the floor. It felt a bit like a seance at times because the strange noises in the walls wouldn’t stop until I settled down to read. The branches spreading across the wall were now freeing themselves from the plaster and I half expected to find leaves growing. Instead, a new book appeared. Normal People by Sally Rooney, the book I had seen at the library.

It was Madame Bowden. I didn’t know how she was doing it, but with her theatrical background, anything was possible. It was quite sweet actually, her quirky ways of encouraging me to read. If only she knew that I was carrying someone else’s story on my skin. Another line had come to me that morning while I was polishing the floors. I knew my mind wouldn’t rest until it was inked on my skin permanently. I had no idea what the story meant, how long it would be or whose words they were but the biggest mystery was why they were being told to me. I could never tell anyone; hearing voices was definitely still frowned upon, as far as I knew. But that was just it, I wasn’t hearing a voice as such, the words just showed up.

A Place Called Lost was a much simpler story to understand and it seemed to be written for children, which suited me fine. At least in

children’s books nothing terrible happened, and if it did, it always got fixed by the end. It told the story of an old library in a remote Italian village. It was so remote, in fact, that it was said only people who wandered off the beaten track and became hopelessly lost could find it. A charming wooden building, it held ancient volumes stacked from the floor to the ceiling, arranged without apparent order. The guardian of the library was so old that no one could remember a time when he had not been there.

Yet one day, as he locked the outer gate at the end of the day, a violent storm blew up out of nowhere and the poor old man was hit by lightning. However, that was not the end of the story. Still wayward travellers would stumble across the faraway library and, despite the guardian’s absence, would find themselves drawn to a certain book and, upon reading it, find the course of their lives completely changed. It was as though the library itself, the very fabric of its being, could intuit which book would help a lost soul to find their true path. But the locals feared what they did not understand and wanted the library destroyed. They believed that the building was haunted and that spirits were trapped within the pages of the books, waiting for a reader to set them free. And so it was that the books were taken out and dispersed across the land; but before the building was knocked down, a young man on his honeymoon arrived with a proposal. He would take the wood to build his own shop. In Ireland.

I knew this story was no mere coincidence. In fact, sometimes when I slowly read the enchanting lines on each page I felt as though my entire life was an elaborate plot line that would now somehow make sense, in this context, in this place and with these people. Person. Henry. I could already feel my ability to read him fading and I knew what that meant. My judgement was becoming clouded with that one emotion I could no longer afford to have. Love.

Before I blew out the candle, I read a line that made up my mind. In the story, there was a young woman who came to the library, miles away from

her true home. She read a story about a girl who had come to a fork in the road and was so afraid of making the wrong decision that she stayed where she was, huddled in the hollow of a tree. After several days, an old woman came along and told her a riddle. She asked, ‘What is something you create, even if you do nothing?’ The answer was a choice. Choosing not to do something was still a choice.

I was choosing not to register for college because I was too scared. What I hadn’t realised was that I was actively choosing to stay stuck where I was, which scared me even more.

The following morning I rang the admissions office and arranged an interview for the very next day. I felt empowered, strong, terrified and excited. There was no going back now, I assured myself, and hardly thought anything of it when the doorbell rang after I’d served Madame Bowden her breakfast. I opened the door with a spontaneous smile on my face, which fell the moment I saw him standing there.

It was too late to run. Besides, he had that look about him. The remorseful one, where he would promise me a brand-new start. I spotted the crumpled bouquet of flowers in his hand – even they looked brittle and half- hearted. I knew the routine; we had been through it so many times before. I felt my body becoming heavier as I came closer to him, the weight of being around him already crushing me.

‘Howareya,’ he said, bashfully, head lowered. All innocence. ‘What are you doing here, Shane?’

He opened his mouth to speak, but then an overriding thought came to me. ‘How did you find me?’

‘A mate of mine was up for the day, shopping with the missus. He spotted you.’

‘Where?’

‘On Grafton Street.’

‘So—’ I was trying to calculate it in my head. ‘How did he know I lived here? Did–did he follow me? Was it Mitch?’ I didn’t even have to ask. I knew it was Mitch. He was Shane’s best friend and would have thought nothing of spying on me.

‘Look,’ he said, taking a step closer, which caused me to step back. He seemed visibly upset by this, as though my fear of him was an overreaction on my part entirely. ‘Martha, does it matter how I found you?’

‘It does actually. Do you think it’s normal to have your goons following me around?’

‘Mitch isn’t a goon. Jesus.’

A couple walked past and gave us a wary glance. ‘Can we go inside?’ he asked. ‘I just want to talk.’

I didn’t answer. I wanted to say, No, go away, leave and never come back, forget about me, pretend I never existed, but nothing came out. I just turned away, looking at the street.

‘Your mother hasn’t been well.’

My head spun around to look at him.

‘That’s why I came. She wants you to come home.’ ‘What’s wrong with her? Is it serious?’

‘Serious enough, she’s in hospital.’

‘Jesus Christ.’ My hand flew to my chest. It was as though all of the oxygen had left my body. I felt woozy, like nothing was real any more. Not the buildings or the street or my flimsy life here in Dublin. He took my arm and I no longer flinched. It was Shane. He knew me and I knew him. Regardless of what had happened between us, he was here to help me. I looked in his eyes and I could see the sadness that was there when his father died. He knew how I felt. He wanted to help.

‘Okay, come in,’ I said. I walked down the hall towards the stairs leading to the basement, but when I turned around, he wasn’t following. ‘I live in the flat down here,’ I said, pointing to the stairs.

‘Jeez, it’s a nice place, isn’t it?’ he said, putting the flowers down on the console table and wandering into the front room.

‘You can’t go in there.’

He stepped out of my eyeline. After a few moments I followed him in.

Madame Bowden was out, so I figured there wasn’t any harm. ‘Was it an accident, or is she sick?’ I asked.

‘What? Oh, it’s cancer.’

My legs went weak and I sank back on the sofa. I couldn’t believe it. It felt like a waking nightmare.

‘Why didn’t she tell me?’ I didn’t expect him to answer; I was simply trying to make sense of it.

‘How could she? None of us knew where you were. You didn’t even leave a note, Martha. I was so worried about you.’

‘Were you?’ I knew I shouldn’t have said it. I could read his face like the weather and that comment made him angry. A flash of him beating me with the head of a mop came unbidden. My arms wrapped around my ribs instinctively. He turned his back on me and he walked slowly around the room.

‘You’ve done all right for yourself though. I can see why you might have forgotten your family.’

‘It’s not like that.’

This was so twisted. I felt myself needing to prove that I still loved him, just to keep things civil. But I didn’t love him. I fucking hated him. I stood up and walked towards the door that led to the hall.

‘Where are you going?’

‘I’d better pack a few things. What hospital is she in?’ ‘The Regional.’

He had delayed just a beat, but enough to raise some doubts.

‘Who are you?’ I heard Madame Bowden’s imperious voice from behind us. She was standing in the doorway that led back to the parlour. I hadn’t heard her come in and I had to fight the urge to hug her for her impeccable timing. She held her walking stick more like a weapon waiting to be wielded than a support.

‘Another friend of yours?’

Oh God, don’t say it like that.

‘Th-this is my husband, Madame Bowden.’ I was shivering all over. I didn’t think anything bad would happen while she was there, but I couldn’t be sure.

‘Husband? Good grief, you kept that quiet!’

I wished she would shut up. She was making everything worse. I was immobilised. The past and the present were colliding in the front room and no one seemed to understand how terrifying that was. They continued to exchange barbed pleasantries and I just stood there, my mind racing to nowhere. I found myself wishing that Henry was here.

‘Well, we’d best be off,’ Shane said, walking towards me and taking me by the arm. I remembered this. How it looked normal because no one could see him digging his fingers into my skin.

‘Oh, where are you off to? Somewhere nice? Bewleys do a lovely lunch menu—’

‘Back to Sligo. Martha’s mother is in the hospital, so I’m taking her home.’

Madame Bowden looked genuinely sad, although I couldn’t tell if it was sympathy for me, or for the fact that she would have to make her own breakfast. She was unpredictable in her moods at the best of times – kind and gentle one minute, cold and uncaring the next. I couldn’t rely on her to get me out of this.

‘Well, I’m sorry to hear that,’ she said, her eyes lowering to where his hand grasped my arm.

‘I have to pack some things first,’ I croaked, my voice breaking. ‘There’s no time for that now, we have to beat the traffic.’

‘I said I’m sorry to hear that because Martha can’t possibly leave today. No, I’m afraid I have a very important supper this evening and I cannot do without her. I’m quite sure she can make her own way there in the morning. We have a very reliable public transport system,’ she added, enjoying how he visibly squirmed at her interference.

‘Her mother is seriously ill, I think that’s more important than your supper or whatever.’

I looked from one to the other. I didn’t know what to do.

‘I would like to hear Martha’s opinion on the matter, if you don’t mind.’

She was giving me breathing space and I had to grasp it, at least until I could find out for myself what was going on.

‘Um, I’d better stay here for tonight anyway,’ I said, despising the pleading tone in my voice. Five minutes with Shane and I was already back to the frightened girl hiding in a wardrobe. I hated him for making me this way, but I hated myself too. Why couldn’t I be stronger?

He shook his head and widened his eyes in disbelief. ‘Nice to see where your priorities lie.’

‘It is my job, Shane. I’ll call home tonight and be on the first bus down in the morning.’

‘There, you have your answer,’ Madame Bowden said, stepping in front of me.

‘Don’t call the house, there’s no one home, obviously.’ It seemed as though he was giving up. What else could he do with her there? He took one last look around the place, then filled his mouth with saliva and spat on the floor before walking out and slamming the front door. My lungs exhaled and I realised I’d been holding my breath for who knows how long. The

relief of his absence was spoiled only by the embarrassment I felt in front of my employer.

‘I’ll clean that,’ I said, reaching into my apron pocket for a cloth and walking away quickly so I could hide my tears.

‘Martha Winter, you’ll do no such thing!’ she commanded. ‘I think it’s time you told me what exactly is going on.’