She arrived back in the Midnight Library.

But this time she was a little away from the bookshelves. is was the loosely defined office area she had glimpsed earlier, in one of the broader corridors. e desk was covered with administrative trays barely containing scattered piles of papers and boxes, and the computer.

e computer was a really old-fashioned-looking, cream-coloured boxy one on the desk by the papers. e kind that Mrs Elm would once have had in her school library. She was at the keyboard now, typing with urgency, staring at the monitor as Nora stood behind her.

e lights above – the same bare light bulbs hanging down from wires –were flickering wildly.

‘My dad was alive because of me. But he’d also had an affair, and my mum died earlier, and I got on with my brother because I had never let him down, but he was still the same brother, really, and he was only really okay with me in that life because I was helping him make money and . . . and . . . it wasn’t the Olympic dream I imagined. It was the same me. And something had happened in Portugal. I’d probably tried to kill myself or something . . . Are there any other lives at all or is it just the furnishings that change?’

But Mrs Elm wasn’t listening. Nora noticed something on the desk. An old plastic orange fountain pen. e exact same kind that Nora had once owned at school.

‘Hello? Mrs Elm, can you hear me?’ Something was wrong.

e librarian’s face was tight with worry. She read from the screen, to herself. ‘System error.’

‘Mrs Elm? Hello? Yoo-hoo! Can you see me?’ She tapped her shoulder. at seemed to do it.

Mrs Elm’s face broke out in massive relief as she turned away from the computer. ‘Oh Nora, you got here?’

‘Were you expecting me not to? Did you think that life would be the one I wanted to live?’

She shook her head without really moving it. If that was possible. ‘No. It’s not that. It’s just that it looked fragile.’

‘What looked fragile?’ ‘e transfer.’ ‘Transfer?’

‘From the book to here. e life you chose to here. It seems there is a problem. A problem with the whole system. Something beyond my immediate control. Something external.’

‘You mean, in my actual life?’

She stared back at the screen. ‘Yes. You see, the Midnight Library only exists because you do. In your root life.’

‘So, I’m dying?’

Mrs Elm looked exasperated. ‘It’s a possibility. at is to say, it’s a possibility that we are reaching the end of possibility.’

Nora thought of how good it had felt, swimming in the pool. How vital and alive. And then something happened inside her. A strange feeling. A pull in her stomach. A physical shi. A change in her. e idea of death suddenly troubled her. At that same time the lights stopped flickering overhead and shone brightly.

Mrs Elm clapped her hands as she absorbed new information on the computer screen.

‘Oh, it’s back. at’s good. e glitch is gone. We are running again.

anks, I believe, to you.’ ‘What?’

‘Well, the computer says the root cause within the host has been temporarily fixed. And you are the root cause. You are the host.’ She smiled. Nora blinked, and when she opened her eyes both she and Mrs Elm were standing in a different part of the library. Between stacks of bookshelves again. Standing, stiffly, awkwardly, facing each other.

‘Right. Now, settle,’ said Mrs Elm, before releasing a deep and meaningful exhale. She was clearly talking to herself.

‘My mum died on different dates in different lives. I’d like a life where she is still here. Does that life exist?’

Mrs Elm’s attention switched to Nora. ‘Maybe it does.’

‘Great.’

‘But you can’t get there.’ ‘Why not?’

‘Because this library is about your decisions. ere was no choice you could have made that led to her being alive beyond yesterday. I’m sorry.’

A light bulb flickered above Nora’s head. But the rest of the library stayed as it was.

‘You need to think about something else, Nora. What was good about the last life?’

Nora nodded. ‘Swimming. I liked swimming. But I don’t think I was happy in that life. I don’t know if I am truly happy in any life.’

‘Is happiness the aim?’

‘I don’t know. I suppose I want my life to mean something. I want to do something good.’

‘You once wanted to be a glaciologist,’ Mrs Elm appeared to remember. ‘Yeah.’

‘You used to talk about it. You said you were interested in the Arctic, so I suggested you become a glaciologist.’

‘I remember. I liked the sound of it straight away. My mum and dad never liked the idea, though.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t really know. ey encouraged swimming. Well, Dad did. But anything that involved academic work, they were funny about.’

Nora felt a deep sadness, down in her stomach. From her arrival into life, she was considered by her parents in a different way to her brother.

‘Other than swimming, Joe was the one expected to pursue things,’ she told Mrs Elm. ‘My mum put me off anything that could take me away. Unlike Dad, she didn’t even push me to swim. But surely there must be a life where I didn’t listen to my mum and where I am now an Arctic researcher.

Far away from everything. With a purpose. Helping the planet. Researching the impact of climate change. On the front line.’

‘So, you want me to find that life for you?’

Nora sighed. She still had no idea what she wanted. But at least the Arctic Circle would be different.

‘All right. Yes.’