The
Siege
by
Esther Chilton
I didn’t think sieges happened
in libraries. Banks and building societies – yes. I could
understand a jeweller’s, too. But not a library. And it’s
all my fault.
We’ve been in this little room for ages now – him and
me. The phone has rung twice, but he won’t let me answer it.
He just shakes his head and waves his gun around. I feel I should
say something, but I don’t know what to say.
I look at him – at his eyes flitting from side to side, and
lips white where he keeps chomping on them. His brows dance up and
down, seemingly unsure whether to rise into the shock of a surprise
or to furrow into a frown. He sniffs, sucking in his nostrils and
then they flare out like a dragon about to unleash a flurry of flames.
I swallow. This is the first time I’ve been afraid of him.
Him. I don’t even know his name. I didn’t take the time
to ask him or even to care. He was just there, every Monday morning,
waiting outside for the doors to open.
|
I should have known that there
was something different about him. I did, though only to a certain
extent. He didn’t ever borrow any books. Not that he was the
only one. Lots of people like to come and browse or to look up references.
But he didn’t even do that.
‘I see you’ve got yourself an admirer, Lesley,’
Shirley always teased.
I had laughed with her at first. Of course he wasn’t. Then
I would catch him staring at me.
‘I’d watch him if I were you. He’s a bit of a
weirdo, that one,’ Shirley said, after finding him stroking
a book I had just put back on a shelf.
‘He’s not doing any harm,’ I said back.
And he wasn’t. Not really. Deep down I was a little flattered,
especially when he bought me some flowers. Well, they were more
weeds than flowers, but no one had ever bought me flowers before.
It seemed so thoughtful. I’ve always loved flowers. My house
is full of them – all bought by myself from the local garden
centre. So I went home that night and put my admirer’s into
water, alongside the carnations and chrysanthemums.
I suppose I felt sorry for him. I could see him at school –
the little one at the back with hand-me-down clothes that didn’t
fit, with hair hanging down over his eyes as he stared out the window,
wondering if his Mum and Dad would ever stop rowing.
|
