Page 242 - The Midnight Library

www.urdukutabkhanapk.blogspot.com
www.urdukutabkhanapk.blogspot.com

around and the river just behind, refracting light, she mar velled at it as if she

were seeing it for the first time. It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what
you see.

Driving back to Cambridge cocooned in her expensive Audi, smelling
almost nauseatingly of vinyl and plastic and other synthet ic materials,

weaving through busy traffic, the cars sliding by like forgotten lives, she was
deeply wishing she had been able to see Mrs Elm, the real one, before she
had died. It would have been good to have one last game of chess with her
before she passed away. And she thought of poor Leo, sat in a small
windowless cell at a Bedford police station, waiting for Doreen to come and

collect him.
‘ is is the best life,’ she told herself, a little desperately now. ‘ is is the
best life. I am staying here. is is the life for me. is is the best life. is is

the best life.’
But she knew she didn’t have long.