Page 51 - The Midnight Library

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is was a life where she put four exclamation marks in a row. at was

probably what happier, less uptight people did.
A promising omen.
She looked down at what she was wearing. A denim shirt with sleeves
rolled halfway up her forearms and jeans and wedge-heeled shoes, none of

which she wore in her actual life. She had goose-bumps from the cold, and
clearly wasn’t dressed to be outside for long.
ere were two rings on her ring finger. Her old sapphire engagement
ring was there – the same one she had taken off, through trembles and tears,

over a year ago – accompanied by a simple silver wedding band.
Crackers.
She was wearing a watch. Not a digital one, in this life. An elegant, slender
analogue one, with Roman numerals. It was about a minute aer midnight.

How is this happening?
Her hands were smoother in this life. Maybe she used hand cream. Her
nails shone with clear polish. ere was some comfort in seeing the familiar
small mole on her le hand.

Footsteps crunched on gravel. Someone was heading towards her down
the driveway. A man, visible from the light of the pub windows and the
solitar y streetlamp. A man with rosy cheeks and grey Dickensian whiskers
and a wax jacket. A Toby jug made flesh. He seemed, from his overly careful

gait, to be slightly drunk.
‘Goodnight, Nora. I’ll be back on Friday. For the folk singer. Dan said he’s
a good one.’
In this life she probably knew the man’s name. ‘Right. Yes, of course.

Friday. It should be a great night.’
At least her voice sounded like her. She watched as the man crossed the
road, looking le and right a few times despite the clear absence of traffic,
and disappearing down a lane between the cottages.

It was really happening. is was actually it. is was the pub life. is
was the dream made reality.
‘ is is so ver y weird,’ she said into the night. ‘So. Ver y. Weird.’
A group of three le the pub then too. Two women and a man. ey

smiled at Nora as they walked past.
‘We’ll win next time,’ one of the women said.
‘Yes,’ replied Nora. ‘ ere’s always a next time.’