It had been several years since Jeanette Maund had last read a book, properly that is. The last book she had read cover-to-cover had been Anna Karenina, she got so engrossed in the story she’d read for hours ’til her eyes grew heavy and she was stifling the yawns that heralded the approaching morning.
It was a love story sure and a long one of that and Jeanette was not fond of overly sentimental stories but Tolstoys story was different, free of the girly ‘gushiness’ that other love stories possessed.
She had read books since, skimmed the paragraphs gaining a sense of the story’s focus and direction. Taking with her an even vaguer sense of the characters involved, not like this for a long time.
What were their names?
How did they speak?
How did they move?
How did they feel?
None of this mattered to her after Anna.
This book was different though.
She pulled her bed sheets tight around herself, her eyes not wandering from the pages in front of her.
She released one hand and used it to plump her pillow behind her, her head moving with the changed position of the book. She regained her two handed grip on the book and righted her head once more.
She turned the page and struggled to read the pages more and more as she did so. She had a nasty habit of creasing the pages of a book that she would read… and this particular book she had read several times in the past couple of days.
The answering machine’s little LCD screen blinked strenuously through the darkness of the hallway as if it had been blinking for days… it had. Twelve separate messages, five from her employer, two telesales persons, three from her best friend, and two from the library.
It had all started little over a month ago, it was a cool summers day… right at the end of summer. It had started to get dark early and Jeanette liked to curl up with a book in bed on those long nights.
She had gone to the library and handed in all her mid summer reading… a small pile of top quality books. The nights were short and she had no time to waste on books that didn’t ‘cut the mustard’.
She had spent a good hour and a half wandering the library.
Her gaze drifted from the shelves only twice once so that she could side step a pushchair, and once more to view the commotion cause by a man eating his chips in the library.
The man, scruffy and unwashed in appearance had unceremoniously dumped the wrappers on to the floor.
A conscientious citizen had confronted him on this followed by a Librarian and he proceeded to act innocent. It was none of Jeanette’s business so her attention fell back to her search.
Within another twenty minutes she had come to the end of the ‘Short Story’ section and checked the ‘New in’ trolley and felt some what light. She had only four books clutched under her arm.
Glancing round she observed that the chip wrapper had been cleaned up and the library had started to empty. A check of her watch told her that the library was closing in about fifteen minutes.
She had searched everywhere and didn’t want to make another trip the next day.
A woman with a plastic name badge wandered up the same hall as she was in and shouted loudly
“10 minutes till closing! Take your books and check them out at the main desk! Please.”
She had searched everywhere.
Everywhere… except for most of the ‘M’s’ in the ‘Biographical’ section. She had missed them with all the ruckus about the chips.
She quickly hurried back through short stories and took a short cut through ‘Geography’ and ‘Health and Fitness’ and arrived at the Biographies puffing and panting.
She traced her finger down the ‘M’s’:
MacDonald, Old
Malcom, Devon
Marbury, Stefan
Mathers , Marsh-
Maund, Jeanette
Michaels, Shawn
She stopped, her back went rigid and she traced her finger back.
“Maund” she whispered “…Jeanette… Maund.”
Her brain failed to fully believe her eyes and she mouthed her name over and over, desperately trying to gain clarity as to something she missed.
Funny, she’d never heard of a famous namesake before.
The shouts from an aisle or two over announcing the closure of the library in five minutes, stirred Jeanette from her stupor and she quickly yanked the book from amongst its brethren and hurried back towards the front desk.
Thinking as she passed through ‘Health and Fitness’ that maybe she should take a book considering all the running she was doing lately.
She made it to the desk and quickly joined the diminishing queue. She clutched the book hard and glanced around at the various members of staff at the library as they patrolled the halls. Rounding up all the strays and stragglers.
They were mostly older people, and a few of ethnic minority. A less motley crew had never been assembled, they were mostly wrinkled or greying, generally well spoken; but to Jeanette’s mind they had all taken a sinister turn.
When it came her turn to hand over her books she was slightly reluctant to. After some gentle coaxing from the woman behind the desk she handed it over, carefully checking as it came back that it still said her name on it.
Packing the books up into her bag she hurried off out the doors; next to which was the shouty librarian from earlier. Waiting ready with the keys the Librarian checked her watch and sighed loudly.
Jeanette hurried through and didn’t look back.
*****
Jeanette went to ‘Sarah’s Cafe’ as usual, haphazardly ordered her tea and scones, and sat down in the ‘none smoking’ area.
Her tea was delivered along with her plate of scones… with butter and jam. She thanked the waitress and waited till she had left before reaching into her bag and removing the object of her thoughts since she had got it.
Tilting the book to the light didn’t do anything to change the name on the book, she stroked the gold leaf that was etched into the maroon hard back book, and then turned it over.
No barcode.
No publisher.
No price.
No author.
The book did however have a crease and from looking at the spine it was easy to see where it had last been opened. The previous reader must have almost finished, or at least finished with great care as there wasn’t much of the book left.
She looked up once again and was assured that no one was looking she opened the book gently at that point and began to read :
“… happy with her fruitful bounty of classic literature Jeanette strode down Saint Peters Street to ‘Sarah’s Cafe’, where her friends awaited her.
They greeted her loudly with shrieks of pleasure and they kissed each of each others cheeks in true European fashion-”
Jeanette slammed the book closed. Her eyes were wide staring down the length of the cafe at nothing in particular. Her chest heaved and she tried to slow her breathing.
She had only nibbled at her scone and hadn’t touched her tea when she got up quickly and throwing the book back into her bag she went straight to the Bus Stop and climbed onto the number 44 heading as quickly as possible for home.
She arrived home at a run, as it had started to rain and slammed the door. In the hallway she stood for a few seconds, spots of water on the shoulder of her jacket and on her glasses. The sound of the rain grew louder and she breathed a sigh of relief to be home.
“Mrow!” said her cat sleepily as it got up from is basket on the floor and stretched. It started towards her but she fled up the stairs quickly not noticing him.
“Meow!” her cat called after her.
She slipped off her jacket and threw it to the ground next to her bed before stripping down so that she could sit in bed comfortably.
In she climbed and took the book from her bag. She could have swore that the crease was further through now than it was earlier but told herself it must have been her imagination.
Opening it gingerly at the first page she began to read.
“May 1973, a year and month that not a lot happened.
Vic”Tori”a Davey Spelling (actress, ‘Donna’ in Beverly Hills 90210) was born.
Wings release “Red Rose Speedway” in UK.
Ernie Banks fills in for Cubs manager Whitey Lockman who is ejected during the game, thus technically becoming baseball’s 1st black manager
Stevie Wonder releases “You are the Sunshine of my Life”
Glenn Turner scores his 1,000th cricket run of English season
Most notably President Nixon confessed his role in Watergate cover-up.
It was also the year she was born.
Baptised as ‘Jeanette Hannah Maund’ she was a blessing to her parents. They were both often sickly people, and had met through friends who thought they were both too reclusive. Fixed up on a date they quite accidentally found they had a lot in common and were married 2 years later.
Shirley Marie Williams (later to become Maund through marriage) being proper and a practicing Catholic had only consented to having sexual intercourse after they were married. Which didn’t matter as Michael Maund would never presume to pressure Shirley.
Whether they were actually in love or not… or whether they were just comfortable with each other didn’t matter. They had a baby for which they could care and which would bind them and they lived out their days together happily, dying at a relatively early age.
Shirley at the age of 45 and Michael shortly after at the age of 44.”
She couldn’t believe what she was reading… but she carried on. Through the details of her birth, her weight; through her pre-school times, and the boy behind the sandbox; through Primary school ; then Secondary school, and her continuing isolation from everyone else. As she turned to books, the other kids would often say that she’d turn into a book — she always hoped she would do.
There was the play times spent in the library, the school discos missed. The bullying.
It moved onto her college days, she became slightly more confident, love loomed but she retreated.
It progressed… her year out. A year in Australia, slumming it from hostel to hostel, a character building experience supposedly; she had wanted to find herself, her pack was often weighty… with books, into which she’d retreat instead of searching for herself.
Back from her year out she moved from Derby to Southampton and went to University there. She made a few friends but generally hauled herself up in her dorm, gained top marks in the English Literature class and became an editor at a respectable publishing house. She worked from Derby, the only place she ever felt really comfortable.
Jeanette read and read, reliving all the moments of her life. Recounted on page and for the first time in a long time she didn’t feel detached of the story.
She cried once more at her parents’ funerals, winced at her attempts at dating and laughed at some things… that although not funny at the time were extremely comical now. Finally she came to the point where the crease is… it HAD moved on and she wasn’t imagining it.
She sat there staring at the page, it ended with herself debating whether to turn or not.
“Some thing inside screamed at her,” it said, “not to carry on.”
She broke from her silent reverie and closed the book. The clock on her bedside cabinet read 03:56am and she decided to call it a night. As much as she wanted to read it again, her eyelid’s hung as low as the moon outside and she slipped the book beneath her pillow. She shuffled her body and slipped down in her bed and dreamed gently of what her life could have… should have been like.
*****
The next morning she woke up and dressed for work.
Downstairs she trod and the cat followed her. Tigger paced around her legs eagerly, she hadn’t fed him last night because… It was then her mind engaged.
She hurriedly scooped out the cat’s food and placed the bowl in the usual place and then hurtled upstairs, and reached below the pillow.
It was still there.
A glance at the clock told her it was 8:32 and she had to be at work in 28 minutes… she tapped the book against her hand deep in thought and then hurried again to the phone stripping back her work clothes as she did so and depositing them on the stairs.
“Yes… yes hello, hi Mike!?” she switched to a poor impression of an ill woman “Yeah, well… my dose is bunged and my eyes keep watering… no I’ll be okay… I think its just one of those twenty four hour things… yeah… thanks Mike.”
She returned the receiver to its place and looked up and down the hallway. Her cat was eating away merrily and she now had the day off work. She grabbed the banister and swung her self around it into a run and bounded up the stairs, really wishing she had got a Health and Fitness book.
She dived into bed and immediately opened the book at the start.
“May 1973, a year and month that not a lot happened.
Kelly Samantha Spelling (actress, ‘Donna’ in Beverly Hills 90210) was born.
Wings release “Red Rose Speedway” in UK.
Ernie Banks fills in for Cubs manager Whitey Lockman who is ejected during the game, thus technically becoming baseball’s 1st black manager
Stevie Wonder releases “You are the Sunshine of my Life” and flops.
Glenn Turner scores his 1,000th cricket run of English season
Most notably President Nixon makes a speech and denies being involved in the Watergate cover-up.
It was also the year she was born.
Baptised as ‘Jeanette Hannah Maund’ she was a mixed blessing and curse to her parents. They were both often-sickly people, and had met through friends who thought they were both too reclusive. Fixed up on a date they quite accidentally found they had a lot in common and were married 2 years later.
Shirley Marie Williams (later to become Maund through marriage) being proper and a practicing Catholic had only consented to having sexual intercourse after they were married. Which didn’t matter as Michael Maund would never presume to pressure Shirley.
Whether they were actually in love or not… or whether they were just comfortable with each other didn’t matter. They had a baby for which they could care and which would bind them and they lived out their days together with a few bumps, dying at a relatively early age.
Shirley at the age of 44 and Michael shortly after at the age of 43.”
Jeanette’s brow furrowed, this wasn’t right. She was sure it was right before. She took the book still retaining her index finger in the page where she was and shook it as if it was merely broken or refused to work.
opened it again and it was the same. She decided to move on and resumed reading.
Through the details of her birth, her weight; through her pre-school times, and the boys behind the sandbox; through Primary school and then Secondary school, and her continuing isolation from everyone else. As she turned to books, the other kids would often say that she’d turn into a book and call her ‘wormy’, she hated that name.
There was the play times spent in the library, the school discos she just sat in the corner and the boys prodded her.
The bullying, with the nosebleeds and bruises.
It moved onto her college days, she became slightly more confident, love loomed. She turned to drink one night for the courage to make it happen, and ended up screaming and running from the house after getting second thoughts.
It progressed… her year out. A year in Australia, slumming it from hostel to hostel, a character building experience supposedly. She had wanted to find herself; her pack was often weighty… with books, into which she’d retreat instead of searching for herself.
Back from her year out she moved from Derby to Southampton and went to University there. She made a few friends but generally hauled herself up in her dorm, gained top marks in the English Literature class and became an editor at a respectable publishing house. She worked from Derby, the only place she ever felt really comfortable.
Drink? She’d never touched a drop in her life!!! She read on… it was like watching a train wreck. It was her life only twisted in parts, and yet she read on entranced. Until she reached the crease.
It was further on and reflected her horror at what she was reading.
Again she wanted to turn the page.
Again she could not.
She returned to the start, and read again. Again it was different.
Nixon Assassinated
Her mother not as chaste as thought.
She herself raped.
And each time she read it seemed to become worse… and with each twist she became more entangled. She’d stop at the crease which slowly edged backward and she’d return to the start.
Thus we joined her, that fateful night. The cat outside the door, ribs starting to show, its hunger expressed through the maniacal scratches on the bedroom door.
She sat in her room, her bed sheets hitched up tight around herself.
Her eyes staring intently at the book not missing a word. She plumped her pillow behind her.
She turned to the leaf and struggled to read the pages.
having lost count of the amount of times she had read that book.
The answering machine crying for attention.
The library wanting their books back.
She had once again reached the crease… only this time it was barely a crease. It was the last page, she trembled and lipped her arid lips as she turned it.
Greeted by two words she had expected for a while… two words she had given up hope of seeing.
‘THE END’ and with that her eyes closed for good and the cat stood outside the door, quiet docile. It’s silence a ‘black band’ to mark its owners passage.
Epilogue
Jeanette Maund died a happy woman. The only record or her life being what is written here. The book that the cops assumed she’d written herself in some sick testament to her life. The product of a stressed editor, an eye for fiction and a love of words.
Jeanette Maund died a happy woman, as some day I believe we will all do. For what is it we want most in life?
What is it that drives us forward?
Its the promise of things to come. People continue reading a book to find out what comes next. If the book is good, they continue till they see those two words.
‘THE END’ And afterwards they are left with a vague sense of the book, that’s what this is. This is basically the vague sense of one dearly departed story named Jeanette.
May she rest in peace.
THE END (you can stop reading now if you made it this far.)
