Christine picked up the monitor and scanned it closely from many different angles. ‘I think it’s broken.’ She showed it to me but from a distance to avoid me doing any further damage.

‘Looks okay to me,’ I said. There were no cracks on the screen, which was a huge relief. Dad would freak if he had to pay for a new one.

‘It can’t have survived that drop,’ said Christine, turning it in my direction again.

‘Let’s plug it back in and see,’ said Maggie, taking it from her and returning it to the podium while I shoved everything back in my bag. ‘I’m sure it’s fine, Christine. It landed on carpet. How much damage can it have done?’ Maggie reattached the cable and she and the librarian watched the screen intently. I joined them. My pulse beating frantically but my breathing momentarily paused as I waited for the monitor to show some signs of life.

The screen flickered and I took in a deep breath. ‘See,’ said Maggie. ‘No harm done.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, leaving my rucksack on the floor and decanting the books from it one by one. Everyone continued to watch. So much for not drawing attention to myself. Invisible people like me don’t usually break cover unless it’s a life or death situation.

‘Here,’ said Maggie, passing me a five-pound note. ‘Thanks again for the loan. And for stepping in.’ I glanced at the table and all the women were silently watching our exchange. I expect she’ll have told them what happened last week.

‘’S all right.’

‘How’s the nose?’ asked Maggie.

‘Fine. You okay?’ I felt I had to ask and I kind of wanted to know she was all right too.

‘Fine. Annoyed about losing the bag and it’s a pain trying to get a new bus pass.’

She was still looking at me as if waiting for something else. I didn’t know what to say so I nodded.

‘Which books did your mum like the best?’ asked Christine.

This was not a question I had prepared for. I had responses planned for “Did she enjoy them?” and “Does she want any more?” But not this. The unexpected question made me stare at the pile of books now stacked on the podium. I scanned their spines trying to pick one. Pick one! my brain yelled.

‘Frederica…’

‘Oh, the Georgette Heyer,’ said Christine. ‘It is a classic of hers. If history’s her thing then let me see.’ She darted from behind the podium before I could speak.

‘I loved this one,’ said Maggie tapping the book on the top of the pile, Staying at Daisy’s by Jill Mansell, and drawing my attention away from Christine who was collecting books from the shelves like a library version of a trolley dash.