I stepped round him.

When I got back to my desk in the control room, I ripped out the notebook page on which I’d written Kathryn’s name. I tore it into lengthways strips, and then I folded the strips and tore them horizontally. Then I tore each one again and let the pieces flutter out of my hands and into the wastepaper basket, where they lay in a mound of paper dust.

I managed to stay away from the library for the next month. I didn’t go into Darvington at all until I had to take Mum to town for a doctor’s appointment. While we were there, she took a fancy to borrowing a novel.

‘It will help me kill the hours while you’re at work,’ she said.

I hung back outside as she pushed the door open. It was Saturday morning and I knew it would be busy in there. Probably Kathryn would be overwhelmed by phone calls, filing and shelving.

‘Are you coming in?’

The wind blew a pile of leaves around the door; I traced a line through them with my foot.

‘Don’t just stand there, Howard,’ Mum called to me, ‘come out of the wind.’

The door closed, sealing us inside. Blown-in leaves had been trodden down to soft streaks on the doormat. I stepped over them and tried not to look at the counter.

‘Isn’t that Kathryn Welch?’

Through the Saturday shoppers and the families taking their children on their weekly library outing, Kathryn was walking towards us. She was wearing a short blue dress which fell into and over the curves of her body.

Mum nodded towards her. ‘That’s a very short frock for a library.’

I stood there, looking at that blue dress. Then Kathryn’s eyes met mine and she held my gaze for a second before walking away.

I put a hand on Mum’s shoulder and said, ‘Aren’t the novels over there?’

I glanced round the library. The man with the four carrier bags was nowhere to be seen. A dampness was creeping under my armpits, so I removed my jacket.

A branch was blowing against the window I usually sat beneath, but it made no sound. It swayed silently, its leaves pressing flat against the glass for a moment before springing back to life in the wind. The humming of the strip lights was all I heard as I made my way over to Kathryn. The phones, the children, the thud of books being stamped all faded. I walked through the hum towards her.

She was staring at the spines arranged on the top shelf of her trolley. Part of her dress was pulled up slightly against her thigh where she leant on the wood.

‘Hello,’ I said. And without thinking about it, I added, ‘I’ve missed seeing you.’

She stuck her jaw out and blew up into her fringe. She didn’t look at all surprised. ‘Good,’ she said.

I think Mum guessed there was something going on from the frequency of my library visits, but she didn’t question me, even after she’d seen Kathryn there in her blue minidress. I suppose I started to come home looking pleased with myself after that. I’d spend at least an hour in the library with Kathryn, following the trolley as she wheeled it round the aisles, sitting down and chatting to her as she reached up to those high shelves, watching for any glimpse of the white skin of her side.