BERNADETTE CYNTHIA HEALY
My nearest library is a rather large and ugly thing; it was built in an era where function was more of a priority than form, and though it has been utilised to the extreme, it does not make for a relaxing or aesthetically pleasing visit. Fortunately, it is close enough for me to walk to because I do not relish the thought of having to take public transport midday on a Saturday, when no doubt there will be a football match of some sorts riling up the crowds.
The walk is pleasant enough, and I think over the conversation I had with my children. I do still have to admit to myself that I was surprised with their initial reactions; I knew Polly wouldn't understand but I didn't think she'd jump to my defence so easily. Jack, I thought would be more willing to give the unknown a chance, but it seems he's grown away from the more carefree son that I used to know so well.
The library isn't busy; why would it be? The weather is glorious and there is more than a hint of spring in the air. I passed so many people talking about spending their Saturday in the park or at friends' houses, why would they want to be cooped up inside with some dusty and irrelevant books?
I know my way around well enough not to have to ask where the reference books are. In my hand bag is the list that I made earlier; for some reason I didn't want to risk taking any of the originals with me. I grimace as I remember I have someone from Summerbees Solicitors to get in touch with first thing on Monday morning.
I walk up to the second floor rather than catch the lift. They always unnerve me and I try not take them if at all possible. The walk has invigorated me and I relish the few flights of stairs, though I do my best to hide the panting as I reach my destination. I do not enjoy my body deteriorating while my mind is still as active as ever, but I do suppose I don't have the choice when it comes to matters of life and death.
The aisles of information and records that no one reads unless they have a reason, call out to me as if I am a long lost friend. I smile as I remember the years I spent doubled over hundreds of law books for various cases, trying to figure something out. It wasn't often I was able to take credit when we won a case however, as I just gave Jonathon all the information and he used it to his own advantage, but it was always pleasurable to be part of the procedure.
I look down at my notes and mouth the name of the church, St Mary Magdalene, Bermondsey, to myself, and copy the same movement with the name of the school. I debate how to tackle both subjects, and I decide on a two pronged attack; look for information on both subjects and keep them with you at all times, or for however long it takes to find Albert Healy. I'm closer to the aisle of education, which has an uneasy mismatch of schools in no particular order.