Page 8 of The Good Sister

‘Sounds . . . tedious.’

‘It’s a lifestyle choice,’ Wally corrects.

‘Oh-kay.’ I nod, making my eyes wide to indicate that I have not been convinced. ‘Well, I’m afraid I can’t be of any help here. Unless you are looking for a book recommendation?’ My mood is immediately buoyed. ‘What do you like to read, Wally?’

He frowns. ‘Oh. No, thanks.’

‘No thanks?’

‘I don’t really . . . read.’

I blink. ‘You don’t really read?’

I’m aware, of course, that there are people who don’t read. There are those who insist they arefar too busyto read and who instead spend their time watching Netflix and scrolling social media on their iPhones or Androids. Those who say they read so much for work that theycouldn’t possiblycome home and read any more. There are those whocannotread. But, judging from the document on the screen, Wally can read. Hence my confusion.

‘Do you know how to read?’ I ask.

Wally looks affronted. ‘I have an IQ of 141.’

‘Mmm-hmm.’

‘I used to read when I was a child,’ he says, almost thoughtfully now. ‘I stopped at some point, I guess.’

‘What were your favourite books when you were a child?’

He appears to think about this. ‘Let’s see, well, I enjoyedThe Outsiders.The Chocolate War.To Kill a Mockingbird–’

‘I have the perfect book!’ I say, cutting him off and taking off toward General Fiction, where I snatch up a copy ofJasper Jones. ‘This will reignite your love of reading,’ I say, upon my return. ‘It’s won several major awards and been shortlisted for half a dozen others. And it was made into a film in 2017.’ I place the book on top of his notebook, which is next to his laptop. ‘And if you need me to set you up with a library card, I’d be happy to do that.’

He regards me for a longer than normal moment. Then something softens around his eyes. ‘I apologise, I didn’t catch your name?’

‘Fern. Fern Castle.’

‘I’m Rocco.’

He extends his hand as if to shake mine, I cross my arms in front of my chest.

‘Oh, I prefer not to touch people if I can possibly help it. Did you know that we carry an average of 3200 bacteria from 150 species on our hands at any one time? This includes faecal bacteria! If I shook hands with everyone I met at the library, I’d be constantly ill, not to mention contaminated with god-knows-what.’ I reach for my travel-sized antibacterial spray, which is attached to my overalls by a handy carabiner, and pump it into my hands. ‘Would you like some?’

‘Oh no, it’s okay . . . Oh, er, okay, thanks,’ he says, and I administer a squirt to his palm. He rubs his palms together. ‘So, shall we see if we can do something about this printer, then?’

Carmel is in the children’s section now, watching Linda making recommendations to a mother of four sons who look like they’d much rather be kicking a football than be in the library (perfect candidates for Paul Jennings or Andy Griffiths, or any book with ‘Fart’ in the title, if you ask me). As such, I know now is the time to make my exit. I prepare to tilt my head, frown into the distance and declare that I can hear someone calling me when I have an epiphany.

Wally is handsome, in an odd sort of way. If his IQ is to be believed, he has a few brain cells. Which means there’s only . . .

‘How is your health, Wally?’

The softness in his eyes is replaced with suspicion. ‘It’s excellent. I jog every morning, ten kilometres.’

I smile. For once, the library computer service has brought me some good fortune. He smiles back at me a little uncertainly, until I pose my next question.

‘Would you like to go on a date with me?’

His smile falls away.

JOURNAL OF ROSE INGRID CASTLE

My therapist told me I should keep writing while I’m away. Seeing Owen again is likely to bring up some big emotions, he said, about the marriage as well as my desire to have a baby, and it will be helpful if I get them down on paper. And since I’ve watched all the movies I care to on the plane, here goes!