5 Books For Eveline

6

6

The next day, she dressed as fast as she could and left the impersonal surroundings of the house without breakfast. Only a black, morning coffee passed her lips to wash away the fuzz of waking. Wearing a long coat against the weather that looked as though it could change at any moment, she slid the book into one, large pocket, on one side, and her notebook and pen into the pocket on the other side.

She left her handbag in the house, tucking her purse into the inside pocket of the coat, and carried only her walking stick. She didn't want any distractions as she set out on this first attempt at a search for the second book. She had sat making her notes well into the early hours, before setting her head back against the plush cushions and falling asleep on the sofa, where she had found herself, book in hand, the next morning.

Of the one hundred places mentioned within the book, she had eliminated several that the author had written about only in passing. Where the description was minimal and told little of places where a book could be then found, squirrelled away, out of sight of a casual passer-by. Another dozen, or so, she didn't recall at all. She couldn't eliminate them, but she couldn't check them, either.

Over the course of the night, she had whittled the list down to around twenty options that she had a greater confidence of finding and that had descriptions detailed enough that she could search those areas for any sign of the second volume. Now, she only needed to visit these locations. She had made a shortlist of the nearest ones, for convenience.

By sheer coincidence, the first place she tried was the playground. The descriptions of the swings and slide, the roundabout and the seesaw were fresh in her mind and it seemed the least difficult to reach. Sitting off the centre of town, in the middle of a small, tree covered park. She knew of this place only because she had seen it after leaving the hospital.

After weeks of rehabilitation, she had returned to the town that she had no knowledge of. It was a place of faceless buildings that meant nothing to her. The doctors had all hoped that seeing familiar places may jolt her memories. Her physical therapists had told her to remain active, to take walks and rebuild her muscles after lying in a hospital bed for so long.

At first, she had taken all that advice to heart. Taking morning walks, afternoon walks, evening walks, all in an effort to trigger something. To make the world make sense again. The exercise helped her body, the attempt to cause a flash of memories to return did not meet with success. After a while, after failing to remember anything but names and faces, but nothing else, she had abandoned the walks. Given up on the exploration of the town. Lost all hope of returning to normalcy.

She had passed the park many times over the course of those walks. Now, she visited it with something more concrete to hold on to. Something solid. A purpose that she could never find before. Reaching the gates, she could see the place had seen better days. Rusted railings looked as though they were ready to fall, to crumble from the most fleeting of touches.

The flower beds and grass verges had become overgrown and messy, covered in stinging nettles, large clumps of dandelions and dock leaves. The playground, itself, had become a derelict, rotting death trap, ready to fall apart at any second. It looked as abandoned and lost as she felt and she felt a swell of sympathy for the rusted, rotted rides that had seen their best days so very far in the past.

Swing seats hung from rusted chains, or swung from only one chain, the other dangling, bereft of purpose. The poles of the swing had once worn a coat of bright, blue paint, now peeling and falling away, ready to scrape against unsuspecting fingers. Nudging one seat with her walking stick, she listened to the pained screech and clinking of the chains.