5 Books For Eveline

15

15

Briar sat upon one of the benches that surrounded the Market Cross, where parents would come, in the mornings, to meet and chat. Old men and women would meet in the afternoons, talking of the old days, of their grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and to complain, as many older folks liked to do. At this time of day, only Briar sat there, holding on to a lollipop that she turned between her lips.

She wore an off-the-shoulder t-shirt, thick bra strap on show, with 'Free' written in the front, as though drawn by a graffiti artist. Her faded jeans stopped above her calves and large, black trainers sat upon feet, whose toes pointed inwards as she sat, looking like a teenager, instead of the twenty-something she was. To finish off the look, Briar had tied her hair in side ponytail, with a flower attached to the elastic hair tie.

"Ready?" Briar pushed herself from the seat, collecting a long-stringed, little handbag from the ground beside her, swinging it on to her shoulder. "You look very ... old. You look like a granny."

"And you look like a child. What's your point?" Purdy didn't give Briar the satisfaction of glancing at her dull, sensible clothing. "Let's get this over with."

"Alright. Moody." Curling her nose and shrugging, Briar pulled her phone from the back pocket of her jeans. She turned her back to Purdy, showing the screen. "I've marked on the map where we're going. I've made a circle to make it easier for you. Less going back and forth."

Purdy hated to admit it, but that was a kind thing to think of. Her earlier searches had involved going through the list from top to bottom, which, in some cases, had involved tracking from one side of town to the other and back again. She didn't know the town well enough anymore to search the locations in a more organised way.

As she looked over Briar's shoulder at the phone, Purdy noticed the word on the back of Briar's t-shirt. 'Dom'. Purdy didn't know if she had intended it as a continuation of the 'Free', on the front, or as a statement of Briar's sexual mores. It didn't matter. What mattered was finding at least two copies of the third volume.

From the map upon the screen of Briar's phone, Purdy could see several place markers, and a line that connected them all. The line circled the town, on the outskirts, and the first location stood only three hundred feet, or so, from the Market Cross. As Briar pinch-zoomed in to the map, Purdy recognised the place, but it wasn't a name she remembered from the second book.

"Oh, yeah, it's a nickname for the place. 'Ticklepuss Bridge'. There's a story behind that." Briar had seen the look of confusion upon Purdy's face. She grinned as she mentioned the nickname. "Apparently, during the war, people would go there for a little light fumbling. Not many trains on the bridge above, lights out for air raids. Perfect privacy."

Clicking off the screen, Briar shoved the phone back into her pocket, turned and pointed in the direction of the bridge. Purdy found that little piece of history fascinating, if a bit rude. It was something that none of the local history books had ever mentioned. It was these little things that Purdy missed more than anything.

The names that communities gave to places were often different than the official names. She could stare all day at any map that she bought, or leaf through any local history book, and never find most of these little nuances, the variations from the accepted norm. Without Briar, Purdy would never have known where to look for 'Ticklepuss Bridge'. She doubted she would have known most of the locations.

She would have swallowed her pride, eventually, and asked around, but that would have involved seeing those pitying looks that she despised so much. She didn't want pity, she wanted normality. Or some kind of normality. A look from the people she spoke to that didn't scream how sad they were that Purdy had suffered so much. The kind of looks a stranger would receive would suit her far better, but she never saw those kinds of looks.