5 Books For Eveline

16

16

With another, cursory, search of the area, they made their way out from the bushes and back to the path. Purdy knew they wouldn't find anything else. The little memento was a token. A consolation prize for anyone that didn't manage to find a copy of the third volume. Purdy still had the stone, that she had found at the playground, in her handbag and wondered whether she should tell Briar about it.

"Here." Tossing the box holding the little wooden ball to Purdy, Briar pulled out her phone once more. "You can have that. I'm only interested in the books."

Purdy hadn't expected that. For some reason, she had thought Briar would want to hold on to anything and everything they found. She had expected the other woman to behave more selfish, though Purdy couldn't explain why. Briar had come across as brash and a little full of herself, but, from the moment they met, she had shown a great deal of selflessness.

It was Briar that had suggested working together. Briar that had said they should combine their research to help find the books. Briar that had kept her end of a bargain, that Purdy had balked at, by sending a result from her own search. Purdy had given nothing in return. Holding the little black box in her hand, she made a decision.

"I found something else. Before. At the playground." She opened her handbag, reaching inside as Briar looked up from her phone. Pulling out the box that held the stone, she showed it to Briar. "It's a stone. Like the one Raya used to scratch their initials into the roundabout. There's a message with it."

"Cool. When we stop for lunch, I'll take pictures." Briar flashed a wide grin towards Purdy. "Now you have two keepsakes. Now, the next one on the list is around a quarter of a mile that way. If we check that and the next one, there's a pub where we can eat and have a beer before checking the last three in the afternoon."

"I don't really drink. Not much, anyway." With Briar not appearing too interested in the stone, she returned the box to her handbag, putting the box with the ball inside, beside it. "I prefer non-alcoholic drinks."

"Ugh!" Rolling her eyes, Briar put her phone away and turned to head towards the next location. "You're too boring for words. Come on, you can have, I don't know, orange juice. Or something."

The second location proved empty. An old, stone water trough, where animals could slake their thirst on those long, countryside journeys. The girls, Eveline and Raya, would sit in it, pretending that the trough were a car, each taking turns to 'drive' it around imagined racetracks.

The next place also held nothing that they could find and Purdy wondered how many of the mementos the author had left in places where book hunters would fail to find the precious copies of the books. It felt like a treasure hunt within a treasure hunt and Purdy felt a little guilty that she now held two of the mementos and copies of the first and second volumes. It felt selfish and greedy.

Even so, she didn't want to let those mementos go. They were almost as precious as the books themselves. They were insights into the lives and thoughts of Eveline and Raya. Insights beyond those found within the books. They gave the story a solidity, a permanence beyond the collection of words and letters upon the page.

Now, as they sat in the Haywain's Wheel pub, Briar taking photographs, from every angle, of the two keepsakes, Purdy nursed the cold pint of lager that Briar had bought her. After taking the photographs, Briar concentrated upon her phone, chewing upon her thumb nail, before using both hands to hold the phone. Typing at great speed, using both thumbs, Briar furrowed her brow.

Not wanting to feel left out, Purdy took her notebook from her bag and began writing notes beside the names of the locations they had visited. She wrote down the message, left in the box with the ball, and a short description of the memento, paying attention to the scuffs and flaking red paint upon the ball. She heard a laugh from the other side of the table and looked up to see Briar shaking her head. The other woman lifted her pint and took several large gulps of lager, her eyes almost twinkling with mischief.

"What now?" Though Purdy had not disliked Briar's company, so far, that day, she still only had to do the tiniest of things to irritate Purdy. "I obviously amuse you, so just say it."

"You really are like an old granny." Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Briar nodded towards the notebook. "Using pen and paper. And look, you even use joined-up writing! I just write in capital letters. If I ever write at all. Come to the twenty-first century, Purdy! It's not as bad as you think."

Lifting her phone, Briar waggled it in front of Purdy's face, before tapping on an icon and bringing up an app of some kind. There, Purdy could see the notes that Briar had made, accompanied by pictures, a link to the map and other things, like longitude and latitude of the places they had visited. Briar's notes were far more extensive than Purdy's.

"I have a phone. Now. I have a phone now. I just prefer doing it like this." In truth, she had never even thought of using the phone that now sat at the bottom of her bag, under the books and the keepsake boxes. "You have your way. I have mine. If you don't like it ..."

"I know! I know! 'I can do it myself, because Purdy is such a loner'." Wiggling her head, sticking out her tongue, Briar mocked Purdy. "You know what your problem is? I'll tell you. You actually like being miserable. Being miserable makes you happy. It makes you feel special. You want everyone to see how miserably happy you are, but not to mention it, because you might just end up enjoying talking to people and just become 'happy', instead."

"That's not ..." Purdy began to retort, but a raised hand from Briar stopped her.

"No. Don't deny it." Briar waved the hand, shaking her head, side ponytail flicking against her face. "You could have just accepted that things were different and accepted people's help, but, no, not Drama Queen Purdy. She had to mope around, spreading her misery far and wide."

Briar stopped her rant and leaned her elbows on the table, linking her fingers and staring at Purdy. She didn't appear to say any of it through malice. In fact, Briar looked amused. Amused, but determined. It felt like she wanted Purdy to fight back, to go on a counter-attack against those words. Instead, Purdy tried to hold in the anger that boiled within.

"Why are you being such a bitch with me?" Through gritted teeth, Purdy didn't break the stare between her and Briar. "I haven't done anything to you."

"I'm not being a bitch." Briar took another long drink of her lager, her eyes never wavering from Purdy. "I'm being a friend."

"What if I don't want a friend?"

"What if you need one?"

That caught Purdy unawares. She couldn't understand why, but those five words cut deep into her. Since the accident, since leaving the hospital, a number of people had tried to console her. People who had said they were her friends, but Purdy had pushed them all away. She had looked upon their faces and seen only pity and sympathy.

At the time, she couldn't understand why they would do that. It seemed far too obvious to her that she needed people to act as normal as possible around her. The looks of pity meant nothing to her, irritated her because she had no understanding why they would pity her. She had no memory of it.

Later, she came to realise that, though she had lost all memory of the events that had left her in this state, everyone else had not. Purdy could see beyond the accident because she didn't remember it. Everyone else did. They always would. And, therefore, they would never find a way to look past the accident and see Purdy for who she was now, but who she had once been.

Briar didn't do that. Not from the first moment they had met. A passing, questioning look, but that was all that Briar had given Purdy. Ever since, Briar had come across as abrasive, uncompromising and, to a point, insulting. She had never shown sympathy. She had never shown pity.

She had treated Purdy how she wanted people to treat her. As normal. As a person in her own right, as opposed to the person she had been before the accident. Briar, in her own, viciously irritating fashion, had treated Purdy like an individual, cut off from the past.

Purdy considered those five words again. Briar had returned her attention to her phone, finishing off her pint of lager as she did so. Purdy may not want a friend, certainly not an obnoxious one, but, perhaps, she needed one? Lifting her own pint of lager, Purdy took a sip. It tasted cold, harsh and refreshing. A little like Briar.