Melody tapped her translucent pink fingernails on the desk and looked around. “I wish that I was still alive,” she said.
“You get used to it,” Elsie said, drifting past. “But you know how courting happens in the modern world, don’t you? How can we get Rhia and Liam together?”
Melody looked at Mr Kennington. “I just wanted a few moments of drama, you know, nothing too big, just a note to say that I died in a library.” She shook her ghostly head. “I thought I’d die in a car crash or in a club. I never went to libraries.”
“We will all support you as much as we are able,” Mr Kennington said. “And though you may not have frequented a library in the past, your contribution to our work now is valued.”
Melody paced around. “I was getting headhunted by London firms,” she said. “I was a real rising star. Now I’m stuck here.”
“People were hunting you?” Mr Kennington asked, aghast.
Melody ignored him. “I couldn’t stop my mind working, even though I came here because of a different account. I was looking around, trying to frame some angles.” She shook her head. “That’s when it hit me, the – what did you say it was?”
“Rhia told us that it was an aneurysm,” Mr Kennington said. “I’m unsure what that means, but could it have been a result of the hunting?”
“How old are you?” Melody asked.
A slight grimace passed across Mr Kennington’s face. “Normally it’s considered bad form to ask ages as it could mean the age that I had attained when I died or the age I am now, but I imagine that you are curious about how long I’ve been here.” He drew himself up to his full height, drifting a little above the floor. “I died two weeks after the battle at Alma.” He sighed at Melody’s blank look. “You know, the Crimean War? I died in 1854.”
“Was that the Charge of the Light Brigade? That’s a long time ago,” Melody said. “I guess that it means that you don’t always use current usage – expressions that are normal to me. When I said that I was being headhunted, it means that other firms were trying to get me to leave my current employer and join them. I worked in marketing.” She tilted her head as she regarded Mr Kennington. “I found different ways to sell items and services, like adverts, social media campaigns, endorsements, and all that good stuff.”
“I bet you were really ruthless,” Tony said, sliding through a bookcase and over to Melody. “I can’t believe how you negotiated with Rhia about the exhibition.”
“It’s a start,” Melody said. “I need to be able to use a computer, though. Going through Rhia takes time that this library doesn’t have. Besides, she’s busy here and I could use the computer at night when no-one’s around.”
“Tony can switch the boxes off and on again,” Elsie volunteered. “He was trying to explain a…” She waved a hand. “You had to make a line of things.”
Mr Kennington and Melody turned and looked at Tony, who flushed. “Thanks a lot,” Tony said. He looked at Melody. “I’m still having trouble navigating, but I can manage basics.”
“You need to show me!” Melody said. “I need to be monitoring the feeds in real time if things get hot.”
“I’m not exactly sure of your meaning,” Mr Kennington said.
“This exhibition is just the start,” Melody said. “There needs to be engagement on the right feeds.” She paused to translate. “A lot of universities and colleges are interested in research material, like the piles of records stuffed into your cellars. They also follow what’s going on by using the internet. One the computer that Tony uses.”
“I think that I begin to see your point,” Mr Kennington said. “If we can be noticed on this internet computer, then the universities and colleges will direct their students to visit here – and subscriber numbers will rise.”
“That’s right,” Melody said. “And I need to watch to see how the figures, that is, the number of people watching and reacting to our content, the things that we post, to get an idea of how well things are going and whether we need to change some things, what we need to stop doing and what we need to do more of.”
Mr Kennington was a little glassy eyed. “I see.” He straightened his translucent jacket. “Then you must gain access to this internet computer.” He turned to Tony. “How soon can you facilitate the necessary training.”
Tony wasn’t listening. Instead he followed Elsie towards the massive exhibit taking up most of the spare space on the main floor of the library. “Are you alright, Elsie?”
“Elsie is a lovely girl,” Mr Kennington told Melody. “But I have concerns about your exhibit. You are correct that the records we hold about the social impacts of the Great War are unparalleled, but that is when she died. It was quite sad, really.” He drifted slowly after Tony, Melody following close behind. “She was never much of a reader, but she was respectful enough. She only came here to meet her beau. They had an agreement that once her young man returned from France, they would get married. Unfortunately she passed from influenza, collapsing in this very place, and her young man never returned to the library.”
“That’s so sad,” Melody said.
“I’m still not sure about her competency at reading,” Mr Kennington said. “However she may find the exhibit distressing.”
Elsie stopped next to Rhia as she put the final touches to a display in the corner. “That’s my name, there,” Elsie said, pointing at a list on the board in Rhia’s beautiful calligraphy.
“That’s right,” Rhia said. “Elsie Stretton, Spanish influenza.”
“And that’s my nan, and my auntie,” Elsie added.
“This is a list of all the people in the parish who died of Spanish Flu,” Rhia said. “I’m trying to show how many were infected.”
“And this is the names of the soldiers who died overseas of the Fluenza,” Elsie said. “That must have taken some working out. They were so far away from here, so it must have been hard to work out what happened.”
“There’s lots of information in the stacks,” Rhia said. “And I had some help from Tony. He’s wonderful with computers.”
“And that name, that’s Albert,” Elsie said, suddenly still.
“Albert Birkenshaw, yes he died of the Influenza when he was at Etaples,” Rhia said, shuffling through the copied photos. “It’s very sad. He was wounded in action and got a medal for bravery – the Military Medal, and he caught the flu the day before his discharge. A lot of soldiers who survived the Great War were killed by the Spanish Influenza.”
“My Albert is dead?” Elsie asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Tony laid a gentle hand on her insubstantial shoulder. “It’s has been a while,” he said. “And if he could have got back here, he would have done.”
“Albert was an estimable young man, with great potential,” Mr Kennington said. “I was always confident that he would have returned if at all possible.”
“My Albert is dead?” Elsie repeated. “So he won’t come back to meet me here?”
“I’m afraid that he won’t be able to meet you here,” Mr Kennington said. “He would never let you down if he could possibly help it.”
“Albert can’t come here to meet me,” Elsie said. “If he could, he would.”
“Indeed,” Mr Kennington said sadly, as Elsie started to fade.
“And if he can’t meet me here, why am I waiting?” Elsie asked herself. “What if he’s waiting for me outside the Pearly Gates? I can’t be hanging around here.” There was barely a trace of her left, a wisp hanging in the air. “I’ve got to go and meet my Albert.”
“Goodbye.” Mr Kennington said softly to the empty air. “And God Bless.”
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