I am seven years old. I am sitting on a child’s seat on the front of my father’s pushbike. It is dark and raining and he has wrapped his yellow cycling cape around my shoulders. I recognise the crown-like spire of St Giles Cathedral as we push up the High Street. We turn left on to George IV Bridge and stop in front of a tall building. The windows are brightly lit and the sign over the front door says “Central Library”. My father dismounts and lifts me off the bike. I stand on the pavement as he removes his bicycle clips and leans the bike against the wall. We walk to the side of the main building to the Children’s Library and he hands me four tickets.
‘Go and choose some books for yourself and your sister. I’ll collect you in about half an hour,’ he says as he pushes open the swing door. I walk in, alone but not afraid. I remove my school beret and as I reach out to touch the warm radiator, I notice my gabardine is still dripping with rain and my legs are streaked with spray from the wet road. The room is large and has a musty but not unpleasant smell of books.
A lady behind the desk smiles over to me. Her hair is neatly pulled back into a french roll and she is wearing pointy glasses. She asks me my age and when I tell her she indicates a bookcase in the corner.
‘You’ll find something there,’ she says kindly.
‘I’d like a book about horses,’ I say, still rooted to my radiator spot.
She leaves the desk and I follow her to the shelves. She quickly flicks through a few books and hands me one.
‘You’ll like this – Pip’s First Gymkhana.’
I thank her and take my book over to a little table with red wooden chairs. I sit down and turn a few pages and pretend to read. It’s hard to concentrate as I watch other boys and girls confidently browse the shelves. They are wearing a different school uniform from me. They are whispering to each other and I notice a sign on the wall which says “SILENCE”.
I have three tickets left and I’m not sure what to do. I want to ask the lady if she has a picture book for my sister but when I look up she is holding her finger to her lips and looking sternly at a boy who is giggling.
Eventually, I pick three books at random from the nearest shelf. I hope my sister might like at least one of them. I continue with my sham reading. I look up at the big wooden clock above the swing doors and notice that it is half past five. Up until this time I hadn’t noticed how loud its tick was.
When my father finally arrives I run up to him. He tells me to take the books to the desk. The lady looks a little surprised at my choices.
‘You’ll enjoy the horse one,’ she says as she stamps my books and takes my tickets.
I hold my father’s hand and as we leave the building I feel proud and important.
We walk back into the street and the rain has stopped. I realise I have left my school beret in the library and I run back in to get it while my father retrieves the bicycle. We walk on down the road past the statue of Greyfriars Bobby and when I look up at the little dog, I wish I had got the story about him instead.
We cross over the cobbled street and stop in front of a café at the top of Candlemakers Row. My father reads the menu which is attached to the door with drawing pins. I cross my fingers and hope.
‘This looks just the job!’ he says smiling, ‘if you’re as hungry as me.’
I can hardly contain my delight as we enter the warm steamy space and sit down at a formica topped table. My father orders Welsh Rarebit and chips for both of us at the counter and it arrives on a pulley from the basement. The food is delicious and we have cups of tea, mine with more sugar than I’m usually allowed. We don’t chat much as my father is looking at the books he has chosen. When we have finished our meal he packs all the books into his duffle bag. He lifts me back on the bike seat and we head through the dark for home.