That, she supposed, was the basis of depression as well as the difference between fear and despair. Fear was when you wandered into a cellar and worried that the door would close shut. Despair was when the door closed and locked behind you.

But with every life she saw that metaphorical door widen a little further as she grew better at using her imagination. Sometimes she was in a life for less than a minute, while in others she was there for days or weeks. It seemed the more lives she lived, the harder it was to feel at home anywhere.

The trouble was that eventually Nora began to lose any sense of who she was. Like a whispered word passed around from ear to ear, even her name began to sound like just a noise, signifying nothing.

‘It’s not working,’ she told Hugo, in her last proper conversation with him, in that beach bar in Corsica. ‘It’s not fun any more. I am not you. I need somewhere to stay. But the ground is never stable.’

‘The fun is in the jumping, mon amie.’

‘But what if it’s in the landing?’

And that was the moment he had returned to his purgatorial video store.

‘I’m sorry,’ his other self said, as he sipped his wine and the sun set behind him, ‘I’ve forgotten who you are.’

‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘So have I.’

As she too faded away like the sun that had just been swallowed by the horizon.

Lost in the Library

‘Mrs Elm?’

‘Yes, Nora, what’s the matter?’

‘It’s dark.’

‘I had noticed.’

‘That’s not a good sign, is it?’

‘No,’ said Mrs Elm, sounding flustered. ‘You know perfectly well it’s not a good sign.’

‘I can’t go on.’

‘You always say that.’

‘I have run out of lives. I have been everything. And yet I always end up back here. There is always something that stops my enjoyment. Always. I feel ungrateful.’

‘Well, you shouldn’t. And you haven’t run out of anything.’ Mrs Elm paused to sigh. ‘Did you know that every time you choose a book it never returns to the shelves?’

‘Yes.’

‘Which is why you can never go back into a life you have tried. There always needs to be some . . . variation on a theme. In the Midnight Library, you can’t take the same book out twice.’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘Well, even in the dark you know these shelves are as full as the last time you looked. Feel them, if you like.’

Nora didn’t feel them. ‘Yeah. I know they are.’

‘They’re exactly as full as they were when you first arrived here, aren’t they?’

‘I don’t—’

‘That means there are still as many possible lives out there for you as there ever were. An infinite number, in fact. You can never run out of possibilities.’

‘But you can run out of wanting them.’

‘Oh Nora.’

‘Oh what?’

There was a pause, in the darkness. Nora pressed the small light on her watch, just to check.

00:00:00

‘I think,’ Mrs Elm said eventually, ‘if I may say so without being rude – I think you might have lost your way a little bit.’

‘Isn’t that why I came to the Midnight Library in the first place? Because I had lost my way?’

‘Well, yes. But now you are lost within your lostness. Which is to say, very lost indeed. You are not going to find the way you want to live like this.’

‘What if there was never a way? What if I am . . . trapped?’

‘So long as there are still books on the shelves, you are never trapped. Every book is a potential escape.’

‘I just don’t understand life,’ sulked Nora.

‘You don’t have to understand life. You just have to live it.’

Nora shook her head. This was a bit too much for a Philosophy graduate to take.

‘But I don’t want to be like this,’ Nora told her. ‘I don’t want to be like Hugo. I don’t want to keep flicking between lives for ever.’

‘All right. Then you need to listen carefully to me. Now, do you want my advice or don’t you?’

‘Well, yeah. Of course. It feels a little late, but yes, Mrs Elm, I would be very grateful for your advice on this.’

‘Right. Well. I think you have reached a point where you can’t see the wood for the trees.’

‘I’m not quite sure what you mean.’

‘You are right to think of these lives like a piano where you’re playing tunes that aren’t really you. You are forgetting who you are. In becoming everyone, you are becoming no one. You are forgetting your root life. You are forgetting what worked for you and what didn’t. You are forgetting your regrets.’

‘I’ve been through my regrets.’

‘No. Not all of them.’

‘Well, not every single minor one. No, obviously.’

‘You need to look at The Book of Regrets again.’

‘How can I do that in the pitch dark?’

‘Because you already know the whole book. Because it’s inside you. Just as . . . just as I am.’