Gimme Shelter II - 1

(It happened - part 2. One day i'm going to stop!)

Time passed. Weeks, months, years went by. Two years is a long time when you're 15! Ronnie never heard from Boy and didn't have a clue how he could contact him. He felt bad about that, they'd parted on bad terms but he missed him. He'd fix it if he could, but didn't know how to.

All he could do was to wait and hope. Boy knew where he was; he was where he'd always been. But, nothing happened, he never heard from or about him, not a word. Ronnie felt heart-sick, but what could he do?

He carried on living his quiet life, one day at a time. Then, something happened – something really bad. Late one night while the Martin family slept in their quiet rooms, there was a fire up-top and the old shop, dry and wood-clad, burnt to the ground

Safely ensconced down below, they knew nothing about it until one of the local volunteer firefighters came roaring and yelling up and down the corridors. Gran was outraged when she found that he'd kicked the door in on her beloved cottage in order to get inside.

She knew that he was worried about them and was trying to do the right thing, but he didn't have to smash his way in, did he? The blasted door wasn't even locked! It never was and he was never going to live that down. Gran was not one to forgive easily.

(She'd never forgive those bloody maoris either! Leaving like they had, just up and gone without even a 'goodbye', had hurt her grandson, very much. She could see it in his eyes and she was fiercely protective of her boys.)

Anyway, on the night of the fire, they were all perfectly safe where they were, they couldn't even smell any smoke, but once awake, of course they had to go up-top to see what was going on. There was no getting out through the burning building, they had to go up through the cottage and around the street corner.

When they got there, the fire was a raging inferno, the old shop was a pillar of crackling flames and the fire brigade weren't even trying to put it out. They were busy trying to save the other buildings around it. The paint was even blistering on the front of the hardware store along the street.

Ronnie saw the burning shop, saw the fire-hoses being directed everywhere except at the fire, and he wailed. “Nooo!” He would've rushed into the flames if his brother hadn't grabbed and held him.

Reggie though younger, was bigger and stronger than Ronnie, but he was struggling to restrain him. Both of them were yelling at the top of their voices, Reggie at his frenzied brother and Ronnie at the fire. Their father stepped forward, wrapped his strong arms around Ronnie and held him until he settled down.

“It's gone, Ronnie. It's too late to save anything, they're doing the right thing stopping it from spreading further. No great loss anyway, the old place was getting past it.”

“The books!” Ronnie yelled. “My books are in there. They're burning and no-one's doing anything about it!”

“Your old books – yes, they've gone. It could've been so much worse. Imagine if you or Reggie were sleeping up there. Forget the books, they don't matter.”

“They don't matter? Forget them? They were my books, Dad. Mine! They were all I had, they were my life!”

“They're not your life, Son, they never were. They were just an escape from your life, a shield for you to hide behind.”

“No!” he wailed. “You don't know. You don't feckin' know!”

“Oh, My Ronnie! I'm sorry, but forget them – your books were all ancient and you've been reading them for years. You must've read most of them by now. All that matters is that you are all right, you and Reggie. Your books are history, we'll buy you new books, better ones, as many as you want.”

“Mine! Mine, mine – gone!” Ronnie sobbed.

“There'll be new books. Son, this might not be the best time, but I've been thinking. Old Mr. Parkhouse can't go on forever. If you like, when you've finished school, we'll buy his bookshop for you. Would you like that? I think it'd suit you.”

“Really?” He lifted his head to look his father in the eyes. “You'd do that for me?”

“Of course I would. I'd do anything I can for you. We can't see you working in the garage, that's more Reggie's style, but a bookshop would suit you fine. Mind you, you'd have to actually sell the books and let people take them away.”

“I know that!” he grinned through his tears. “Thanks, Dad.”

“You're welcome.”

Later that morning, Ronnie was standing there, alone, forlornly poking through the still-warm ashes with a long stick.

“Hello, Young Ronald. What are you doing there?”

Sue Thompson, the town librarian, stood looking at him.

“”Oh, Hey Mrs. Thompson. I'm just looking to see if anything survived in there.”

“Not much chance of that. That was some fire! I could see the flames from my place and I'm way across town.”

“Yes. Quite a funeral pyre really.”

“Funeral pyre? For your books? You had quite a library, didn't you?”

“I did, but I haven't now, they're gone! So many stories, I had hundreds of them, now I've got none.”

“None,” she nodded. “And you're upset. They were your friends, weren't they?”

“Yes, exactly! No-one understands that, but they were my friends, the only friends I had.”

“I can understand that. They were your windows on the world too.”

“They were, they really were.”

“Of course they were, But I wouldn't say that they were your only friends you know.”

“You wouldn't?”

“I would not. Your grandmother rang me this morning and asked me to come and see you.”

“She did? Why would she do that?”

“Because she's worried about you and doesn't know what to do.”

“And you would?”

“Maybe. Come with me, Ronald. I want to show you something.”

She led him over to her car and, once he was seated, drove a short distance up the street and stopped.

“The library?” Ronnie looked at the building that they were parked outside.

“Yes,” she smiled. “Your other library, the one you've never used.”

“It's not mine.”

“Oh but it is! It belongs to the town and you are part of our town – born and bred here. Come inside, Ronald. Come and I'll show you what you've got here.”

“Ronnie,” he nodded. “Please call me Ronnie, not Ronald. Thanks Mrs. Thompson.”

“You're very welcome. Good to see you smile at last. Now come and see.”