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Carl Langton.

He was standing at the back of the room, a glass in his hand. He gave a tentative wave, then stepped back, almost shrinking into the background. He was average height, with short, curly brown hair. A pair of thin-rimmed round glasses sat slightly askew low on his nose. He was wearing what looked like a brand-new navy sports coat over a crumpled white shirt.

Mary knew it had been hard to persuade him to come to the library to be thanked. He had given his gift willingly; a Barrow native, he had moved back home a year earlier after building some kind of investment firm in Boston, and, when approached about making a contribution to the library capital campaign he had more or less asked how much do you need, but he had not wanted it to be public, and he had not wanted to come to the event.

The library chair had approached Mary and asked whether, since they were high-school contemporaries, she might be able to persuade him, but she had said she felt it was better to let him decide.

That wasn’t the real reason, although she kept that to herself.

The real reason was that it would have been too awkward, because Carl had been her high-school boyfriend.

It seemed impossible now. He was awkward and stilted and incredibly shy – lovely and kind, for sure – but not her type at all. When she was sixteen, though, he had asked her on a date and she had agreed, and he had been, if not exciting and thrilling, then nice: kind and thoughtful, attentive and considerate. In the way of high school they had become known as a couple, a status which had lasted long enough for her to lose her virginity to him in the basement of his parents’ house, a house which she still looked at every time she drove past it.

It was OK, as virginity losings went. Not a disaster. But not violins and angels singing either. Lying with him afterwards she had not felt the closeness, the warmth, the sense of shared adventure, that she had expected and hoped for.

Partly she had felt like it might have been a mistake – not a terrible one – but mainly she was glad that the whole virginity thing was in the past. Carl, though, was not for her, and a month later, they broke up.

After a rocky few weeks he got over it. There were some late-night phone calls that her mom fielded and told her about the morning after, a couple of tearful encounters at school, and a very articulate, but not very passionate, letter outlining how he thought they would make a good couple, had a solid base of friendship, which would be useful when they were older, so staying together would be the only rational decision.

Maybe we’re not united by a great passion, but who needs passion? It burns out. You need loyalty and commitment and hard work. And I offer that, Mary.

At sixteen, however, she was not all that interested in rational decisions, so she had politely declined.

Since he had been back in Barrow they had run into each other a few times and had brief, but pleasant enough chats. And now – according to what she had been told, he had written a cheque to the library for half a million dollars.

Carl Langton. She’d always assumed he would become a lecturer in astrophysics or calculus or some other incomprehensible subject, but as it happened he had turned his massive brain and singular focus onto the business of making money, and it had worked out for him, and, in the end, for the library.

Carl stood on the small stage, the microphone close to his mouth. He looked around, locking eyes for a moment with Mary, then began to speak.

‘Thank you, Connie,’ he said. ‘And thank you to everybody here, in particular the staff who make this library such a wonderful community asset. I am happy to play whatever part I can in supporting their incredible efforts. In fact, it is a privilege to do so.’ He paused. ‘That’s it really – I don’t have much else to say. This is a truly fantastic institution, and long may it continue.’

There was a smattering of applause, then she felt a hand on the small of her back.

‘Hey,’ Ryan said, his eyes more than a little glazed. ‘When are you thinking of leaving?’

‘We’ve not been here long.’

He shrugged. ‘We saw the speech. And it is a bit boring.’ He looked around. ‘If we go soon we could get an early night …’

An early night sounded quite appealing, but not quite for the reason Ryan was hinting – not so subtly – at. He’d be disappointed when she told him that she actually wanted to go to sleep early, but she could deal with that when it happened.

‘OK,’ she said. ‘Let’s stay a little longer, then we can get out of here.’

She saw Carl crossing the room. He was looking at his phone, clearly uncomfortable. He caught Mary’s eye, his expression like that of a drowning man. She beckoned to him.

‘Hi,’ he said, when he reached them. ‘Nice to see you.’

‘You too, Carl. You remember Ryan, my husband.’

Ryan held out a hand and Carl gripped it in a half-hearted, limp handshake. Ryan knew that she and Carl had dated in high school; not long after Carl came back to Barrow they had met at a friend’s summer party and afterwards she had said to him that she hoped it wasn’t weird that her ex was around.

What’s weird is that he was your boyfriend. I thought you were one of the cool kids in high school.

She had left it at that; looking back she thought it was quite weird, too. That said, she liked Carl. He had a depth and a thoughtfulness which, she was quite sure, had made him the successful finance guy he had become.

‘Nice to see you again,’ Ryan said.

‘You, too.’ Carl looked relieved to be with them. ‘You’d think I’d know more people in my home town. But I guess I was never that popular.’