Kate had been slowly thawing in her quiet, cosy art section corner of the library, when she became aware that she was being watched. It was “traditional library” quiet on the ground floor; most library goers were upstairs in the computer suite; including stampeding kids who had been dumped by harassed parents who wanted to go shopping in M&S. So Kate was ultra-aware of everything going on around her and couldn’t help but overhear the strained conversation between the Liberian and her assistant who seemed to be quite stressed and annoyed about a colleague who hadn’t turned up for their shift. And then of course there was the quizzical, young man who at various intervals kept peering over at Kate from behind the glossy Victorian art coffee table books when he thought she wasn’t looking. Kate stopped doodling shadowy faces with dreamy eyes in her sketchbook and frowned back at what she thought was another one of the many weirdoes’ that could be found Sunday afternoon in a library. Only when Kate looked again did she recognise the willowy, chestnut brown floppy haired boy in the tweed jacket, she had seen him round and about on campus these past few days, sometimes hidden in a group which wasn’t part of her circle; other times alone. And that was the thing which had struck Kate the most, a connection which had drawn her towards him, this geeky guy outdid all the other geeks, stuck out like a sore thumb, he didn’t look like he belonged anywhere and there was a loneliness which pervaded through his whole being, the same loneliness that Kate felt most of the time. Kate found herself smiling, pleased to discover this sweet guy in the library and overwhelmed with relief which she couldn’t understand. The boy in the tweed jacket was strange but in a good way, you wouldn’t call him conventionally handsome but when he smiled back at Kate his whole face came alive and it was the most beautiful thing Kate had ever seen, though above all he looked kind. After a while his smile faltered and he looked away as he gazed bashfully at the ground, his face suddenly clouded with sadness. Though when he suddenly decided to look up again his eyes boldly connected with Kate’s and that’s when she knew he was one of the men from her dreams; that somehow they had met before, in another place and time.

 It was the most perfectly natural thing in the world when he finally strode over to Kate and decided to draw up a chair and sit opposite; well that’s what Kate told herself as her heart began hammering violently, her mouth suddenly dry and stomach bubbling with thousands of butterflies. It was only a tiny circular table, their knees were inches apart. And it came as no surprise whatsoever as he glanced up at Kate and spoke to her as though he knew what Kate was feeling, even before she realised it.

“You know that we’ve met before. It will only be a matter of time before you start to remember who I am again…Begin to remember it all.” The pale, chisel faced man swept back his plentiful hair and smiled tenderly. “Hello Kate.”

 His shimmering green eyes locked with Kate’s, she felt a shudder of longing deep inside her chest and was mightily glad she was sitting down. And as he had spoken her name, Kate had heard him say it many times before. She wanted to remember everything, wanted to reply but couldn’t find the words and was simply overwhelmed by this extraordinary attraction, the rush of tenderness she felt towards the boy sitting opposite her and was certain she knew his name.

 A gush of warmth enveloped Kate’s body and as she removed her vintage trench coat her jersey dress slid down her left shoulder, revealing a reddish, purple graze.  A deep buried memory briefly consumed Kate; she quickly covered the bruising up.

 “That’s a nasty graze Kate.” He winced as though the wound had suddenly transferred to his own body. It was all he could do to stop himself going over and hugging her but then he couldn’t resist asking her. “Can you remember how you got it?”

 “I was running and I tripped…” Kate looked up; his tender eyes were willing her to remember. “No I can’t remember.” Kate glanced away from her overwhelming anxious companion and stared at a book cover which displayed the dreamy Waterhouse painting of the lady of Shalott sitting in her tower, the moment where she turned her back on the shadows and looked out on the real world.

 The young man merely shrugged his shoulders and calmly reached out across the table, his pale, long fingers enclosing around Kate’s iPod sitting nearby on the table. Kate rather suspected he was playing for time, waiting for her to catch up with him and remember.

 “I’m glad you’ve rediscovered your namesake. “Hounds of Love” is a stunning album.” He glanced up hopefully, trying to provoke a reaction from Kate.

 “What do you mean rediscovered?” Kate scrunched up her face in confusion, frustration also began to build inside her, why couldn’t he just tell her what was going on. “I’ve always loved Kate Bush; “Hounds of Love” is my favourite album especially the B side, The Ninth Wave, a series of linked songs, I’ve started to do a series of paintings inspired by the shipwrecked survivor who’s drifting on a cold, dark sea, waiting for rescue…”

 Kate felt a knifelike chill down her spine, like someone had walked over her grave; she clutched her aching head, nausea in the pit of her stomach. And that’s when Kate knew, she’d had this conversation before, practically word for word with the childlike man sitting opposite her. Again, his eyes willed her to go on.

 “Waking the Witch is the most haunting one, when the survivor regresses in the waves and remembers their past lives…” Kate could feel long held tears welling in her eyes, he reached across the table and took her hands in his, Kate gasped at his touch; she could instantly feel the emotion, right in the palm of her hands, an arrow shooting straight to her heart. This stranger who really wasn’t a stranger at all loved Kate, it was big, bold, wonderful, gut wrenching and life changing but oh so scary. Kate was incapable of saying it out loud but knew in the depths of her soul that somehow his love for her crossed the span of centuries, that this was no ordinary love and there was nothing he wouldn’t do to keep her safe.

 “And my mum, she used to play the album all the time…On vinyl, everything’s digital now, it’s all so cold and…” Kate pulled her hands away, her chair scrapping across the hushed library, a terrible rush of emptiness engulfed her; Kate hadn’t seen her mum in a long time and then rather magically and horrifically it all started to come back to her. “Dominic, we’ve had this conversation before…Only it was a different library and a different ti…” Kate placed her hands over her mouth; she could not, would not say it out loud.