The Last Library

by Freya Sampson

  ‘Well, I’m sorry I wasn’t around to help you. I really wish I could have been there for you.’

  ‘Alex!’ came the voice from inside, louder.

  He looked at June and shrugged helplessly. ‘Goodnight.’

  ‘Goodnight, Alex.’

  June watched him walk into the takeaway and the door swing shut behind him. She looked down the hill, towards her road and the comforts of home: her bed, the books, solitude.

  And then June turned and made her way back up the hill, towards the people waiting for her at the library.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  JUNE WAS REPAIRING SOME damaged books when Alex walked in through the library front door. When she saw him she smiled, her heart beating faster. Alex kept his eyes locked on hers as he walked towards her, never breaking gaze. When he reached June he didn’t say anything, just reached out and took her hand, pulling her up to standing in one deft movement. He leaned towards her, across the issue desk, so that his face was just centimetres from June’s. She held her breath, not daring to move as Alex stroked her cheek and whispered—

  ‘Wake up, lazy bones.’

  June opened her eyes and sat up, dazed. There was Stanley, sitting in his chair reading the newspaper. There was Chantal, eating a chocolate croissant. And there was Mrs B, thrusting a mug of tea towards her.

  ‘This isn’t the time for a bloody lie-in – we have work to do.’

  June took the mug and walked over to Stanley, hoping no one could see how flushed her cheeks were from that dream.

  ‘Good morning, my dear.’ He gave her a smile, but June noticed he looked pale.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘I’m fine, just a small headache. I didn’t sleep well last night.’

  ‘Why don’t you go home today and get some rest?’

  ‘Oh, I’ll be as right as rain once I’ve had this coffee. Besides, I wouldn’t want to miss the drama here.’ He indicated Mrs B, who was stabbing the air with her finger.

  ‘I think we should make a formal complaint to Ofcom,’ Mrs B shouted. ‘That news report was blatantly ageist.’

  ‘And they didn’t use any footage of me and my friends,’ Chantal said. ‘It’s like we weren’t even there.’

  ‘Exactly. This is why I’ve never paid my licence fee, they’re all right-wing b—’

  ‘There’s someone at the door,’ June said, pointing outside towards a man wearing combat trousers and an exhausted expression. He had a camera slung over his shoulder.

  ‘He looks like one of those bottom-feeder journalists,’ Mrs B said. ‘Go and tell him to piss off.’

  ‘He’ll just want to humiliate us again,’ Stanley said.

  June ran a hand through her hair and walked to the door. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘Is this the library with the pensioners’ protest?’ the man asked.

  ‘Well, you see, it’s not exactly a pensioners’ protest.’

  ‘That’s what everyone’s calling it.’

  ‘Everyone?’

  ‘It’s gone viral. It was trending on Twitter last night.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Here.’ He pulled out his phone and showed it to her. The words #oapprotest were everywhere on the screen. ‘People have gone mad for it – your old dears are famous now. Especially that guy who talked about surfing.’

  ‘But we thought the news made us all look a bit, well, silly?’

  ‘Nah, people love a feel-good story. And I’m not the only one to think so.’ He signalled over his shoulder to where several other men and women were crossing the road towards the library. ‘Can I come in and do some interviews before this lot get in?’

  ‘Hang on a minute.’ June shut the door and returned to the group.

  Mrs B was mid-rant when June arrived. ‘I hope you told him to put his camera where the sun don’t shine.’

  ‘Not quite.’ June explained what the man had told her.

  ‘I’m sorry, but what does viral mean?’ Stanley said. ‘It sounds rather unpleasant.’

  ‘But they completely misrepresented us,’ Chantal said.

  ‘Look, if we’re going to stand any chance of saving the library, we need to get as much attention as possible,’ June said. ‘And if that means playing up to this “pensioner protest” thing to get in the papers, I think we should do it.’ She turned to Stanley. ‘You were the one who started this occupation. What do you think?’

  He sighed. ‘Reluctantly, I agree with you. We’d be fools to miss this opportunity.’

  ‘But I’ve never been called an OAP in all my life,’ Mrs B muttered. June looked at her and she frowned. ‘Fine. If it’s for the good of the library, I suppose I can handle it one more time.’

  ‘There’s just one problem,’ Chantal said. ‘If they only want to see pensioners, it’s going to seem like a pretty small protest.’

  June looked from Stanley to Mrs B. ‘I could put out calls to the Knit and Natter group to see if some of them could come?’

  Mrs B shook her head. ‘That’s still not going to be enough. We need to fill this library if it’s going to make a news story.’

  At that moment, the library door creaked open. They all looked towards it hopefully, but the only person to walk in was Vera, scowling. ‘There’s a minibus just turned up,’ she said. ‘They’ve parked in the disabled spot, can you believe it?’

  ‘It must be more journalists,’ June said, looking outside as the driver’s door of the minibus opened and a silver-haired woman wearing a Barbour jacket and tartan skirt climbed down.

  ‘Do you reckon she’s from Saga?’ Stanley said.

  A stream of women were coming out of the minibus, helping each other disembark. June went out to meet them. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘Mary Cooper-Marks.’ The Barbour lady stepped forward and gave June a firm handshake. ‘We saw you on the news last night.’

  ‘I’m sorry, who are you?’

  ‘We’re from the Dornley Women’s Institute. Our library got closed down a few years ago. Bloody tragedy. So when we saw your protest, we thought we’d come along and lend a hand.’

  The women had finished filing off the bus now. There must have been at least fifteen of them and the majority looked well past retirement age.

  ‘You’ve come to help us?’ Stanley asked.

  ‘Is that all right?’ one of the WI ladies said. ‘We all quite fancied the idea of joining a pensioners’ protest. Much nicer than the rowdy ones you normally see on the news.’

  ‘This is amazing,’ June said. ‘You’re all amazing. Thank you!’

  ‘Look, love, can we come in or not?’ one of the journalists said. ‘I need to get back to London by lunchtime.’

  ‘Yes, of course you can. Please come in, all of you.’

  *

  June spent the morning running around the library, helping the journalists and fetching cups of tea for the protesters. Some of the sprightlier WI ladies were marching around the shelves waving homemade placards and chanting, ‘Save Chalcot Library.’ Others were sitting in small groups talking with locals about the library. June noticed that Mrs B and Mary Cooper-Marks spent much of the morning huddled in a corner together, deep in conversation. At ten o’clock another minibus turned up, this one full of residents from Cherry Tree Retirement Home, who had seen the news piece too.

  ‘I used to come here with my children fifty years ago,’ said an elderly gentleman, helping himself to one of the sandwiches that Chantal and Stanley were busy making. ‘It’s a crying shame to see places like this get shut down.’

  ‘We get a mobile library in our village now,’ said one of the WI women. ‘The librarian is a sweet lad but it’s just not the same.’

  ‘I miss seeing the children playing in the library,’ said her friend.

  ‘Shall we have a singalong?’ asked a lady in a wheelchair, who June had been told was ninety-four. ‘Does anyone know any Vera Lynn?’

  As the protesters burst into song, June saw Leila walking through the front doo
r. She headed over to her.

  ‘Thanks so much for the cakes yesterday,’ June said. ‘They were a huge success.’

  ‘Can I take a new book?’

  ‘Of course.’

  They walked over to the cookery section and began scanning the shelf together.

  ‘What about this Nigella Lawson one?’ June said, pulling out How to Eat. ‘My mum always loved her recipes.’

  Leila took the book and studied the cover. Over her shoulder, June saw Vera approaching, a frown on her face.

  ‘Waste of time,’ she said in a low voice as she walked past.

  June felt a flush of anger. ‘What did you say, Vera?’

  The old woman paused and spoke more loudly. ‘I said, it’s a waste of time.’ She pointed at Leila holding the recipe book.

  ‘Vera, we do not tolerate any kind of discrimination in this library. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to—’

  ‘You don’t want Nigella for baking,’ Vera said, cutting June off. ‘She’s good with savouries but she won’t get you anywhere with cakes.’ She reached up to a shelf and pulled down an old, battered book. ‘This is what you want. A good old-fashioned recipe book, none of this celebrity chef nonsense.’

  Leila clearly couldn’t understand a word of what Vera was saying and she looked to June for reassurance.

  ‘Also, you used the wrong cocoa powder in the chocolate cake yesterday,’ Vera continued, raising her voice to try and make Leila understand. ‘You used drinking chocolate, but you want something for baking.’ She reached into her bag and pulled out a pot of Bournville cocoa powder, which she thrust at Leila. The woman stepped backwards in alarm. Vera stood for a moment with her hand stretched out, then put the Bournville down on the shelf and walked away.

  *

  The journalists all left by late morning and things quietened down. June hadn’t had a moment to rest and her eyes were itchy from lack of sleep, so she stepped outside and sat down on the bench opposite the library. She and her mum used to sit in this exact spot when June was a child, eating jam doughnuts on a Saturday morning. June felt a familiar pang of longing at the memory and turned to look into the library window. Mrs B and Mary Cooper-Marks were standing together by the front door, talking with intensity. Chantal was reading to a couple of ladies from the retirement home, the ninety-four-year-old nodding as she listened. Vera and Leila were sitting together at a table by the window, bent over a recipe book; Vera was trying to explain something, waving her hands around with force. June smiled to herself and closed her eyes, allowing the sun to warm her face.

  ‘I thought you might like a cup of tea.’

  She looked up to see Stanley approaching, holding two mugs. He handed her one.

  ‘Thanks, Stanley. How’s your headache?’

  ‘Oh, it was nothing.’

  He sat down next to her and for a few minutes they remained in silence, enjoying the peace and calm.

  ‘I can’t believe we’ve done this,’ June said, after a while. ‘Until this week, the most exciting thing to happen to me was winning the reading prize at school.’

  ‘Life could be full of excitement, if you allow yourself to live a little.’ Stanley nodded across the road, and June turned to see Alex walking down the pavement on the other side of The Parade. He was staring at his phone screen, his hair falling in his eyes. June looked back and saw that Stanley was watching her with his gap-toothed smile. ‘Alex is a fine young man, isn’t he?’

  June took a sip of her tea.

  ‘I’ve seen the two of you together in the library, talking about books. He seems to have something of a soft spot for you.’

  ‘Don’t be daft.’

  ‘Time is precious, my dear. If you have romantic intentions towards Alex, you should tell him.’

  ‘It’s not like that between us – we’re just friends. And he has a girlfriend.’

  ‘Really? He’s never mentioned anyone to me.’

  ‘He’s really private about her for some reason, but I know she exists.’

  Stanley frowned. ‘June, I apologise if this is too forward, but I would hate for you to end up like me, alone and with a life full of regrets. You have an opportunity here and you should seize it with both hands.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have regrets, Stanley. I know you’ve made some mistakes, but it’s not too late to change things with your son. Why don’t you fly out to America to see him?’

  ‘I wish it were that simple.’ Stanley looked in through the window of the library and exhaled. ‘I will never regret what we’ve done here, though. This has been marvellous.’

  ‘It’s been surreal,’ June said. ‘I can’t believe all these strangers came to support us today.’

  ‘Oh, I can.’

  ‘Don’t get me wrong, it’s brilliant. I just don’t understand why the WI ladies would come and protest for a library they’ve never been to before.’

  Stanley looked at her. ‘Did I tell you why I got involved with this library campaign?’

  June shook her head.

  ‘After Kitty and Mark moved to America, things went downhill for me. I had been drinking heavily before, but, with them gone, I didn’t even try to restrain myself. Within twelve months I’d lost my job, my house, everything. I moved around a lot back then, finding somewhere to sleep for a while before being thrown out, like some kind of vagrant. I even lived in a tent for a while.’

  ‘Oh, Stanley, I’m so sorry. That’s awful.’

  ‘But here’s the thing – wherever I ended up, and however much trouble I was in, there was always a library. A place that was safe and warm and dry, where no one would judge me. Libraries were my only light in some very dark times. And so when the council threatened this place, it felt like a threat to every library I’ve ever sought sanctuary in – an attack on every librarian who had ever come to my aid. And I think that’s why these people are here today. As Mrs Bransworth said, this protest isn’t just for Chalcot. It’s for all the libraries out there.’

  June watched Stanley as he spoke. All these years she’d thought she had no friends, and the whole time he had been there for her every single day: kind and patient and loyal. How had she been so blind? She reached across and put her hand on top of his.

  ‘Thank you, Stanley.’

  ‘Whatever for?’

  ‘For being you. I don’t know what I’d have done without you since Mum died.’

  He patted her hand. ‘That’s what friends are for, my dear. Now, let’s get back inside before all the Jammie Dodgers get eaten, shall we?’

  They got up and walked towards the library. As they did, June saw a smartly dressed man with a briefcase walking across the road towards them.

  ‘I wonder if he’s another journalist?’ she said.

  ‘I’m afraid the protest has quietened down a bit now,’ Stanley said, when they met him at the library door. ‘You should have been here a few hours ago.’

  ‘Are you protesters?’

  ‘Yes, we started the occupation,’ Stanley said. ‘Do come in, sir.’

  As they stepped in through the door, the man stopped, reached into his briefcase and pulled out an A4 manila envelope, which he handed to June. ‘This is notice that an Interim Possession Order has been served. You all have twenty-four hours to vacate the property or you’ll be breaking the law.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  ‘LOOK AT THIS, WE’RE FAMOUS!’

  June woke up, bleary-eyed and sore from a night spent under Marjorie’s desk, to find Stanley, Mrs B and Chantal poring over the newspapers. Mrs B handed her a copy of the Guardian. On page sixteen was a photo of the library under the headline Pensioners occupy library as Dunningshire Council threatens six with closure.

  ‘It’s the same in most of these,’ Stanley said, indicating the other papers in front of them. ‘And Mrs Bransworth has been invited on the radio.’

  June glanced at the newspapers. There was a photo of her, Stanley and Mrs B in one of them, grinning at the camera, and another
showed the WI ladies with their placards.

  ‘It’s not helped though, has it?’ Chantal said. ‘We’re still being evicted today.’

  ‘No, but all this publicity has to be good for us,’ June said. ‘The council will find it much harder to close the library now we’ve been all over the news.’ She looked to Stanley for agreement, but he wouldn’t catch her eye.

  The party feel of the last few days was gone, replaced by a sober quiet. They got to work cleaning and tidying the library, making sure it was spotless before the council arrived: Stanley and Chantal were finishing painting over twenty years’ worth of graffiti in the toilet, while Mrs B dusted the long-neglected window blinds. Overnight, someone had spilt a small splash of coffee on the carpet and so June got on her hands and knees to scrub the stain. Nobody spoke, lost in their own thoughts.

  ‘They’re here,’ Mrs B said, a little after midday.

  June looked outside to where a police van was pulling up in front of the library. Half a dozen officers climbed down. ‘Why are the police here?’

  ‘In case we don’t leave peacefully,’ Mrs B said, grim-faced. ‘They’re preparing for a fight.’

  ‘Have they seen us?’ Stanley said. ‘We’re hardly anarchists; I read the Daily Telegraph, for goodness’ sake.’

  ‘Look who else is here,’ June said, as Richard, Sarah, Marjorie and Brian crossed the road and joined the police.

  Richard had a conversation with one of the police officers, who handed him a megaphone. He pressed a button and there was a loud squeal, causing everyone outside to put their hands over their ears. The police officer stepped forward and showed him how to work it.

  Richard put the megaphone to his mouth and turned to the library. ‘Right, you lot, the fun’s over. You’ve had twenty-four hours since we served you the IPO. It’s time to get out.’

  Inside the library, not one of them moved, all staring through the window at him. June could feel her heart racing. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Tessa and Cleo moving towards the library, Cleo’s camera on her shoulder, already filming.

  ‘We’re not going anywhere until you promise our library is safe,’ Stanley shouted through the glass.