The Telephone Box Library

by Lucas, Rachael

  Stella looked out of place in a long, expensive-looking coat and a shawl, with high-heeled boots that were sinking into the grass. She looked around, taking in the world that had once been hers. It made him feel uncomfortable. He needed to get over that – just because she was back in Freya’s life, it didn’t mean she had to be there all the time whenever he went anywhere.

  ‘So what’s going on in your world, Stell?’ Harvey gave her a brief one-armed hug of welcome. Sam took the opportunity to step back and out of the conversation.

  ‘Oh, you know,’ she said, airily. ‘The usual.’

  Harvey looked at her and raised his eyebrows.

  ‘You disappear for ten years, and that’s all you’ve got to say?’

  She shook her head and smiled. ‘It’s a long story.’

  Sam decided to take the bull by the horns. He tipped his head, indicating to Stella that he wanted to have a chat. They moved slightly apart from the others. Lucy, queuing with Mel at the wine stall, caught his eye briefly and gave him a fleeting half-smile of encouragement.

  ‘Look.’ He shoved a hand through his hair. ‘We need to talk. Without Freya.’

  ‘Of course.’ Stella lifted her chin slightly, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘I’ll support Freya in whatever she wants – and she wants you to be a part of her life.’ It still made something in his stomach churn anxiously when he said that. Sharing parenting after all these years of doing it solo just wasn’t as easy as all that. He swallowed. ‘But you don’t get an all-access pass to every part of our lives. We need to have plans, and invitations, and there has to be compromise.’

  Stella looked at him for a moment, her mouth open. No words came out. And then she seemed to gather herself, and nodded firmly. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry.’

  He was taken aback. This calm, measured response wasn’t what he had expected. He almost wanted to reach out and shake her firmly by the hand.

  ‘Hey.’ Lucy appeared with a cup of mulled wine for him. She handed it over and Stella gave a brief smile and moved away, checking her phone. Mel, following behind, was carrying a basket of chocolate brownies she’d won in the tombola. Harvey’s horde of children – with noses like bloodhounds – circled her almost instantly.

  ‘Oh yum,’ said Mattie. ‘Are they for us?’

  They watched the fire burning – Lucy still standing close to hand, Stella hovering. His face was hot from the fire and he unfastened his coat, unwinding the scarf he’d been wearing.

  Lucy and Mel left while Stella was talking to him about arrangements to collect Freya for a shopping trip to Oxford. He watched them heading back, giving a wave goodbye across the cricket field, and wanted to scream in frustration. He’d tried to speak to Lucy but Stella was wedged in between them and the moment was lost. Time was running out. The telephone box library was almost complete, Lucy’s book was finished, and her time living in Bunty’s cottage was coming to an end. Would he ever find a way to tell her how he felt?

  Chapter 28

  It didn’t get any easier the following week. Bunty headed off somewhat reluctantly for a week in Wales with Gordon and Margaret, and Lucy took the opportunity to go to Paris for a week to visit an old university friend. Sam had caught her, bag in hand, coming out of the cottage. She’d looked glowing and excited, and explained that her friend had suggested the trip and as part of her new decision to live life in the moment, she’d decided to go for it.

  ‘I think I need some of Lucy’s all-new life is for living approach.’ Sam said ruefully, sitting in Mel’s kitchen with a beer.

  Mel, who was Hamish-sitting, shook her head in amusement. ‘You need to make a move, man. It’s going to be too late if you’re not careful.’

  ‘It’s not that easy. And she’s leaving, anyway.’

  ‘Or is she?’ Mel said, waggling her eyebrows in what she clearly thought was an enigmatic manner. She finished doling out dog biscuits and set all five down on the kitchen floor, calling them one by one. He marvelled as her older two dogs waited obediently, then went straight to their own bowls.

  Hamish beetled in from the sitting room and helped himself to a mouthful from the three remaining bowls before settling down at his own. He looked quite at home in Mel’s untidy but comfortable kitchen. The spaniels shifted over, making space for him. Like they had for Lucy, he thought.

  ‘What d’you mean, or is she?’ he said, a moment later.

  ‘I dunno.’ Mel shugged. ‘I think she’s become quite attached to the village, and –’ she gave a knowing look – ‘some of the people in it.’

  Sam didn’t say anything.

  Freya went to Oxford with Stella, where they apparently had their first disagreement, and she came home in a mood and flopped angrily onto the sofa, saying that she could see why he’d left her (he didn’t point out that she had in fact left him) and that she couldn’t see why her mum was such a bloody old cow. He’d found himself sticking up for Stella, who’d actually been quite reasonable and had put her foot down when Freya wanted to buy a pair of shoes in a vintage shop that were not only completely impractical but two sizes two small.

  When Lucy returned home she popped in to say hello, and found an over-excited Freya up to her eyes in slightly premature Christmas decorations. She hadn’t messaged Sam when she was away, so he hadn’t messaged her – although he’d composed several funny little texts about things that were going on in the village, and the excitement over the unofficial opening of the library. Lucy pulled a box of beautifully wrapped truffles from her bag and handed them to Freya.

  ‘How was Paris?’

  Freya ripped off the ribbon and opened the box, offering them round. Sam took one and watched Lucy shake her head no and smile at Freya, who gave a groan of pleasure as she popped one in her mouth.

  ‘These are gorgeous,’ said Freya, rolling her eyes. ‘Oi!’ She slapped his hand away as he reached for another. ‘These are mine.’

  ‘I got you some too,’ said Lucy, handing him a grey bag tied with a chic burgundy ribbon. ‘Even gift-wrapping is beautifully done in Paris. Have you been?’

  He shook his head. ‘I’d love to go,’ he said, adding mentally, ‘with you.’ God, he really needed to get a grip. ‘Do you want a drink?’

  ‘No, I just popped in for a moment.’ She looked at Freya, who was rummaging in a huge plastic box in the hall. ‘What’s she doing?’

  ‘Don’t ask.’

  There was a hoot of triumph. ‘Found it!’ A moment later, she reappeared in the kitchen with her arms full of tinsel.

  Lucy frowned in confusion. ‘Isn’t it a bit early for decorations? It’s not even December.’

  Freya looped tinsel around the beams in the sitting room, humming a Christmas tune. For a fleeting moment he wished he could just freeze time, make this little scene his new normality.

  ‘It’s not December for long enough,’ Freya said indignantly. ‘I want maximum Christmas.’

  ‘You sure you can’t stay?’ He turned to look at Lucy, hopefully.

  ‘Oh, go on then.’ She smiled.

  ‘I’ve got a bottle of red lurking in the cupboard somewhere, but I can’t guarantee it’ll be up to fancy French standards.’

  Lucy bent down to ruffle the ears of both spaniels, who were weaving around her legs, hopeful of treats. She looked up at him. ‘I don’t mind.’

  Half an hour later, there was a brief knock on the door and then Mel burst in, swearing furiously about bloody printers. Cammie followed behind, hair tied in a knot, wearing a jumper and a pair of brightly checked pyjama trousers.

  ‘Can I just borrow yours?’ She caught a glimpse of the open bottle. ‘Ooh, and I’ll have a glass if we’re celebrating. What are we celebrating?’

  ‘Christmas,’ crowed Freya, dancing into the room with a tinsel halo wrapped around her hair. She hooked an arm through Cammie’s and they disappeared out of the sitting room. Moments later the sounds of music came thumping through the house.

&n
bsp; ‘She seems cheerful,’ Mel said.

  ‘Yeah.’ He tipped some more wine into Lucy’s glass, and his own. ‘We had a good chat the other day – talked about the whole Stella situation. I think she had a bit of a wobble, wondering what would happen if she just disappeared out of her life again.’

  Lucy curled her legs up on the armchair and shifted slightly to accommodate Bee, who tucked herself in beside her. ‘I’ve been wondering about that too – I was thinking about it on the train to Paris.’

  ‘She’s not exactly known for her reliability, is she?’ Mel made a face.

  ‘I dunno.’ He looked into his glass as if searching for the answer. ‘I think she’s changed, actually.’

  ‘Stella?’ Mel’s tone was sharp.

  He nodded. ‘They had a falling out, and she dealt with it pretty well. She’s seeing a counsellor, which I think helps a bit.’

  Lucy looked across at him, her expression thoughtful. ‘I think that sounds pretty positive.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  The wine finished, Lucy and Mel stood on the pavement outside Sam’s cottage after they’d left. Cammie ran ahead, saying she’d put the kettle on for hot water bottles. It was amazingly cold – far colder than it ever seemed to get in Brighton – and Lucy shivered, wrapping her arms round herself to get warm.

  ‘Are you all set for the grand opening of the library?’ Mel asked.

  ‘I am.’ She nodded. ‘It’s a bit weird, given that it’s been all ready to go for two weeks now.’

  ‘Yes, but – Helen. We must do things just so.’ Mel did a passable attempt at her clipped accent.

  Helen had been appalled that nobody had yet borrowed the clearly unread copy of War and Peace she’d donated (‘an absolute favourite of mine’), and Lucy had spotted her on more than one occasion hovering around the telephone box, waiting to see the library in action.

  ‘Just checking everything is going to plan,’ she’d explained, when Lucy had come out of the cottage and unloaded some of the boxes she’d brought back from Brighton.

  ‘Of course,’ Lucy had smiled, and disappeared back inside.

  She’d taken the opportunity to go through the stuff she’d brought back – most of it was either papers for recycling, or old stuff she didn’t want – and had filled up the boxes with it all, ready to take them to the tip. Sam had been coming out of the house early one morning when she’d seen him and waved hello. It was, she decided, just one of those things. She’d never been the sort of person for a one-night stand, but then she’d never been the sort of person who gave up a perfectly good career as head of department in a school before, either. Maybe it was all part of the same thing.

  Tell yourself that often enough, she thought, and you might believe it. She bit her lip and looked in the rear-view mirror of her little car, watching as Sam drove off in his Land Rover.

  Later that afternoon she set off for Bletchingham with Bunty, who had decided she wanted a new cardigan. They drove through the village. The Christmas tree was already in place on the green, ready for the official switching on of the lights the following weekend. Some houses – Sam and Freya’s, of course, and several with small children – had already put their decorations up, and the lights sparkled brightly from windows that glowed in the dim midwinter light. Despite the cold, the warm glow of the stone seemed to make the village light up against the dull grey sky.

  They stopped at the junction – where once they’d taken a detour – and waited for a tractor and trailer to rattle past.

  ‘You don’t want to stop at Signal Hill again?’ Lucy smiled.

  Sitting in the car, wrapped up warmly in a thick woollen coat, Bunty gave a look of surprise.

  ‘Do you know what? I think I do.’

  And so they bumped up the track and got out of the car. The rosebay willowherb that had skirted the edges of the worn-out path up to the building was faded and dried now and the field beside it was scored deep by the plough, ready for a new year’s crops to be planted the following spring. It was so cold that the frost that rimed the windowsill hadn’t melted.

  ‘Does it bring it all back?’

  Lucy turned to look at Bunty. She seemed lost in thought. For a moment, Lucy could imagine her as a young girl cycling up here in the freezing winter, wrapped up against the cold, spending long shifts inside this building with only a temperamental little stove to keep it warm. From this unprepossessing place, black propaganda was broadcast across Occupied Europe. Fifteen miles away stood Bletchley Park, where so many other young people worked – never knowing precisely what they were doing, or questioning it – to do their bit. She looked at Bunty and felt a surge of admiration for the girl she’d been, and the woman she now was.

  ‘It brings it all back.’ Bunty nodded. ‘But actually, it’s rather nice.’

  She gave the building a gentle pat, as if to acknowledge it, and turned back towards the car.

  As they drove towards Bletchingham, Lucy ventured a question she’d been dying to ask. It hadn’t been clear in Bunty’s diaries, and the answer had been nagging at her.

  ‘So –’ she began, carefully, ‘Afterwards – I mean, after Harry had been killed . . .’

  Bunty looked straight ahead at the road. ‘How did I end up married to Len?’

  Lucy nodded. ‘I mean, when you had been madly in love with Harry.’

  ‘I loved Len. He was a good, kind, gentle man. I adored Harry, of course. But Len picked me up, took me out to the cinema and for tea on my days off. And when I realized I was pregnant, he said that he loved me and that he was sure I’d love him, too, given time.’

  ‘And you did?’ It seemed a huge leap – and a huge sacrifice for Len to make.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Bunty paused for a moment. ‘I had to be practical, too. I couldn’t have raised a baby alone and supported us both in those days. And the scandal –’ She shook her head. ‘Luckily it all turned out well, in the end.’

  Lucy indicated left and pulled into the car park behind the old library building. It had a planning sign attached to metal grilles outside. The car engine stopped and Lucy took the key out of the ignition.

  ‘Len wasn’t second best, you know. That’s why I would never want Gordon to know that his father – well, that his biological father wasn’t who he thought. And why I wouldn’t ever want anyone to know – no matter what rumours there might have been back then, they’ve been long forgotten.’

  Lucy thought back to Henry’s comment that Bunty had had an interesting war. He hadn’t said another word, besides that.

  ‘Well, I’m very grateful that you shared it with me. And I promise that I will never breathe a word.’

  ‘I’m very glad to hear it.’ Bunty smiled slightly. ‘But there is one thing I’d like you to consider, not in return, but just because I’ve become very fond of you.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Chapter 29

  ‘Are you ready?’

  Lucy stood shivering on the front step of Bunty’s cottage, waiting for her to emerge. She couldn’t find any gloves, and her hands were freezing. They’d woken to a thick frost, the first of the winter, and over the last hour tiny bright flakes of snow had started to spin down from a pale sky.

  ‘Here I am.’ Bunty came out of the formal sitting room, the one that was never used. She’d put on a slick of red lipstick and was wearing a very smart brown felt hat, along with a woollen coat and scarf. Outside the snow was still falling, dusting the top of the stone wall that enclosed the cottage garden. It iced the dried brown flower heads of the hydrangea bush and was just starting to settle on the grass.

  Beth from the shop had come down to the village green, and was standing with a thick puffa jacket over the blue-and-white pinny she wore to protect her clothes.

  ‘Hello, you two,’ she said, lifting her chin and smiling at them. ‘Haven’t seen you around for a while, Lucy. What have you been up to?’

  ‘Oh, this and that,’ Lucy said. She wasn’t giving anything away to Beth. Bunty gave
Lucy a tiny sideways smile.

  There was a little crowd gathering around the telephone box library, and a photographer from the local paper, his camera around his neck, shooing people out of the way to get some pictures. Someone had crocheted a garland of colourful flowers, which had been hung around the phone box like bunting. Freya ran over to them, grinning.

  ‘Doesn’t it look amazing?’

  Bunty took her arm. ‘It looks splendid. Your dad has done a lovely job with the fittings.’

  ‘He’s over there,’ Freya said, excited.

  ‘Hi.’ Sam looked up, his hand still on the door of the phone box.

  Lucy felt her stomach give a disobedient swoop of excitement.

  ‘Hello, stranger.’ He let go of the door and leaned over, kissing her on the cheek, surprising her. Her stomach flipped over, sending a fizz of excitement through her body.

  ‘Oh for goodness’ sake,’ grumbled Bunty. ‘I do wish they’d hurry up with all this preamble. My toes are freezing.’

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ began Helen, loudly. Having had her thunder stolen at the WI meeting, she was clearly determined to get in first. Susan looked across at Lucy and gave her the tiniest wink of complicity. Everyone carried on talking.

  ‘I heard there was mulled wine afterwards,’ said Henry loudly to nobody in particular. Susan put a hand on his arm and shushed him, smiling broadly.

  Helen cleared her throat, and one of the WI women offered her a microphone from a box on a trestle table behind them. She shook her head.

  ‘It’s fine. I just need everyone to stop chattering.’ Helen clapped her hands loudly. That did the trick.

  ‘She doesn’t need a microphone,’ whispered Freya, ‘She’s like a foghorn.’ It made them all giggle. Helen launched into her speech.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ she began again. Everyone stopped talking. ‘As chair of the Little Maudley WI, it gives me enormous pleasure to celebrate the opening of our very own telephone box library. When we discovered that with the decommissioning of the phone box there was a possibility for us to take it over, we talked for a long time about the different options open to us.’