The Library

by Bella Osborne

She looked at me like I’d turned into a fish finger, which would not have surprised me given how many of the things I’d eaten recently. ‘The council trying to close the library of course.’

  Christine scurried over. ‘I went to a meeting. We’re on the list of the next round of closures. We have twelve weeks before they shut us down. That’s not long to gather support. It’s all down to us. We have to come up with something or that’s it.’ She ran a finger across her throat. I tried not to smile. I was pretty sure they didn’t cull the librarians when they closed down the facilities.

  ‘We need to act and act fast!’ said Maggie, doing something of an old person version of a fist pump.

  ‘Yeah but this afternoon. It’s a bit short notice,’ I said.

  Maggie and Christine looked at each other. I felt like I’d said something useful. ‘Maybe next week would be better,’ said Christine.

  Maggie seemed to consider this. ‘It would give us a chance to rally people.’

  ‘I could make some posters,’ said Christine, visibly brightening up.

  ‘That’s good,’ said Maggie. ‘We could lobby the Women’s Institute and the church.’ She looked quite excited.

  ‘I belong to Slimming World. I could lobby them,’ added Christine.

  ‘Excellent. You can put a poster up at school, Tom,’ said Maggie.

  ‘I guess.’ I was definitely not doing that. I’d be labelled one of the Nerd Herd before the last drawing pin was in.

  ‘You do realise how important the library is, don’t you?’ said Maggie giving me a stare to rival Medusa.

  ‘Sure. I just don’t know if the council will listen. That’s all.’ I scratched my head. Both women were looking displeased.

  The door opened and in came Farah. I wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse. I straightened my T-shirt and wished I’d worn my better one.

  ‘You’ll miss the library if it closes, won’t you?’ Christine asked Farah and I tried to hide under my fringe.

  ‘It isn’t going to close, is it?’ she asked and on the last word she turned to look at me for a response.

  ‘It’s looking that way but we’re going to complain…’ I said. Farah was nodding. This was good. ‘Well, protest, actually.’ I was buoyed by her nods of encouragement. ‘Fight.’ My hands clenched into fists. ‘We’re going to fight them every step of the way!’ Now Farah looked slightly alarmed. I unclenched my fists. ‘You know. As much as we can.’ I studied my trainers and concentrated on the warm sensation that had reached my ears.

  ‘Exactly!’ said Maggie. ‘And we need all the help we can get. Are you in?’ she asked Farah.

  ‘Definitely,’ Farah replied and a happy feeling rippled through me.

  Maggie and Christine started making a list and I tried to look anywhere instead of directly at Farah. I didn’t want to weird her out. She waved a book under my nose and got my attention.

  ‘Sorry, I was thinking about ideas to save the library.’ Strictly speaking I was imagining making a protest banner with Farah but that would have sounded creepy.

  ‘I just wanted to say thank you for recommending this book.’ She held up the Georgette Heyer.

  ‘Did you like it?’

  ‘I loved it. I’m going to take out some more of hers. What else do you recommend?’

  My life had peaked.

  14

  MAGGIE

  When Farah left the library Tom pulled out a chair and joined Maggie and Christine at the table. They had been in deep conversation for the last thirty minutes.

  ‘Do we have a plan?’ he asked, looking slightly hyper, his fingers thrumming on the table.

  ‘Yes,’ said Maggie, straightening her back and tapping the list in front of her.

  Christine was chewing her lip. ‘I’m not entirely sure all of that is legal.’

  ‘We have to take a stand, Christine. Show them we mean business. That we won’t be crushed by the establishment,’ said Maggie, thumping a fist on the table and making Christine jump.

  ‘Great,’ said Tom. ‘What’s on the list?’

  Maggie cleared her throat. ‘Barricade ourselves in the library…’

  ‘I was thinking more of a read-in.’ Christine dabbed at her lip with a tissue where she’d made it bleed – most likely from angst-ridden chewing.

  ‘It’s a peaceful protest but it would get the papers interested more than a readathon would,’ said Maggie.

  ‘What about placards?’ asked Tom.

  ‘Yes, we need those,’ said Maggie, pleased with his suggestion. ‘I think a protest march from here to the council offices would draw some attention.’

  ‘Or some posters might be nice,’ said Christine.

  ‘We need to get as many people to sign a petition as possible and we need to lobby our MP.’ Maggie was sounding more forceful.

  ‘I can set up an online petition. If we share that on social media you’ll get loads of randos sign up,’ said Tom.

  ‘Randos?’ asked Christine.

  ‘Random people,’ explained Tom.

  ‘Brilliant,’ said Maggie. ‘But most importantly we need support from the village and surrounding area. I say we invite people to a meeting here to get everyone fired up.’

  ‘I’m in,’ said Tom.

  Maggie and Tom looked at Christine. ‘Well, obviously you can count me in but I don’t want to get arrested.’

  ‘Why not? It would make for good newspaper headlines,’ said Maggie. Christine looked startled.

  ‘Anyway, I’ll be here and I’ll support any drive to get more people in the library but I can’t be seen to be involved in any protests or the council will sack me. On the spot. They said that at the meeting.’ Christine visibly shuddered.

  Maggie and Tom continued to bounce ideas around while Christine tidied up. When Christine jangled the keys they knew it was time to leave.

  ‘Do you want to carry on this chat at mine, tomorrow?’ asked Maggie. ‘I’ll do dinner.’

  ‘Yeah. Great,’ said Tom, holding the door open for her.

  *

  Maggie had expected Tom to arrive close to dinnertime but he arrived on the first bus.

  ‘You’re keen,’ she said, letting him in.

  ‘Am I too early?’ He paused with his jacket zip half unfastened.

  She regretted her comment – she didn’t want him to feel unwelcome. ‘No. You would have been welcome for breakfast.’ His eyes lit up at this. ‘I don’t like stealing your time that’s all,’ she explained.

  ‘Honestly, Maggie. After my paper round I have nothing else to do on a Sunday.’ He hung up his coat.

  ‘Aren’t you meant to be revising?’ She led the way through to the kitchen.

  ‘Yeah. And I am.’ He didn’t look too sure about it. ‘It’s just that the library is more important.’

  She turned to face him square on. ‘No, it’s not, Tom. Your future should be your top priority. It’s nobody else’s.’

  He seemed to pause for a second to take her words in. ‘I guess.’

  Maggie passed him a new bottle of Coke and a glass. ‘I’ve a few things you could give me a hand with before dinner if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Sure.’ He looked keen but that might have been the Coke. She’d never been one for fizzy drinks but Tom seemed to like it.

  ‘Dinner is on but there’s a cake in there that needs to come out in ten minutes.’

  ‘What sort?’ Tom was leaning towards the oven trying to get a glimpse.

  ‘Lemon drizzle,’ she said and Tom licked his lips.

  *

  Outside spring was preparing for summer. The trees and hedges spanned all shades of the green colour chart. Inside the barn Maggie pulled a large plank from a small pile of oddly shaped wood. She passed it to Tom, picked up a battered-looking toolbox and walked past the quad bike and back outside. She could see Tom’s disappointment at not taking the quad bike out.

  They walked down to where the chickens were busily scratching and pecking at the ground. The sun dar
ted in and out of the clouds as if to tease them. Once they entered the pen the hens gathered around but soon lost interest when there were no treats forthcoming. One had a tentative peck at Tom’s laces before scurrying away.

  ‘The bottom of that henhouse has a hole in it. Now I don’t mind the mice getting in as the chickens usually take care of them.’ Tom was pulling a face. ‘They’re almost as good as a cat for killing mice but rats are an issue. They eat the eggs, and sometimes go for the birds so it needs boarding up.’ She went inside the henhouse and plonked down the toolbox.

  They worked together. Maggie marked the size of the piece of wood needed and Tom sawed it under instruction. Maggie held the wood in place and Tom picked up the hammer and a nail. His brow was furrowed as he held the nail in place, brought down the hammer and missed, whacking his thumb in the process.

  ‘Ow, sh… sugar,’ he said with a yelp and Maggie hid her amusement.

  ‘You’d do better if you held the hammer nearer the head. You’ll have more control,’ she advised.

  Tom adjusted his grip, narrowed his eyes in concentration and recommenced tapping at the nail head.

  ‘You can hit it a bit harder. Imagine you’re not stopping at the head but hammering to the wood.’

  ‘Okay,’ he said, but didn’t look convinced. He brought down the hammer as instructed and in three hits it was secured. A few more nails and the repair was complete.

  ‘You’ve done a fine job there,’ said Maggie and Tom pulled back his shoulders, almost radiating pride. ‘You’ve earned yourself some eggs. Basket’s over there.’

  As he stood up he caught the sleeve of his top on the latch and they both heard something rip.

  ‘Let’s have a look,’ said Maggie.

  ‘Don’t worry. This top is knackered anyway.’ Tom inspected the tear.

  ‘I could fix that.’ She ran an eye over the worn fabric. ‘You’ll need to take it off, mind. I’ve probably got a plain T-shirt you can pop on while I stitch it up.’

  ‘No, really. It’s not worth it. But thanks.’ He gave her a wan smile.

  ‘Right. As a kid were you any good at building things like Lego or Meccano?’

  ‘I was all right,’ said Tom.

  ‘Excellent.’ Maggie rubbed her hands together. ‘Then I’ve got another job that’s right up your alley.’

  *

  Maggie showed Tom how to put sheep hurdles together to make pens for when the lambs arrived. Tom was a quick learner and made light work of the cumbersome metal hurdles. Back at the house Maggie served up stew, dumplings and a mountain of vegetables. She caught sight of Tom’s disappointed face. ‘Sorry it’s not a roast but I can’t spare any more hens at the moment.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Tom, his frown tightening. ‘Was the chicken… was it one of yours?’

  ‘Of course it was. You don’t go to the shop for a frozen one if you’ve got fresh at home.’

  ‘I guess not.’ He looked shocked.

  ‘You did know that was where they came from?’ Maggie seemed amused.

  ‘Yeah. It just seems… brutal.’

  ‘Life is.’ She picked up her cutlery and began eating. Tom did the same. She tried not to watch him eat. It was still a novelty to have company and it warmed her soul to see him enjoying the food she’d prepared. She’d spent a whole evening mulling over what to serve. When they’d finished he sat back.

  ‘Did you like that?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes. It was lovely. Thank you.’ His words came out in a childlike rush, as if he’d been reprimanded for not using his manners.

  ‘Do you know what it was?’ A hint of a smile teased at Maggie’s lips.

  Tom scrunched up his shoulders. ‘Dunno. Pork maybe?’

  ‘Rabbit,’ she said and she waited for his response.

  He blinked a couple of times and completed his shrug. ‘I liked it.’

  ‘Have you got room for some cake?’

  ‘Definitely.’ He stacked his plate on Maggie’s, took them to the sink and rushed back to sit at the table.

  Maggie cut him a large slice of cake and a smaller piece for herself. Tom picked it up quickly and bit into it but then seemed to almost go into slow motion.

  ‘Good?’ asked Maggie, watching him closely.

  ‘That’s amazing.’ He ate slowly savouring every bite, very different to how he’d eaten his main meal. When he’d finished he meticulously picked up every crumb from the plate. ‘That was exactly like my mum’s cake,’ he said, melancholy tingeing his words.

  ‘Then she was a fine cook,’ said Maggie, with a wink.

  As if already in a routine, Maggie washed up and Tom made her a cup of tea and poured another Coke for himself. This time they took their drinks through to the small sitting room. A large fireplace took centre stage and Maggie lit the prepared firewood and kindling nest she’d made in the wood burner before he arrived.

  Tom set the drinks down on floral coasters, pausing to study a couple of photographs on the low coffee table.

  ‘Is that your husband?’

  ‘It is.’ She stopped herself from gushing about him. The man who had brought her back from the brink. The person she had expected to spend her twilight years with.

  ‘That you?’ he asked, taking in the second photograph of a young woman in patchwork flares cradling a baby.

  Maggie glanced over her shoulder. ‘Yep.’

  ‘Who’s the baby?’

  Maggie hesitated. ‘My son.’

  ‘Were you a hippie?’

  She could feel the smile in his voice without looking. ‘I always preferred the term flower child.’

  Tom snorted a laugh and sat down on the sofa. ‘Aren’t hippies all vegetarians?’ he asked.

  ‘Aren’t teenagers all lazy delinquents?’ said Maggie with a knowing look.

  Tom laughed. ‘Good point. Sorry.’

  ‘People make wrong assumptions. We’re not all drug users either.’ Maggie stood up and felt the pain of arthritis blossom in her knee. A bit of weed would have helped to ease that.

  ‘I bet you did demos and stuff.’ He was leaning forward.

  Maggie tried to look nonchalant. ‘I might have led a few peaceful protests…’

  ‘Cool,’ said Tom, his head bobbing to an unheard rhythm of respect.

  ‘Bared my breasts at Greenham Common.’ Tom broke eye contact.

  Maggie was sitting in her usual chair. Her book was on one chair arm and a blanket over the other for when she couldn’t be bothered to light a fire. It wasn’t particularly cold but she preferred to heat individual rooms she used rather than put the central heating on and heat a whole house. There was something about the fire that made the room more homely. Perhaps it was the soft glow it added to the walls or the gentle crackle of the wood; she wasn’t sure but having a fire on often made her feel like she had company.

  Maggie leaned down to the side of her chair and picked up a notepad and pen and placed them on the table between her and Tom. ‘Here’s the list I started for saving the library but we need to build on it.’

  Making the list had brought home to Maggie how much the library meant to her. She could remember going there as a child, all bundled up in winter clothes and having to blow on her fingers to warm them before she could turn the pages. It had been a regular weekly outing – as sacrosanct as going to church. She had spent many hours doing homework within its walls and stolen the odd kiss in the map section as a teenager. There were fewer nooks and crannies for that now they favoured the more open-plan design.

  She remembered missing the familiarity of the Compton Mallow library when she’d left home, finding solace in other libraries to feed her reading habit, which had never waned. It had been like coming home when she had moved back to the area and stepped inside. The people had changed but the building had been reassuringly familiar. In recent years it had been her escape from loneliness. Her weekly opportunity to connect with others. Her lifeline. The thought of it closing was almost inconceivable.

  Tom p
icked up the pen and began writing on the front of the notepad. ‘That’s my mobile number. I’m not great at keeping it charged but if you ever get stuck again – like with the tyre – call me and I’ll get the bus over.’

  Maggie had to swallow her feelings down hard. The kind gesture had taken her by surprise. The fact that someone genuinely cared had caught her off guard. Of course she had a local farmer, Fraser Savage, who was only three fields away if she ever got desperate but it was heart-warming to think she now had someone else if she really needed them.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Maggie. Tom did his usual nonchalant shrug. She wouldn’t embarrass him. She rubbed her hands together. ‘Right. Let’s hatch a plan of attack.’

  15

  TOM

  I was starting to like Sundays. Usually they sucked. We never did anything. It was a nothing day. One of my mates always went out for a meal on a Sunday, usually had a carvery with his folks, lucky bastard, and then visited his gran for tea. I thought that sounded good but he always moaned about it because I was playing on the Xbox most of the day and he thought that was way better. Now my mates play it without me. I told them my Xbox was glitching. I could hardly tell them my drunk of an old man had chucked it down the stairs. I say mates but all we had in common was gaming and now it’s gone so have they.

  Mum used to hoover and clean on Sundays in between making a roast dinner. But Dad and I don’t bother with either. He did used to clean but I can’t remember the last time I heard the hoover going. Mum used to send me outside to play football. Sometimes me and Dad would go to the park to get out of her hair. I used to like those times with me and Dad. He was happy back then.

  I’d had a good time at Maggie’s. I guessed it was a bit like visiting grandparents. I can’t really remember mine. Dad’s mum is in a home somewhere. We used to visit when Mum was alive but not anymore. I get a birthday card and twenty pounds from Nan and Granddad, my mum’s parents, but otherwise we don’t keep in touch. Dad doesn’t like to talk about them. I think there’s some beef there.

  I hoped I’d been of use to Maggie so she’d invite me again. It was good having things to do and her cooking was ace. And I liked the idea of me being useful – it was a new concept. Most of the time I feel like a waste of space – like I’m something else draining Dad of money. Maggie’d even sent me off with most of the lemon drizzle cake, four fresh eggs and half a bag of cucumbers. I’d refused the cauliflowers because I had no idea what to do with those and I knew Dad wouldn’t know either.