‘Don’t mess it up.’ He wagged a finger at me and looked slightly menacing for a second, which reminded me of when he was drinking. ‘Don’t look so worried. I’m joking. You’ll be fine.’
Fine was the last thing I’d be with a life mapped out for me at the bastard dog food factory. I needed to get out of this. I stared at the letter: 5pm. ‘Dad, I’m really sorry but I can’t make it.’
‘Why? What’s more important than getting a job?’ He was leaning over me.
‘Err. Going to university. Saving the library.’
He snorted a laugh. ‘You’re joking, right?’
This was my chance to stand up for what I wanted. To explain what was important to me. To be my own man. But I bottled it. ‘I need to go.’ I picked up my toast and almost knocked my chair over in my rush to get away.
‘See you later. Fish fingers for tea?’
‘Err, yeah. If you like.’ How the hell was I going to get out of this?
*
Wednesday I got in early from school because I only had one exam. I was quiet when I let myself in because I expected Dad to be in bed. I’d been distracted in my exam because all I could think about was the job at the factory. At one point I actually thought I could smell dog food but it must have been a waft of school dinners from the canteen – it was lasagne, which was a worry. I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Out of the window I saw Dad.
I watched him come out of the shed backwards with his work bag weighing heavy on his shoulder. He pocketed the shed key. He slunk down the side of the house and out of sight. A chill settled over me. We only went in the shed to get the lawnmower out but it couldn’t be that because the grass hadn’t been cut. He was hiding something and it didn’t take a genius to work out what. I slumped back against the worktop like someone had punched the air from me. I instantly felt crap. I’d thought he was doing well. He’d kept all his appointments and I’m sure I would have smelled beer or whisky on him – maybe he’d changed to vodka. I don’t think that has a smell.
I went out to the shed, checking over my shoulder in case Dad came back. The door was locked. Back in the kitchen I looked for the shed key but it was missing.
A wave of anxiety came crashing over me. I rang Farah – I needed to speak to someone and share the worries threatening to overspill. I couldn’t go through it all again.
I thought it was going to go to voicemail when at last she answered. ‘Hi.’ She sounded cautious. I didn’t know what to say now I’d rung her. This was horrible. ‘You okay?’ she asked.
‘No. Dad’s acting all sus.’
‘Drinking?’
I went to have another look out of the window but Dad was long gone. ‘I dunno. Maybe. He’s sneaking about and I can’t think what else it could be.’
‘Then you need to challenge him,’ she said, forcefully.
I spun away from the window, the thought of calling Dad out on this was almost worse than the thought of seeing him mauled by booze again. ‘I can’t. What would I say?’
‘That doesn’t matter, Tom. You just need to stop him from relapsing.’
Easy for her to say. An image of Dad lying unconscious pierced my mind. She was right. I swallowed hard. ‘Right I’m going after him.’ I grasped my keys as I spoke.
‘Do you want me to come too?’
‘Yeah, that’d be good.’
‘Meet you on the corner of my road in two minutes.’
*
I looked down the side of the house – he’d not taken my bike. Maybe there was a chance I could catch him up. I tried to run but my leg quickly reminded me that I couldn’t. I hobbled as fast as I could, the whole time scanning up and down the roads I passed in case Dad was there. By the time I reached Farah’s road my leg was throbbing and it had dawned on me what a total waste of time this was.
Within about a minute Farah appeared. ‘Where is he?’ she asked her eyes darting in all directions.
I scratched my ear. ‘I don’t know.’
She looked disappointed. ‘What’s the plan now?’
‘I dunno.’ I was hoping she was going to suggest we hang out. We stood in silence for a while, which was awful. The longer it went on the worse it was. I felt I had to say something. Anything. ‘How’s things with you and…’ She glared at me. I shut up.
‘I need to go over some revision notes,’ she said pointing back at her house.
‘Yeah. Of course. Me too.’ I pointed in the direction of my house like a total idiot.
‘See you at Friday’s demo if I don’t see you at school,’ she said.
‘Totally.’
She walked away. We were talking… kind of. That was progress. At least it hadn’t been a complete waste of time. I limped home to do some cramming and worry about where the hell Dad had sneaked off to.
44
MAGGIE
Maggie was far more excited about library demo day than she should have been. Throwing herself back into the Save the Library plans had renewed her focus and pumped her full of energy. The snippet of information Tom had shared about the form in the builder’s van had fuelled her determination. The form itself had been transformed with each conversation she’d had and by the time she got through to the local journalist it was now a bona fide quote to transform the library into a bar-cum-restaurant by a well-known chain, the name of which she dare not divulge, but its prices would put paid to a number of local businesses.
She’d said something similar to Bill from the pub and he was ready to take on anyone from the council. She’d managed to harness his anger into getting all the pub locals out in support. The local history group were up in arms at the thought of the old library building being raped and pillaged in the name of modernisation and the WI were fully on board – they didn’t need an excuse to get baking.
Friday afternoon finally arrived and it was a sunny June day, which was perfect for an outdoor protest. Maggie trundled the tractor into Compton village centre and pulled up near to the library where a small crowd was waiting.
‘Blimey,’ said Bill rubbing his head as he looked in the trailer. ‘I didn’t think you meant we’d be building an actual wall.’
‘It’s the only thing that’ll get their attention,’ said Maggie proudly regarding the small mountain of straw bales. She’d loaned them from Savage for a small fee.
‘Right, come on,’ said Bill, to the group next to him. ‘Let’s get building.’
Maggie joined Tom, who was chewing what was left of his thumbnail and looking mightily perturbed. ‘Exams all finished?’
‘Yeah.’ He seemed preoccupied.
‘Well done. How’s the leg?’ she asked.
‘Thanks. It’s fine.’ He pulled his phone from his pocket and checked it.
‘Are you expecting a call?’
‘No, just checking the time.’ He shoved it back in his pocket.
‘Okay, then. Let’s get this protest started. We’ll show them we mean business this time,’ she said, taking off her jacket.
‘You’re not going to flash your boobs are you?’ Tom looked horrified by his own words.
‘That was only the one time and they provoked me.’ He was still looking at her. ‘No, I promise I won’t do anything inappropriate.’
‘Good. I’d better give Bill a hand,’ he said and he began dragging a bale off the trailer.
Something was wrong with Tom but a full interrogation would have to wait. Right now Maggie had a protest to organise. Christine had done an excellent job with a number of very British slogans on placards including ‘We are really rather cross’ and ‘I prefer books to people’ as well as a bright array of more standard ‘Save Our Library’ ones. Maggie handed them out to the waiting crowd.
It didn’t take long to turn the straw bales into a makeshift wall across the road and to line up the placard-waving protesters on either side. Almost instantly the cars started to back up. Farah and some girls of a similar age were quick to hand out flyers to the waiting motorists, explaining what
was going on and why the library was so important to them. Maggie felt it was a stroke of genius using young women – they were far less likely to get shouted at than the likes of Bill or any of the ladies Maggie’s age. She believed it wasn’t sexist if the women were aware and in control of their own exploitation.
As the local businesses closed up for the day more people joined them and quite a crowd had gathered. The WI were dishing out tea, coffee and cake, which seemed to be an excellent incentive to come and stand in the road. Everyone was chatting and by the time the journalist arrived it was turning into quite the community social event. He shook hands with Maggie and a few others and then went to mingle and get some quotes. He was still talking about interest from the nationals but Maggie had heard that before.
Someone started a chant of ‘We love Compton Mallow library’ as some council officials arrived. Maggie joined in and shouted at the top of her voice. This was excellent fun. The officials went into a huddle as if choosing straws for who was going to approach the baying mob with their polite slogan placards and happy faces. Eventually a stout man strode over. ‘Who’s in charge here?’
‘I am,’ said Maggie stepping forward with a ‘Libraries are brain food – don’t let our children starve!’ placard held aloft.
He took a backward step as if he suspected she was going to swipe him with it. ‘You’re breaking the law. We will call the police and we will have you all arrested.’
‘Hang on, could you repeat that for the national press please?’ she asked in her sweetest old lady voice. The newspaper correspondent stepped forward and the man’s face went a strange colour.
A van pulled into the kerb and Maggie almost jumped with joy. It was the local television roving reporter. A two-man band of camera and newsperson piled out and headed their way. ‘Ooh look, we’re going to be on the news!’ hollered Maggie and the council official retreated to the safety of his herd of suited men.
The next half an hour was bedlam as word got around the village that they were going to be on the news. Everyone turned out. Maggie was wise enough to know that they were only there to get their mugs on the telly but at this stage she didn’t care what brought people there.
The party atmosphere grew until singing broke out, led by Alice from the care home. Farah tapped Maggie’s arm and pulled her away from the noise. ‘Christine’s asking for you,’ she said.
Maggie had almost forgotten about Christine. She was holed up in the library. Fearing the council might discover her involvement, she’d hidden herself away. ‘Of course,’ said Maggie, handing Farah her placard.
Christine was pacing the library when Maggie found her. ‘Is it going well? Farah said it was.’ Christine looked worried.
‘Yes, yes. It’s going very well. We’ve just been on the news.’
‘Really?’
Maggie felt bad that Christine was missing out. ‘Yes. Someone will have recorded it. I’m sure you’ll be able to see it later. The chap from the council refused to speak to the television crew but they got him being driven away and hiding his face.’
Christine’s lines deepened. ‘He didn’t say anything?’
‘No. But that’s good.’
‘Is it?’ Christine wrung her hands as she paced.
‘Yes. Please sit down,’ said Maggie and Christine paused for a moment and perched on the edge of a chair. ‘He won’t be able to authorise something just like that but he’ll report back and those further up the tree will have to take notice now.’
Christine didn’t look convinced. ‘But will they? And even if they do will they still close the library and sack me anyway?’
Maggie took a moment to think. She’d been so caught up in the protest that the personal impact on Christine had escaped her a little. ‘We’ve done all we can here tonight. Whatever happens we can say we gave it our all. And if it comes to it I’m sure you’ll find another job.’ She sat down on the chair next to Christine and looked around. How could one small building become so important? She thought about the people all those years ago who would have fought for it to become a library, who would have first stocked its shelves. Found sanctuary in the pages of its books. And all those it had brought joy and refuge to in its years as a library. There was a lot of history in its walls. ‘We’ve put up a good fight.’ She felt she was telling the library as much as Christine.
Christine gave an uncertain pout. ‘I suppose so.’
‘Now, give me ten minutes to thank everyone and get the bales moved and that will signal the end of the protest, then you can come out and have some cake and a cup of tea. All right?’
Christine looked downcast but nodded her agreement.
*
Back on the front line Tom was in full flow chanting away and waving his placard. Maggie was thrilled to see him come alive. The moment was short-lived as she spotted his father, a moment before he did, powering towards Tom like a Pendolino train at full tilt.
Maggie strode over and reached Tom at the same time Paul did. She stood to one side so Tom knew she was there if he needed her. ‘What the bloody hell are you doing?’ Paul shouted at Tom.
Tom lifted his chin. ‘I’m saving our library.’ Tom brought the placard down to rest on the ground and form a barrier between them.
Paul threw his hands up. ‘You had an interview! What the hell are you playing at?’
‘I’m sorry, Dad. I don’t want to work there. I told you that,’ said Tom, his voice calm and reasonable.
‘No you didn’t!’
‘I did. You chose not to hear me.’
‘Bloody hell, Tom! You need to grow up. You could have lost this job if I hadn’t told them you were sick.’
‘Dad. Please listen. I’m not going to work at the dog food factory. I’m going to university.’
Paul looked like he was going to explode. ‘Not this again.’
‘I’ve looked into university entry requirements and I’ve chosen what A level subjects I’m doing. I am staying on at school because I want to get a decent job…’ Paul went to say something but Tom held his hand up to stop him. ‘I know there are jobs at the factory and if all this comes to nothing then that’s where I’ll go, but at least let me try for a place at university. I think it’s what Mum would have wanted.’
A heavy silence claimed the space between them. Paul’s frown deepened.
‘Can I get you some cake and a coffee?’ said Maggie, touching his arm and drawing his attention away from Tom, who was sweating.
‘What? No,’ he said, doing a double take at Maggie. ‘All right?’
‘Yes, thanks,’ she said, standing closer to Tom. ‘Tom’s worked incredibly hard on his GCSEs and here he is standing up for something he believes in. I know I have no right to be but I’m incredibly proud of the lad and you must be too.’
Paul opened and closed his mouth like someone had put him on mute. Tom turned and gave Maggie a smile. ‘Thanks, Maggie.’
The continued silence from Paul was worrying. Maggie wasn’t sure if he was going to lash out or stalk off. She felt for Tom. He had worked his socks off with his schoolwork and he’d helped get the petition trending on Twitter – whatever that was.
‘Hello there, Paul,’ said Bill, slapping him on the back and breaking the tension. ‘I haven’t seen you in ages. Have you come down to save the pub?’ Bill caught Maggie’s beady eye. ‘I mean library but you know if the council get their way and turn that beautiful old building into a bar that could be the death of the Limping Fox.’
‘Err. No. I came to see Tom, my son.’ He nodded in Tom’s direction.
‘Well, I’ll be,’ said Bill. ‘I had no idea he was your boy. He’s a bloody star turn that one. He’s worked like a Trojan doing the silver surfers sessions and getting this petition signed. He’s even got me on Twitter. Now ain’t that something?’
‘Um. Yes.’ Paul didn’t sound too sure.
Someone called Bill’s name and he waved back to them. ‘I need to dash but look, don’t be a stranger. We’ve
got a craft ale in that you’d love,’ said Bill.
Tom looked anxious as he waited for his father’s response. ‘You’re all right, thanks, Bill. I’m not drinking at the moment,’ said Paul. He paused to take a breath. ‘Or going forward, actually. I’ve quit the booze.’ He glanced at Tom. ‘For good.’
The relief in Tom was almost palpable. There was a flicker of a smile on Tom’s lips, which Paul mirrored.
‘That’s a bloody shame,’ said Bill. He adjusted his trousers, gave Tom a high five and set to taking the straw bale wall down.
Tom and his father exchanged awkward looks. ‘I need to give them a hand,’ said Tom, laying down his placard on the pavement.
‘Right.’ Paul nodded. He fiddled with the collar on his polo shirt and walked off. Tom watched him go.
‘You okay?’ Maggie asked.
‘Yeah. We’d better get this lot down,’ he said, busying himself with dragging the bales down and hauling them over to the tractor.
Maggie started collecting in the placards. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Paul rush back across the road but she wasn’t quick enough to intercept him. He marched up to Tom who had his back to him and was heaving the bales into the trailer.
‘Tom!’ Paul barked, making Tom spin around, his face wary. Paul made a movement like he was cracking his neck to release tension. His gaze dropped to the ground. ‘I’m sorry.’ He briefly gave Tom an awkward hug and stepped back. Neither seemed to know what to do as straw bales were moved around them. Tom nodded, Paul did the same then turned and strode off. Tom had a tear in his eye as he and Maggie watched his father go. They looked at each other and something passed between them.
Tom finished moving the bales and then helped take the table back to the library. He went to sort out the placards while Maggie had a final chat to Christine. She was walking back down the alleyway when she saw two figures jostling halfway down. One of them was Tom. She quickened her pace but made sure she was light on her feet so as not to alert them.
‘I’m sick of telling you to keep away, Harris,’ said the one on the right as he shoved Tom in the chest. She knew now how Colin felt when the rage consumed him. Within seconds she was between the two of them.
The Library Page 26