The Last Chance Library

by Freya Sampson

  “Ah, Lord of the Flies is a great choice,” June said, taking his books. “If you enjoy this, you might like Watership Down too.”

  “I read that when I was seven.” Jackson wiped his nose on the sleeve of his bright purple sweater, no doubt knitted for him by Linda. “Do you have a copy of Oliver Twist? I’m doing a project on the Victorians and Stanley said I’d enjoy it.”

  “Let me check for you.” June typed the title into the computer. “Did you know this library was once a Victorian school? I can help you do some research about it; I’m sure we have some old photos in the archive.”

  “Yes, please,” Jackson said. “Did you know that the Victorians used to make orphaned children live in workhouses, and they weren’t even taught to read and write? I read about it in the encyclopedia here.”

  Linda often complained that Jackson should be outside playing with children his own age, rather than spending so much time in the library. But for June, the boy was a kindred spirit. She recognized the look in his eyes every time he walked in, that mixture of anticipation and excitement at the promises held within the shelves. And she understood implicitly what it felt like to be more at home with books than with people, to prefer the adventures and travels within their pages to those in real life.

  There was a crash at the front door, and a young man wearing an ill-fitting suit came rushing into the library, his face a dot-to-dot of angry red pimples. “Have you heard the news?”

  “Sorry, what news?” June said. “Who are you?”

  “My name’s Ryan Mitchell. I’m from the Dunningshire Gazette. Haven’t you heard the council’s announcement?”

  “What’s that about the council?” Mrs. Bransworth was striding toward them from the Science and Technology shelf.

  “They’ve issued a press release saying they’re looking at closing six libraries in the county. Chalcot is one of them.”

  June’s breath caught in her throat. “What?”

  “They’ve been threatening it for years, but they’ve just made it official,” Ryan said. “They’re doing some sort of consultation and then they’ll make their decision.”

  “Those bastards!” Mrs. B shouted, with such force that Stanley leaped up from his chair.

  “I was hoping to get a comment from a librarian,” Ryan said to June, pulling his phone from his bag.

  “I’m sorry . . . I’m just a library assistant,” June stammered. She felt dizzy and grabbed hold of the desk to steady herself. Close the library?

  “Can they really shut it, just like that?” Stanley said. “So many of us rely on the facilities here.”

  “The council are Tory scum,” Mrs. B said with a growl. “This is all part of their damn austerity plan; libraries are being closed all over the country.”

  “But where will I go without the library?” Stanley said.

  “The council says there are bigger libraries in Winton and New Cowley,” the journalist said.

  “But they’re miles away.”

  “Did you know about this?” Mrs. B was glaring at June.

  “No, I’m sorry . . . This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

  “We can’t let this happen,” Stanley said.

  “We’ll form a campaign group.” Mrs. B slammed her fist on the table, making June jump. “I’ve been protesting my whole life; I won’t go down without a fight.”

  “Can I use that in the paper?” Ryan said, scribbling on his notepad.

  “What the hell is going on here?”

  They all turned to see Marjorie standing in the doorway, clutching her handbag to her chest like a shield. “This is a library, not a cattle market. I can hear you all from outside.”

  “Marjorie Spencer? I was wondering if I could get a quote for the Dunningshire Gazette,” Ryan said.

  “Unless you’re here for a legitimate library activity, then you need to leave.”

  “Can I—”

  “I said, get out!”

  Ryan looked like he was about to say something but lowered his head and walked out. The room was silent for a moment and June could hear her own ragged breathing.

  “Right, let’s all calm down, shall we?” Marjorie said. “I’ve just had a meeting with the council and been told the news. I know this is a shock, but we mustn’t panic.”

  “Easy for you to say; you’re retiring soon,” Mrs. Bransworth said with a snort. She and Marjorie had fallen out years ago when Marjorie accused Mrs. B of defacing a biography of Margaret Thatcher.

  “As you know, my husband is the chair of our parish council and a great supporter of the library,” Marjorie said. “He’s going to arrange a public meeting with the county council on Thursday so all our questions can be addressed.”

  “That doesn’t give us much time to prepare,” Stanley said.

  “Of course not,” Mrs. B spat. “The council want to do this as quickly as they can, slip it under the radar.”

  “I’m sure the council will listen to all your concerns at the meeting,” Marjorie said. “Now, could you please quieten down and get back to what you were doing?”

  Marjorie stood at the desk until Stanley and Mrs. B had dispersed, then turned and walked toward her office. As she did, June saw that her face was white as a sheet.

  “Excuse me, June?”

  She looked round to see where the small voice had come from and was surprised to see Jackson still standing at the desk. In all the commotion she’d forgotten he was there.

  “What is it?”

  The boy’s brow was creased. “They’re not going to close the library, are they?”

  June bit her lip to try to contain her emotion. “I’m sorry, Jackson. I really don’t know.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Your usual?” George asked, as June walked into the Golden Dragon that evening.

  “Yes, please, George.”

  He headed into the kitchen and June collapsed down on one of the Chinese takeaway’s plastic chairs, her head pounding. Word had spread through the village about the council’s announcement and everyone who came into the library had quizzed her about it. June had tried to stay positive, reassuring people that nothing was certain yet, but inside she was crumbling. What would she do if the library closed? She’d have to find a new job, which might mean having to sell her mum’s house and leave Chalcot and . . .

  June reached into her bag and pulled out a book, desperate to divert her brain.

  “June Jones?”

  She looked up but didn’t recognize the man with messy hair standing behind the counter. Did he come into the library? She tried to picture what books he borrowed but couldn’t place him.

  “It’s me, Alex.”

  June hadn’t seen Alex Chen since he was a short, plump teenager reading Game of Thrones books on the school bus. They’d been in the same year at secondary school and had occasionally been partnered up on projects. Now he was tall with broad shoulders and a warm smile.

  “Oh . . . er, hi, Alex. How are you?”

  “I’m great, thanks. I’m just back for a few months to help out while Dad has his hip op.”

  “An operation? When is it?” June had no idea that George was going into hospital, but then their weekly conversation only ever consisted of “Your usual” and “Seven pounds forty, please.”

  “Next Thursday. It’s so funny seeing you again. Do you still live here?”

  “Yes, I’m the assistant at the library.” June glanced at Alex, expecting him to look unimpressed, but his face lit up.

  “That’s brilliant. I remember you always having your nose in a book at school; didn’t you win the reading prize every year?”

  “Not every year, only three times,” June said, feeling her cheeks flush.

  “I always tried to beat you but I never could.” Alex laughed. “So, can you recommend any good books I might like?�
��

  People often asked this when they found out what June did for a living, and she was secretly proud of her ability to guess what books a person might like. “I can try. Are you still into George R. R. Martin?”

  “Oh god, I was such a loser at school, wasn’t I?” Alex winced. “I’m afraid I’m not much cooler these days; I mainly read sci-fi and horror now.”

  “I don’t know that much about those genres, but I can have a look for you.”

  “Actually, I always mean to read more widely but I never know where to start.” Alex pointed at the book on June’s lap, which she’d grabbed off the kitchen table on her way out this morning. “What are you reading?”

  “Oh, I don’t think it would be your cup of tea,” she said, trying to stuff it back in her bag.

  “I’m sure it would. Go on, try me.”

  June reluctantly lifted the book for Alex to see the battered front cover. She was sure she saw a look of disappointment flicker across his face, but he hid it quickly.

  “Pride and Prejudice? Cool, I’ve never read that. Although I have read Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.”

  “What?” June was so surprised she couldn’t help but laugh. “How have I never heard of that?”

  “It’s amazing. I think the plot is basically the same as the original, only in an apocalyptic world where the Bennet sisters are zombie fighters trained in Chinese martial arts. And it turns out that Wickham, who is actually undead and survives on eating pigs’ brains, is planning a zombie army to take over England, and Elizabeth and Darcy have to stop him.” Alex paused when he saw the look on June’s face.

  “That is the most extraordinary plot I’ve ever heard. Are you winding me up?”

  “No, I swear. I tell you what—how about I read Pride and Prejudice and you read Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, and we can compare notes?”

  “Thanks, but I’ve not read a horror book since we did Frankenstein at school and I had to sleep with the lights on for a week.”

  Alex chuckled. “God, I remember reading that. What was the name of that boring English teacher? Her lessons were awful.”

  Miss Townsend had actually been June’s favorite teacher, always recommending books and staying behind after class to discuss them with her, but June didn’t want to admit that.

  George emerged from the kitchen, carrying a bag. “Seven pounds forty, please.”

  “Thanks, George. And good luck with . . .” June started to say, but he’d already walked back into the kitchen.

  “Well, good seeing you again,” Alex said as she picked up the bag and made her way toward the door. “Let me know if you change your mind about Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. You never know, you might love it.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Back at home, June sat down to eat her takeaway. Chicken in black bean sauce had always been her mum’s favorite, and now June ordered it for herself every Monday night. She filled her fork and took a mouthful as the events of today spun through her mind: Rhyme Time, the council’s news about the library, Marjorie’s ashen face. Was it really possible that the library would close? Of course, June knew that libraries were being shut all over the country, but somehow she’d always imagined that a place as small as Chalcot would be safe and that she’d have a job there for as long as she wanted it. June shivered, despite the warm evening, and then jumped when she heard a knock at the front door.

  “I just got the news,” Linda said as soon as June let her in. She threw her arms wide and wrapped them round June. “You poor thing, you must be in shock.”

  “They want to close it, Linda,” June mumbled into her shoulder. “Mum’s library.”

  “Well, we won’t let them, will we?” Linda released her and headed into the kitchen. “Have you thought what you’re going to do yet?”

  June followed her and slumped back down at the table. “I don’t know. I’m not sure there’s anything I can do.”

  “If your mum were alive, I can imagine her marching down to the council offices and haranguing them until they changed their mind,” Linda said.

  “Apparently there’s a meeting with the council on Thursday.”

  “You must have loads you want to ask them. Make sure you write all your questions down now so you don’t forget them at the meeting.”

  June played with some rice on her plate and didn’t answer. There were so many questions she wanted to ask, but there was no way she could stand up in front of a room full of people and say them. Just the thought of all those eyes watching her made June feel sick, and she put her fork down. “I wish Mum was here,” she said in a quiet voice.

  “I know, love. Me too.” Linda gave her a sympathetic smile. “But your mum isn’t here, so you’ll just have to fight this for her.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  June was watching a woman sitting with an open copy of Spanish for Dummies in front of her. She was a mild-mannered patron who’d started coming into the library a few months ago; at first, she’d read The Beginners Guide to Russian, and next it was Teach Yourself Complete German. June had concluded that the woman was married with two young kids but led a secret double life as a spy. After she dropped the children at school each day, she’d go on assignments to follow the Mafia in Winton or assassinate a Russian spy posing as a tourist in Favering. And when she told her husband she was going to stay with her sister for the weekend, she was actually having a torrid affair with another MI5 agent who had—

  “Massive bollocks!” Mrs. B was peering at June over the top of the magazine rack. “I’ve never read such complete and utter nonsense.”

  “What was it this time?” June said, and a moment later had a copy of One Hundred Years of Solitude thrust in her face. “I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy it, Mrs. Bransworth. I loved that book.”

  “So, I’ve been thinking—we should band together with the other threatened libraries and form one large campaign. We could call ourselves the Dunningshire Six.”

  “That’s a great idea.”

  “All you library workers should go on strike and we’ll form a picket line,” Mrs. B continued, her face pressed closer to June’s over the rack. “You know, I spent six months in Wales supporting the miners in ’eighty-four. That was brutal, but there was no way we were going to let that fucking Thatcher crush those communities. I won’t let the same thing happen here.”

  “Maybe we should see what the council say at the meeting first?” June said. “They might see reason and keep the library open.”

  “Are you really that naive?” Mrs. B shook her head in disgust. “When I was your age, I’d already been arrested three times for civil disobedience. But we weren’t like you bloody millennials, with your avocado on toast and soya lattes; we actually believed in things and were willing to fight for them.”

  Mrs. Bransworth paused, an unfamiliar expression clouding her face. June imagined the memories flooding through the woman’s mind, all the protests she’d been to and the people she’d known, many of whom must now be gone.

  “We have to fight,” Mrs. B said, snapping out of her reverie. “If we don’t, then one day your children are going to wake up and there’ll be no libraries left.”

  June shuddered at the thought.

  “Ah, just the two I was looking for.” Stanley was walking toward them, and June saw he had a small bandage on his head.

  “Are you okay, Stanley?”

  He touched the plaster with his hand. “Oh, it’s nothing serious; I just had a little fall last night. The doctor said she’d never seen an eighty-two-year-old in such good shape.” He raised his arms like a bodybuilder, a pose that looked incongruous for a rake-thin old man wearing a bow tie. “Now, what news on the council’s dastardly plans for this sacred place?”

  “I was telling June here, it’s our democratic duty to fight for the library,” Mrs. B said. “We have to all speak up on Thu
rsday and make our voices heard.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. I’ve been thinking I’d say . . .”

  June turned and crept away. The library’s potential closure was all anyone had talked about all day, and like Linda, they all seemed to expect that June would be leading the charge at the council meeting. She’d not slept last night because she’d been worrying about it, and now her head was throbbing, so she walked toward the back to get a drink of water. As she did, she saw the office door open and Marjorie stepped out, followed by a young woman in an expensive-looking suit, carrying a clipboard. She had sleek black hair and bright lipstick that made her look a bit like Mrs. Coulter from His Dark Materials. June half expected a golden monkey to jump onto her shoulder.

  “One more thing,” the woman said. “Is there any outside space?”

  “There’s a small staff car park out the back where we keep our bins,” Marjorie said, and the woman scribbled something down. June noticed she had perfectly manicured nails, painted a shiny red that matched the swirling red logo on her clipboard.

  Marjorie spotted June watching them. “Have you finished doing the periodicals?”

  “Not yet, sorry.” June shrank back as they both stared at her.

  Marjorie turned to the woman and let out an exaggerated sigh. “Honestly, if I need anything done in this place, I have to do it myself.”

  “I think I have everything I need for now; I’ll be in touch if I have any further questions.”

  They shook hands and the woman strode toward the door, not even bothering to acknowledge June.

  As soon as the woman had gone, Marjorie hurried up to June. “I need to talk to you about something, urgently.”

  June followed her into the office and watched as Marjorie fiddled with the World’s Best Librarian mug on her desk. She seemed even more tightly wound up than usual.