The Last Chance Library

by Freya Sampson

  “I don’t blame you for not getting involved,” Vera said, showering June with shortbread crumbs. “This place is going to the dogs—there’s no point trying to save it.”

  June dearly wanted to ask Vera why, if she hated the library so much, she insisted on coming in so often. But she bit her tongue and pushed the trolley past.

  At half past three, the doors swung open and Chantal came charging in.

  “Why didn’t you come on Friday?”

  “I’m sorry, Chantal.”

  “Has everyone told you what happened? I’m in charge of social media and you’ve been voted the secretary. Maybe at the next meeting you can see if—”

  “I won’t be at the next meeting.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “I can’t. I’m sorry, but I’m too busy.”

  June saw the teenager’s face crumple, and she had to look away.

  “How can you not care about the library? You’re just like those council bastards.”

  “It’s not like that; it’s complicated.”

  “It’s not complicated. If you’re not bothered, that’s fine. I don’t give a shit; I don’t even like this place anyway.”

  * * *

  • • •

  At five o’clock, June rushed out of the library. Never had she been so relieved that a working day was over. She kept her eyes fixed on the pavement as she made her way down the Parade, but she could still feel people staring at her as she walked past. At one point she thought she heard someone mutter “Traitor,” but when she glanced round there was just a young mum pushing a stroller. Even so, June increased her pace toward the Golden Dragon.

  As she reached the takeaway, June sighed with relief; she could always rely on George not to engage her in conversation or pass judgment. But today she found Alex standing behind the counter, singing tunelessly to himself.

  “Hey, I was hoping you’d come in,” he said when he saw her. “I’ve finished Pride and Prejudice.”

  “Great.” June gave a weak smile, hoping Alex could sense that she wasn’t in the mood to chat.

  “It was better than I expected. Some parts were a bit slow, but Elizabeth was cool, even without the martial arts.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Please can I have chicken in black bean sauce and plain rice?”

  “So, what are you reading at the moment? I’m looking forward to another recommendation.”

  “I’m really sorry, Alex, but please could you put my order through? I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

  A hurt look crossed his face. “Of course.”

  He typed the order into the till and began wiping down the counter. June sat down and took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of frying garlic. On the wall opposite was a portrait of a severe-looking Chinese woman who had scowled down at June since she’d first started coming to the takeaway as a child with her mum. Today, the woman looked particularly displeased.

  “I’m sorry,” June said to Alex after a moment. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  “Hey, it’s fine. I’m sorry I’m too chatty; I’m just going a bit crazy here on my own.”

  “Right now, I’d kill for a job where I was on my own.”

  “Things bad at the library?”

  “Haven’t you heard?” June said, and Alex shook his head. “The council are threatening to close us down.”

  “No! I had no idea.” Alex looked at her aghast. “Why would they do that?”

  “Budget cuts, they say. It’s not just Chalcot.”

  “It’s the same in London. I’m sorry, it’s so shit. Are you fighting it?”

  “There’s a campaign group been formed called FOCL.”

  “Fock what?”

  “I know,” June said, raising an eyebrow. “It stands for Friends of Chalcot Library.”

  “When’s the next meeting? I’m happy to help out while I’m here.”

  June stared at the disappointed woman in the painting. “Actually, I’m not really involved with it.”

  “Why not?”

  She opened her mouth to say the stock answer she’d given so many times today but stopped herself. Would it be so bad if she told Alex the truth? He’d said he was only back in Chalcot for a few months, so he was unlikely to tell anyone. And there was something about Alex that made June feel like she could trust him.

  “What is it?” he said.

  “If I tell you something, do you promise you won’t tell a soul?”

  “Scout’s honor.” He held three fingers in the air.

  June swallowed. “The council have banned all library workers from speaking out against library closures. If I get involved with FOCL, or if I’m even seen to be helping them, I risk losing my job.”

  “Oh shit.”

  “I’m also banned from telling anyone why I’m not getting involved, so everyone assumes I don’t care about the library and now hates me. Today has been so, so difficult.” The words came flowing out of June like water from a burst pipe. “I’ve worked in the library for ten years, and my mum worked there before me. I can’t let it close.” She slumped forward and put her head in her hands.

  “There must be something you can do to help.”

  “I can’t do anything without getting sacked. And even if I could, it’s not like I’d be any help, anyway,” she said through her hands.

  “That’s not true,” Alex said gently.

  “It is. Do you remember how shy I was at school? Well, I’m even worse now: a complete coward.”

  There was a pause before Alex spoke. “I remember a girl who was the smartest in our class. Who would help anyone who was stuck or didn’t understand something. Someone who everybody liked and respected.”

  June looked at Alex in surprise, but at that moment a bell rang, and he disappeared into the kitchen. He reappeared a moment later carrying a plastic bag.

  “Thank you,” June said, trying not to look flustered as she took the food from him and thrust her money on the counter. “You won’t tell anyone what I said about being banned, will you? If word gets out, Marjorie would kill me.”

  “I promise your secret’s safe with me. And if you ever want to chat, you know where I am.”

  “Thanks, Alex,” June said, and she felt tears well up at the first kind words she’d heard all day. She turned and headed toward the door before Alex saw, and then stopped. “By the way, I’m reading Matilda.”

  “The Roald Dahl book?”

  “Yeah, she’s my all-time favorite heroine. I’ll reserve you a copy at the library.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Back at home, June sat down to eat her food. It felt good to have told someone about her situation at the library; she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a person to confide in. Although she quickly reminded herself that Alex would be going back to London.

  June was finishing her food when she heard a knock on the door. When she opened it, she found Linda standing on the other side, holding a disgruntled Alan Bennett.

  “Look who was in the airing cupboard again. I think he pissed on my good towels.”

  “Oh god, I’m so sorry. I’ll buy you new ones.”

  Linda released Alan and he darted into the house. “While I’m here, I don’t suppose you still have your mum’s old copy of A Hazard of Hearts? The time has come for Jackson to read his first Barbara Cartland.”

  “I’m sure I’ve got it somewhere; I still have all her books.” June led Linda through into the living room. She considered telling her that Jackson might be a bit young but suspected that Linda would just ignore her.

  “Have you really kept all your mum’s books?” Linda said as June searched the C shelf.

  “Of course. I haven’t thrown any of her stuff away.”

  “What, nothing?”

  June found the book
and handed it to Linda. “I took some of her old clothes to the charity shop, but I kept everything else.” She saw a look cross Linda’s face. “What?”

  “Well, don’t you think you could get rid of some of her stuff now? Not the books, maybe, but what about some of her old knickknacks?” Linda picked up a china figurine of a girl reading a book and waved it around. “What about this one?”

  June winced. “I like that,” she said, grabbing the figure from Linda and returning it to its correct place on the mantlepiece.

  “Really? It’s not like it’s antique or anything. I remember Beverley bringing it back from the white elephant stall—I think she got it for free.”

  “That’s not the point, Linda.”

  “I know, but your mum wasn’t sentimental about this stuff.” Linda indicated around the room at the jumble of china animals, character mugs, and snow globes that covered every surface. “I don’t mean to be rude, love. I just don’t think your mum would have expected you to keep it all, like some kind of mausoleum. She’d have wanted you to have a fresh start and make this place your own.”

  “But I don’t want to make it my own.” The words came out of June’s mouth with more force than she’d intended, and she saw Linda startle. “I mean, I like having Mum’s stuff around. It makes me feel . . . safe.”

  Linda studied her for a moment. “Well, I’d best be getting back, then.”

  “Thanks for bringing Alan over,” June said, following her to the door. She felt bad for snapping at Linda.

  “No worries.” Linda stepped outside and then turned back to June. “Please just remember that your mum never really cared about possessions, love. She liked all this stuff, but she was much more interested in getting out there and living her life. And I think she’d have wanted that for you too.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  June observed the man as he loaded items into a string bag. He came into the library every few weeks, dressed in a beige windbreaker and brown cords, and was always shy but courteous as he borrowed thrillers by Lee Child and John Grisham. But today, he’d quietly asked June where he might be able to find the Dating and Relationship section. When she showed him to the relevant shelf, he spent ages browsing before choosing a title called The Five Love Languages: The Secret to Love That Lasts, which he was now putting in his bag alongside a Fray Bentos pie and a single banana. June decided that the man worked as a cashier in a supermarket and had lived alone since his elderly parents died. He’d always been too shy to talk to women, but he’d fallen in love with a divorcée who worked at the checkout opposite his. Having never even said hello to her, he’d spent months plucking up the courage to ask her out. Finally, one day he walked over to her and said—

  “I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I was wondering if you could help me with a small technical issue.” Stanley was standing by the desk, looking at June. “I need to print something, but I can’t make the damn thing work.”

  “Of course,” she said, following him to the computer. Stanley was the only FOCL member who was talking to June, although he’d stopped asking her for help with the crossword. “How many copies do you want?”

  “Twenty, please. It’s a petition about the library.”

  June kept her face neutral, but she felt a rush of relief. They were four weeks into the council’s consultation, and so far, FOCL didn’t seem to have done anything except have endless meetings. June had been trying to eavesdrop on what they were planning, but they always stopped talking whenever she was around.

  “It was Mrs. Bransworth’s idea,” Stanley said when June handed him the printed sheets. “We’re going to leave copies in the pub and Naresh’s shop, so everyone in the village should see them.”

  June glanced over her shoulder to check that Marjorie wasn’t nearby to hear them, then lowered her voice. “You can have this printing for free.”

  “Thank you,” Stanley said, smiling at her. “We’re having another FOCL meeting tonight; it’s not too late to join us, you know?”

  Oh god. “I’m afraid I have plans tonight.”

  “I know you get anxious in group situations, but you don’t have to say anything. We would really value your input.”

  “I’m sorry, Stanley, I’m busy.”

  He let out a sigh. “Very well, my dear.”

  June returned to the desk. She hated lying to Stanley when he’d always been kind to her, but if he knew she’d been banned, then there was a risk he’d tell Mrs. B, and then word might get back to the council that June had talked, and then she’d be—

  “June!”

  She winced as her boss’s voice bellowed across the library. Had Marjorie heard her talking to Stanley about FOCL? “Yes, Marjorie?”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  June headed to the office, her mouth dry. But when she walked in, she found Marjorie sitting behind her desk with an odd expression on her face.

  “Hello, June. Would you please sit down?”

  In her ten years working at the library, June had never known Marjorie to use such a gentle voice with her. Something must be wrong.

  “Please,” Marjorie said again, and she gave another rictus smile.

  June sat down, feeling even more nervous.

  “I’ve called you in here because I need your assistance on a . . . personal matter,” Marjorie said. “One on which I’d appreciate your utmost discretion. It concerns Gayle.”

  June stifled a groan; not another job for the wedding. Just yesterday, Marjorie had made June give up her lunch break to research local companies who could provide a dozen live doves to be released during the vows.

  “What do you need me to do?” June asked through gritted teeth.

  “As you are aware, Gayle’s hen do is in two weeks’ time. And as you’re also aware, the planned stripper has caused my stomach ulcer to return.”

  “Would you like me to pop out and get you some more antacids?”

  “No.” Marjorie paused. “I want you to go to Gayle’s hen do and stop the stripper.”

  June gave a snort of surprise. “What?”

  “Hear me out. You and Gayle used to be close friends—”

  “Only at primary school.”

  “Well, last night she was telling me on the phone that several of her friends have dropped out of the hen do, and now she doesn’t have enough guests for the planned activities.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “So, I told Gayle that I know you’d love to go, and she’s agreed that you can make up the numbers.”

  June looked at her boss in disbelief. “Marjorie, Gayle and I haven’t been friends since we were eleven, and I’ve not seen her for years. Why would I go to her hen do?”

  “Come on, you and I both know you don’t have a social life. This would be fun for you.”

  “No, it wouldn’t—” June started, but Marjorie held up a hand to silence her. All pretense of niceness had disappeared.

  “June, as your boss, I’m telling you that you have to go to the hen do. I can’t risk some sleazy stripper performing and word getting out to the lord lieutenancy committee, ruining Brian’s and my reputation. You need to stop it from happening.”

  “But how am I supposed to do that?”

  “You’ll think of something.” Marjorie stood up and walked to the office door. “I appreciate you doing this for me; it won’t be forgotten.”

  She stood by the door like a sentry until June left.

  * * *

  • • •

  At the end of her shift, June hurried out of the library, her head spinning. Over the years, she’d trained herself not to think about school or Gayle Spencer, but now all the unwanted memories came flooding back.

  June had been devastated when Gayle rejected her in the first term of secondary school. Her response had been to bury herself deeper in her books, withdrawing from everyone around h
er. People could hurt her, June had realized, in a way that a character in a novel never would. Her mum had implored her to put the books aside and make new friends, but June had made a friend once before, and look how that had ended. Instead, she vowed to keep her head down until she left this school and Gayle behind. Things would be different when she got to university, June told herself time and again; there would be more people there, and she would find like-minded friends. Until then, she had Lizzy Bennet and Jo March to keep her company.

  But now, after all these years, Marjorie expected June to go to Gayle’s hen do and pretend they were still friends, while Tara and Becky and all those other women sniggered behind her back, just like the old days. And not just that, but June was also somehow supposed to stop a stripper from performing. She grimaced at the thought; whatever happened, she needed to get out of this.

  June increased her pace toward home and Cold Comfort Farm. But as she passed the bakery, she heard her name being called. When she turned around, she saw Stanley coming out of the library, waving his arm in the air. June waited for him to catch up, praying this wouldn’t be another of his attempts to get her to join FOCL.

  “Hello, my dear,” he said when he reached her. “I’m glad I caught you. I’m stuck on today’s last clue and I thought you might be able to help.” He produced a newspaper from his carrier bag.

  “Stanley, is that stolen library property?” June said in mock indignation.

  “It’s borrowed, not stolen. I’ll return it first thing tomorrow.”

  She smiled and took the paper from him, pleased to be asked for help again.

  “Seven down,” he said. “ ‘Start angry confused victims protesting,’ eight letters.”

  June looked at the space in the crossword; several of the letters were already filled in. “I think it’s ‘activism,’ Stanley.”