At eleven o’clock, June pulled on her shoes, grabbed her bag, and stepped outside into the suffocating August heat. She made her way slowly up the hill, keeping to the shady side so she didn’t get too sweaty and make her hair even frizzier. Thankfully, Alex had told her he was going to London for the weekend, so there was no risk of him seeing her in this ridiculous outfit.
As June approached the church hall, she could hear the sound of music from inside. That was good; it must have meant the FOCL event was underway and busy already. She slowed down as she walked past, keen to get a glimpse inside.
There were only a dozen people in the room, most of whom were FOCL members and their families. Stanley was manning what must have been the raffle table, on which June could see a few bottles of wine, some homemade jam, and a miserable-looking stuffed elephant, and Chantal was sitting behind the cake stall. To June’s surprise, Vera was there too, prowling around the room with no sign of a foot injury. A large hand-painted banner was hanging on the back wall, but the ties had come loose, and all June could make out was ave chalcot libra.
Mrs. B was standing near the door, shouting into a walkie-talkie, “This is Eagle. Come in, Sparrow. The school choir will be here in ten minutes. I repeat, ten minutes. We need more fucking people!”
Was this it? After all the work Mrs. B and Stanley had put in, this was one of the saddest scenes June had ever seen. She turned and headed up the road, too embarrassed to watch any more. As she neared the bus stop, she saw a gray van parked close by, with a woman in a blue suit leaning against it, smoking. She looked familiar, and June was trying to work out what books she borrowed when she realized it was the local news journalist, Tessa something or other. She was talking to a woman who was fiddling with a fancy-looking camera.
“This is a complete waste of time,” Tessa was saying. “There’s no way we’ll get a story out of this.”
“Want me to pack up the kit?” the camerawoman said.
“We might as well film the kids singing, but we’ll go straight after that.”
The bus pulled up and June jumped on board. As she took a seat, she watched Tessa drop the cigarette on the pavement and grind it out with her foot, a bored expression on her face. This was a disaster. How were they going to save the library when they couldn’t even get on the local news?
It was almost twelve o’clock by the time June disembarked on a narrow country lane, and a bus journey spent reading Rebecca had done nothing to calm her nerves. She still had a mile-long walk to get to the hotel, and soon June felt sweat streaming off her body under the thick university gown.
Behind her, June heard thumping dance music, and when she turned around she saw a yellow convertible sports car roaring down the lane. There was no pavement, so she had to throw herself out of the way, landing face-first on the overgrown verge. June heard the car slow down, and when she rolled over it had pulled up next to where she was lying, and the driver was giving her a strange look.
“You all right, love?” he said, turning down the music. He was wearing a white singlet vest that showed off his tanned, muscular physique.
“I’m fine, thanks,” June said, trying to pull herself up in a casual-looking manner.
“I don’t suppose you know where Oakford Park Hotel is? I’m lost.”
A thought occurred to June, one so ridiculous she felt herself turning even brighter red. No, it was far too dangerous. What if she’d got it wrong? Maybe this man was a serial killer. But if he was who she suspected he was, then this could be the answer to June’s prayers.
“Erm, I was wondering . . . are you by any chance a . . . a stripper?” June said, aware her face was scarlet.
The man gave her a look of what she assumed was disapproval, but he’d clearly had so much Botox he couldn’t raise his eyebrows. “I prefer the term ‘exotic dancer,’ ” he said primly. “And you are?”
June held her breath for a moment before she replied. “My name’s Matilda. I’m going to Gayle’s hen do.”
“Oh, thank god. I’ve been driving round for the last twenty minutes trying to find this damn hotel.”
“I can show you the way if you like.”
“Great, hop in. I’m Rocky.”
June brushed the grass off herself and climbed into the passenger’s seat. “You need to turn around.”
“You sure? I just came from that way.”
“I promise. I’ll direct you.”
He executed a three-point turn and accelerated down the road. June had never been in a convertible before, and as the wind whipped her hair, she began to regret not having tied it up. Rocky started telling her about the routine he was going to do, and how he’d got a new policeman’s outfit that had been shipped all the way from America and cost more than a hundred quid.
“No one realizes how expensive this stuff is, Matilda. They think we cut up a pair of trousers and stick on a bit of Velcro, but this is professional stuff, cutting-edge design.”
June tried to keep her eyes on the road, but she couldn’t help glancing over at Rocky every now and then. His skin was the most extraordinary color she’d ever seen, mahogany mixed with tangerine, and was covered in a layer of what she assumed must be oil. At one point he reached over to get something out of the glove box and June lunged out of the way in case he brushed against her.
“It’s up here,” she said as they crossed Chalcot Bridge and drove down the Parade past the library.
“I thought it was a country hotel.”
“There was a last-minute change of venue. Take the left here, please.”
They pulled up outside the church hall. June was relieved to see the news van was still there, although the camerawoman was putting black cases into the back.
“Is this it?” Rocky said. “The agency told me it was a high-end event. This is a shitty village hall.”
“The thing is, the bride loves the local library, which is being threatened with closure. So, she’s combined her hen do with an event to support the library.” June knew it was a ridiculous story and she could see Rocky wasn’t buying it either. “There’s a news crew here to film you.”
Rocky’s face lit up. “A TV crew? Why didn’t you tell me?” He leaped out of the car and grabbed his bag from the back seat. “Let’s get started.”
“Great. When you get inside ask for Mrs. Bransworth and tell her that Matilda sent you.”
“Aren’t you coming in?”
“I’ve got a few other hen-do bits to sort out first. Good luck, though.”
June got out of the car and walked away before anyone inside the church hall spotted her. When she reached the van, Tessa was on her mobile phone. “Yeah, complete washout. No point even cutting it.”
June gave a small cough. “Excuse me?”
“No autographs,” Tessa said, not bothering to look up.
“I don’t . . . I think you might want to go back in there and start filming again.”
“There’s no point; that’s not a news story.”
“It’s about to get a lot more interesting.”
“What, they’re going to make balloon animals?”
“Please, trust me. You’re going to want to see what’s going on in there.”
Tessa frowned. “This better not be another waste of my time. Come on, Cleo.” She nodded at the camerawoman, who sighed as she pulled the camera back out of its bag.
June stood at the bus stop, as she didn’t want to risk getting any closer. She watched Tessa and Cleo step inside. A moment later she heard music starting to blast out from the church hall, the opening bars of some R and B song, followed by a loud, shocked scream. June caught a flash of Rocky as he strolled past the door, wearing nothing but black leather chaps and an American cop’s hat, and couldn’t help but laugh. If only Alex were here to see this.
“You coming, love?”
She turned aro
und to see the bus had pulled up, the driver staring at her through the open door. June climbed on board and was still chuckling to herself as the bus pulled away.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
By the time June approached the hotel it was past one o’clock and she was very late. As she hurried in through the front door, she caught sight of her reflection in a mirror and groaned. She had a huge grass stain on her blouse from where she’d thrown herself on the verge, and the ride in Rocky’s convertible had wreaked havoc with her hair, which was now a giant halo of frizz. June tried to flatten it, but it was no use; she was going to have to go in looking like this. At least the party was fancy dress so there would be others looking equally ridiculous.
But as soon as June walked into the hotel bar, her heart sank. Twenty or so women were standing around drinking champagne, all wearing the most unbelievably glamorous outfits. There was Becky, who’d come as Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, and Tara, dressed as Marilyn Monroe from Some Like It Hot. In the middle stood Gayle, her blond hair elaborately piled on top of her head and wearing a huge crinolined gown, a resplendent Marie Antoinette.
“Is that June Jones?” Tara said, and everyone turned to look at her. “I can’t believe you’re here!”
June hung by the door, wishing she could disappear into thin air.
“Oh my god, you look exactly the same as you did at school,” Gayle said, coming over and kissing her on both cheeks. “You’re even still wearing school uniform!”
“I’m actually dressed as—”
“Where are you living these days?” interrupted Tara.
“Are you single? Married?” Becky said, joining them. “We need all the gossip.”
June shrank back as they gathered round her. She had a sudden flashback to these same girls laughing at her old-fashioned clothes or the book she was reading.
“Erm, I still live in Chalcot,” June said, her voice betraying her with a wobble.
“And what do you do?” Becky said.
“I work in the library.”
“I can’t believe you’re still working for my mum,” Gayle said, wrinkling her nose.
“Well, good on you,” Becky said. “I love libraries; they’re so quaint.”
“I haven’t been into one in years,” Tara said. “I don’t know why anyone bothers now you can buy books so cheaply on Amazon.”
“What about your love life? Anyone special?” Becky said.
Alex’s face flickered into June’s mind and she quickly shook her head. He’d told June he was spending the weekend with friends, and ever since, she’d been trying not to think about him with the WhatsApp woman, Ellie.
“No, I’m single,” she said, and saw the look of disappointment on the three women’s faces. Gayle walked off to talk to some other guests, and there was a moment of awkward silence while June tried to think of something else to say. “So, what do you both do?”
“I’m a lawyer,” said Tara. “And Becky’s an interior designer.”
“Interior designer–slash–life coach,” Becky corrected. “Although I’m on maternity leave at the moment with my son, Monty.”
“Wow,” June said. How did they both have such impressive careers at just twenty-eight?
A woman dressed as Wonder Woman came to join them. “I’ve been trying to call the stripper for the past half hour and he’s not answering,” she said to Tara. “Are you sure you gave him the right address?”
“Of course I did.”
“What the hell are we going to do? He’s supposed to be performing after lunch.”
“We’ll just have to come up with something else,” Tara said. “Come on, everyone, it’s time for food,” she called out to the room, and they all filed through to the conservatory.
A long table had been set up with the most amazing-looking spread. There was a rush as people tried to secure seats near the bride-to-be. June took a place at the far side of the table and found herself between Wonder Woman and someone dressed as Lara Croft.
“How do you know Gayle?” Wonder Woman said as she sat down.
June’s knee was jiggling, and she pressed her hand down to stop it. “We were at school together.”
“And what do you do?”
“I’m a library assistant.”
“Right.” Wonder Woman’s eyes glazed over and she turned to talk to Princess Leia on her other side.
June eyed the table. There were platters filled with delicate crustless sandwiches, exquisite-looking cakes, and scones. She hadn’t eaten anything since her toast this morning and her stomach let out a loud rumble. She reached for her tiny plate and piled it up with three sandwiches, a scone, and a miniature chocolate cake, before realizing that the others had all put a single sandwich on theirs. Next to her, Wonder Woman peeled the smoked salmon out of her sandwich, eating it and leaving the bread on the plate. Both she and Lara Croft were still deep in conversation with other people, but June was happy to be ignored. Once she’d finished her plate, she checked her phone. There were three text messages from Marjorie.
How’s it going?
Please send an update on the hen do.
WELL???
June put the phone back in her bag and helped herself to some more cake.
“Right, ladies,” Tara said, tapping her glass with a spoon. “Shall we play a little game to break the ice?” She waited for the chatter to die down. “Most of us know each other well, but there are a few unfamiliar faces. So, we thought it would be fun to play Never Have I Ever so we can all get to know each other a bit more . . . intimately.”
There was laughter round the table, and June felt her stomach contract. She’d never heard of this game, but it sounded ominous.
“I’ll kick things off,” Tara said. “And remember, if you have done the thing I say, then you drink, and if you haven’t, then you don’t. That clear?”
There were murmurs of ascent, and most of the women picked their champagne glasses up in anticipation.
“Okay, so I’ll start with an easy one. Never have I ever been arrested.”
June looked around the table; no one had taken a drink except a woman dressed as a Playboy Bunny.
“Faye, what did you do?” Gayle said, shocked.
“Speeding,” Faye said with a shrug, and everyone laughed.
“My turn,” Becky said. “Never have I ever joined the Mile-High Club.”
There was more laughter as several women took swigs. June wasn’t sure what the Mile-High Club was, but she doubted she was a member.
“Never have I ever cheated on my partner,” Lara Croft said, and there were “ooohs” as a surprising number took guilty sips.
“Never have I ever visited Dubai,” someone else said, and lots of the woman took drinks. June clenched her hands in her lap to stop them from trembling.
“Never have I ever streaked,” Wonder Woman said, to much laughter.
“Never have I ever been camping.”
June stared at her full glass, willing them all to hurry up and finish.
“Never have I ever been fired from a job.”
“Never have I ever had sex in a public place.”
“Never have I ever been bungee jumping.”
June closed her eyes, her heart pounding. When would this torture end?
“Never have I ever stayed up dancing until six a.m.”
“Never have I ever been pole dancing.”
“Never have I ever had sex.”
“June?”
It took a moment for June to realize that everyone had gone quiet, and when she opened her eyes, they were all staring at her. She sank back in her chair.
“Are you okay, hon?” Gayle said, and June nodded mutely.
“You understand the rules of the game, don’t you?” Tara said. “Because as a joke someone just said, ‘Never have I ever ha
d sex,’ and you didn’t take a drink.”
The tie round June’s neck felt tight, and she tried to loosen it.
“You’re meant to drink when you’ve done something,” Tara continued. “Unless you’re actually still a virgin?”
One woman laughed at this but everyone else was silent, looking at June with a mixture of sympathy and horror.
“I . . . I need the toilet.” June stood up too quickly and felt a wave of dizziness. She tried to grab hold of the back of her chair but knocked it over, and it clattered to the floor as June turned and ran toward the door.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
June burst into the toilet and slammed the cubicle door shut behind her. Her breath was coming out in short, ragged bursts and she felt like she was being strangled. She yanked off her tie and tried to loosen her shirt’s top button, but her hands were shaking too much and her elbows kept knocking on the walls as she wrestled with the collar. Just as she thought she was going to collapse, the button popped off and June’s shirt burst open. She immediately felt the pressure on her throat reduce and she sank down onto the toilet seat and put her head between her knees.
Slowly, June’s breathing returned to normal, but with it came the crushing humiliation. How could she have done so little with her life? She’d never streaked or bungee jumped, never been clubbing or danced all night with friends. She’d never been to Dubai because she’d never left England. And she’d never even kissed a man, let alone had sex.
Instead, June realized with a shiver, her life’s achievements could be summed up in one sad sentence: she’d worked at a library and her mum had died. That was the sum total of her twenty-eight years, the miserable epitaph that would be written on her gravestone.
There was a bang and June jumped as the toilet door swung open. She hurriedly pulled her knees up to her chest so whoever it was wouldn’t see her feet under the cubicle door.
The Last Chance Library Page 10