The Last Chance Library

by Freya Sampson

  By ten past nine they had everything in place and were standing behind the locked door, waiting for Marjorie to arrive.

  “Are you sure you want her to see you here?” Stanley said to June. “You could still hide, and we’ll tell her you left last night.”

  June took a deep breath before she answered. “No. I don’t want to hide anymore.”

  “Very well,” he said, and gave her arm a squeeze.

  “What will we say when she gets here?” June said.

  “We tell her that she can’t enter the premises until the council agree to keep the library open.”

  “Have you ever seen Marjorie in a bad mood? There’s no way she’ll put up with that.”

  “You’ve not seen me in a bad mood either,” Mrs. B said, giving June a wink.

  A moment later they saw Marjorie crossing the road toward the library, a murderous look in her eyes.

  “What the hell is going on here?” she bellowed as she approached. “June?”

  “This is a political protest,” Mrs. B shouted through the door. “This library is now occupied and will remain so until the council agrees to our demands.”

  “What nonsense! Let me in.”

  They didn’t move.

  “June, open the door!”

  June pulled the door open a fraction. “I’m sorry, Marjorie. I can’t sit back and watch in silence any longer.”

  “You know what this means, don’t you?” Marjorie said. “I won’t be able to protect you from the council.”

  June nodded. She felt sick.

  “We want to speak to a representative of the council and hand over our demands,” Stanley said. “Until that happens, you may not come in. Thank you.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, I don’t have time for this. Do you have any idea how busy I am?”

  “We’re here for as long as it takes,” Mrs. B said. “Down with library cuts! Down with the council!”

  Marjorie glared at them. “Very well, I’ll call them. But don’t you dare mess anything up in my library.”

  She turned and stomped back across the road. June shut the door, her hands shaking.

  “Stage One complete,” said Stanley with satisfaction. “Let’s have a cup of tea, shall we?”

  * * *

  • • •

  Over the next few hours, as people turned up to use the library, June, Stanley, and Mrs. B gave them flyers and explained what they were doing. Some looked confused and walked away, but most offered their support. By midday there were around thirty people inside, all chatting excitedly. Someone brought some bags of food from the supermarket, and June was sitting down to eat a sandwich when she heard a shout from Mrs. B.

  “The council are here!”

  Everyone crowded round the window.

  “Look, it’s Richard Donnelly and that Sarah woman,” Stanley said. “And Brian Spencer’s here too. I wonder where Marjorie is.”

  Over everyone’s heads, June could see the group reach the other side of the locked door. Richard had his arms crossed.

  “All right, you’ve pulled your little stunt and we’re here. Now open up and we can talk,” he shouted through the window.

  “Not until you’ve agreed to our demands,” Stanley said, opening the door a crack and passing a handful of leaflets through.

  Mrs. B read the words out loud. “We, the Friends of Chalcot Library, make the following demands. One, that the council promises to keep the library open and fully funded. Two, that the future safety of the library is guaranteed. Three, that the building will not be sold off, and especially not to a multinational company or chain. We don’t want big corporations in this village; we want to protect local independent businesses. Four—”

  “Hang on, hang on,” Richard said. “There seems to be some kind of misunderstanding here.”

  “Do you deny that the council are considering selling off the building?” Mrs. B said.

  “I think you’ve all got a bit carried away. The consultation is still ongoing; no decisions have been made about the future of the library.”

  “Answer my question. Are you in talks with any companies to sell them the library building?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Richard said. June had to give it to him—either he knew nothing about Cuppa Coffee, or he was an excellent poker player. Brian, on the other hand, was the color of a beetroot.

  “Look, we’re all on the same side here,” Sarah said, stepping forward. “This is painful for all of us, but we have to face up to reality. Our budget has been slashed and we need to ensure that all of our public services are providing value for money.”

  “Of course the library is good value for money,” Stanley said. “Look at all the people who use it and the facilities it provides.”

  “But what would you rather we made cuts to?” Sarah said. “The library service or, say, the local hospital? Or our schools? We need to make the savings somewhere.”

  There were a few mutters from the crowd in the library.

  “That’s a ridiculous question,” Mrs. B shouted, banging her fist against the glass. “This is the bloody Tories and their ridiculous austerity. You shouldn’t be having to make cuts in the first place.”

  “Let’s all calm down, shall we?” Sarah raised her hands in a placatory manner. “There’s no need to get so heated. Why don’t you let us in, and we can have a little chat?”

  “We’re not letting you in until you agree to these demands,” Stanley said.

  “This is getting us nowhere,” Richard said to Sarah through gritted teeth. “We’ll have to go with Plan B.”

  “Yes, bugger off,” Mrs. B shouted. “And don’t come back until you can prove to us the library will be safe.”

  The group all turned to leave, but Sarah stopped.

  “Wait. You, there at the back. What’s your name?” she said, pointing through the window.

  “Me, madam? My name is Stanley Phelps.”

  “No, not you. The woman behind you.”

  Everyone turned around and June realized that Sarah was looking at her.

  “She’s no one,” Mrs. B said.

  “You’re a library worker, aren’t you?” Sarah asked.

  June didn’t say anything, but she saw Sarah and Richard exchange a glance.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Richard said.

  Inside the library, the crowd dispersed from the window and resumed their conversations. June’s legs were trembling and she sank down onto a chair.

  “Did you see the look on Brian Spencer’s face when I mentioned the council selling off the building?” Mrs. B said. “He looked like he was having a seizure.”

  “What do you think the council’s Plan B is?” Stanley said.

  “I imagine they’ll try to get a court order to have us evicted.”

  “What do we do until then?”

  “We could make ourselves useful,” Mrs. B said. “I can’t remember the last time this place had a lick of paint.”

  “I can go to the shop now and buy some supplies,” June said, keen to get out of the library for some fresh air.

  “No, you need to have something to eat first,” Stanley said. “It looks like it might be a long old slog. You’ll need your energy.”

  * * *

  • • •

  By the middle of the afternoon, the library was busier than June had ever seen it. Word had got out about the protest and more people had turned up, filling every corner of the room. All the chairs were taken, and people stood around chatting, children running between their legs. Mrs. Bransworth was debating the merits of socialism with a group of students by the Periodicals rack and Stanley was sitting in the Children’s Room reading The Twits to some of the little ones. Chantal was there with several of her friends and Jackson was reciting his haiku to anyone who�
��d listen. Even Vera was there, acting as unofficial security on the front door. June looked round the room and felt a rush of affection for them all.

  “June, there’s someone here to see you,” Vera shouted. When June got to the door, she saw the journalist Tessa and her camerawoman scanning the room.

  “Any strippers?” Tessa said.

  “Rocky preferred the term ‘exotic dancer,’ ” Vera said. “I told June we should have invited him.”

  “Did people really sleep here last night?” Tessa said.

  “Yep.” June pointed out Stanley and Mrs. Bransworth.

  “Those two? Cleo, get some shots over there.” Tessa signaled toward Stanley reading with the kids. “I think we can make a nice little story out of this.”

  June spotted Leila approaching the library with her son, Mahmoud, who was carrying a cardboard box.

  “Sorry, it’s a bit chaotic in here today,” June said when they walked in. “We’re having a protest against the council wanting to shut the library.”

  “We heard,” Mahmoud said.

  Leila nudged him and he handed the box over to June. She lifted off the lid and saw it contained several cakes, each beautifully decorated.

  “Victoria sponge . . . chocolate . . . coffee,” Leila said. “Delia Smith.”

  “Oh, Leila, you didn’t have to.”

  “Is that cake?” Vera was peering over June’s shoulder into the box.

  June unloaded the cakes onto the table and soon there was a crowd of older ladies cooing over the delicate icing flowers and helping themselves to generous slices. Tessa nodded and Cleo turned her camera to film them.

  “Oh, this sponge is delicious,” said one of the women.

  Vera picked up a bit of chocolate cake and sniffed it.

  “Go on,” the women said.

  Vera put a small piece in her mouth and chewed it, her face scrunched up.

  “Thank you, Leila,” June said. “It’s so kind of you to bring the cake.”

  “I . . . I think . . .” Leila frowned and looked at Mahmoud, then began speaking in Arabic. Her son translated.

  “Mum says she’d be sad if the library closes. She likes coming here for the cookery books, but also because she likes to see all the different people here. The children singing. It reminds her of home.”

  June felt a lump in her throat for the second time in twenty-four hours. “Please tell your mum we’re fighting to save the library. I promise, we’re doing everything we can.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  By six o’clock most people had begun to drift off, making their excuses for why they couldn’t stay overnight. June thought of her own home, with its comfortable bed and a microwave lasagna for one waiting in the freezer. Then she spotted Stanley sitting in his chair, looking exhausted.

  “Why don’t you go home tonight and get some rest?” June said to him.

  “Thank you, but I’m not leaving this place until the council assure us it’s safe.”

  “Mum, can I stay?” Chantal asked Michelle, who was trying to coax her three-year-old twins into the stroller.

  “If the others don’t mind. But don’t you dare cause any bother.”

  When the last visitor had gone, June locked the front door.

  “Well, this is the motliest crew of protesters I’ve ever seen,” Mrs. B said, looking from Stanley to June and Chantal.

  They began tidying up the mess from the day. Once the library was looking a little clearer, June pulled out her phone and typed a message to Linda, asking her to feed Alan Bennett. A minute later a reply popped up.

  Spending the night with Alex?!! Make sure u take clean knickers with u— maybe the slutty ones u got from that shop??

  June thrust her phone away. She spotted Chantal over in the corner, searching through the food leftovers.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” June said when she joined her. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something.”

  Chantal continued rummaging through the bags without looking at June.

  “Your mum mentioned you might not go back to school in September.”

  Chantal found a packet of crisps at the bottom and pulled it out, sending everything flying.

  “I just wanted to say, please don’t let what’s going on with the library get in the way of your schoolwork. You’re such a bright girl and you shouldn’t give up on university.”

  Chantal finally turned to June. “You don’t get it, do you?”

  “Get what?”

  “This is just some job for you. And if the library closes, all you’ll have to do is find a new job somewhere else, right?”

  “That’s not true. My mum—”

  “Don’t you live on your own down on Willowmead?”

  June nodded.

  “Well, imagine if you lived in a house with six other people. A house so small that you don’t even have your own bed, let alone a bedroom. Then imagine trying to study for your exams like that. That’s why I need this place, June, because without it I’ll never get my A levels and I’ll be stuck in this shitty village forever.”

  June started to reply but stopped herself. What could she possibly say to make Chantal feel better? The teenager was right; if the library closed there would be lots of people like her whose lives would suffer, and June had been so absorbed with her own problems that she’d barely stopped to think about any of them. She looked away from Chantal toward Stanley, who was sitting in front of one of the computers. He was always the first to arrive at the library and the last to leave. Where would he go all day if it closed?

  As if sensing she was thinking about him, Stanley looked up and signaled to June. “Come on, the local news is on.”

  The four of them huddled round the computer to watch the first two items, but there was no mention of the library occupation.

  “Maybe we won’t be featured this time,” Stanley said.

  “Vera was right,” Mrs. B said. “We should have got Rocky along.”

  Just then Tessa appeared on-screen, standing outside the library. “First there was a stripper. Now, the sleepy village of Chalcot have gone one step further in their attempt to save their library.”

  “Look, Mrs. Bransworth, it’s you,” Stanley said, as they watched images of Mrs. B in the crowded library.

  “Pensioners from the village have occupied the library in protest at the council’s threat to close it down,” Tessa said over the shots.

  “Pensioners!” Mrs. B shrieked. “Who’s she calling a bloody pensioner?”

  “I turned up this morning and all this was going on,” an elderly lady was saying to Tessa. “Usually on a Wednesday I come for the Knit and Natter group, but today it’s a bit more exciting.”

  Now Stanley appeared in front of them. “Older people like me need the library. I don’t have a personal computer at home—I didn’t even know how to turn one on until June here taught me. If the library closes, how will I go surfing?”

  “Go surfing?” Chantal said. “Don’t you mean, surfing the Internet?”

  “That’s not everything I said,” Stanley said.

  “We started occupying the library last night.” Mrs. B was being interviewed. “I’ve been protesting for more than forty years. I was at Greenham Common in the eighties and I went to Wales for the miners.”

  Tessa was on the screen again. “OAPs like these hope that their protest will convince Dunningshire Council to protect the village library. And in the meantime, there’s plenty of tea and cake for everyone.”

  It cut to shots of Vera and the older ladies eating Leila’s cake. “This sponge is delicious,” one of them said, licking her lips. Then the news cut back to the studio.

  June turned the monitor off and everyone stood in silence, staring at the blank screen.

  “I can’t believe she called me a fucking OAP,” Mrs.
B said.

  “I said so many eloquent things,” Stanley said. “Why did they only use that surfing line?”

  Chantal was frowning. “It looked really lame.”

  “Look, let’s all calm down, please,” June said. “I know that piece seemed a bit skewed, but at least we got our protest on the news.”

  There was a knock on the door.

  “If it’s that Tessa woman, tell her to piss off,” Mrs. B growled.

  Stanley went to see who it was. A moment later he reappeared, followed by Alex, who was carrying two large plastic bags. June’s heart momentarily lifted at the sight of him, and then fell when she remembered their embarrassing phone call and Ellie.

  “Hi, all. I’ve brought your food,” Alex said, putting the bags down on a table.

  “We didn’t order anything?” Mrs. B asked, and they all shook their heads.

  “Well, it’s yours,” Alex said. “Someone paid for it earlier.”

  “Well, hurry up, then. I’m starving.”

  They gathered round the table as Alex began unloading the cartons, the food a welcome distraction from the news.

  “Here, I brought you this,” he said, handing June a large dish of chicken in black bean sauce.

  “Thank you.” She took the box without looking him in the eye.

  June opened the lid but felt too self-conscious to start eating. For eight years, she’d eaten this dish alone at home with a book—had eaten almost every meal alone at home with a book. It felt strange to be having it here, in the library, with four other people chatting around her. June looked across the table. Mrs. B and Stanley were having an animated conversation about the news piece, and Alex was telling Chantal a story about his time at university that was making her laugh. They all looked so at ease together, reaching across one another to grab spring rolls and prawn crackers as they talked. June took a mouthful of her food. When was the last time she’d had a meal with a group of people, other than at that hideous hen do? She scanned back in her mind but realized with a start that she couldn’t remember. Had it really been before her mum died? How was that possible?