The Last Chance Library

by Freya Sampson

“Not now, thanks. Is Alex there?”

  “Sure, you want delivery? Your usual?”

  “George, please can I talk to Alex?”

  He grunted again and hollered, “Al!”

  “Duck pancakes,” Officer Riley mouthed through the glass.

  There was a muffled sound on the line and June heard Alex’s voice. “Hello?”

  June wasn’t sure she’d ever been so relieved to hear a voice in her life. “Alex, I need your help.”

  “June, is everything all right?”

  “Stanley’s been arrested.”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t have time to explain. Please can you come down to New Cowley Police Station?”

  “Of course. I’m on my way.”

  June hung up the phone.

  “Did you order the food?” Riley said.

  “Seriously?”

  “Well, if he’s coming all this way . . .”

  June picked up the phone and dialed the number again.

  Half an hour later, Alex ran into the police station, still wearing his apron and carrying a plastic bag. When June saw him, she had an overwhelming urge to rush over and give him a hug, but she hung back.

  “Ah, nice one,” Riley said as Alex handed over the bag. He’d been marginally nicer to June since she’d placed his food order. “How much do I owe you?”

  “Nine pounds twenty,” Alex said. “Now, can I see Stanley Phelps?”

  “Look, lad. I told your friend here, no one can see him except a solicitor. Don’t think you can soften me up with a few duck pancakes.”

  “I am a solicitor,” Alex said.

  June saw Riley eye him up and down. “Is this some kind of joke?”

  Alex reached into his pocket, pulled out a business card, and handed it over. The officer read it and stood up.

  “Right, come this way,” he said, walking round to open the interconnecting door.

  “Let me know if I can do anything to help,” June said, and Alex nodded as he went through the door.

  The waiting room was empty again. Officer Riley returned to his seat and began to eat. June sat down on a hard plastic chair and tried to ignore the noisy slurps and chewing. There was no clock on the wall and without her phone she had no idea what the time was. The only indicator was her growling stomach as the smell of spring rolls and Peking duck wafted over. Every now and then people came in and out of the waiting room, receiving the same charmless welcome from Officer Riley, but there was no sign of her friends.

  “So, why do the council want to shut this library anyway?” Riley said when he’d finished eating.

  “Funding cuts.”

  “It’s the one in Chalcot, isn’t it? Last time I drove past it was looking pretty run-down.”

  June thought she might have preferred his unfriendly silence. “It hasn’t had any money spent on it for years. The council keep cutting our budget.”

  “Same with us,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “Our budget was slashed nine years ago. This place is falling apart.”

  “Do you think my friend will be here much longer?”

  “All depends.”

  “On what?”

  “Well, let’s see. First off there’s refusal to leave the property when told to do so by the court. Then there’s resisting arrest.”

  “He didn’t resist arrest.”

  “Apparently there was a tussle in the van.”

  June put her head in her hands. “Oh god.”

  “Let’s hope that solicitor friend of yours is as good as his spring rolls. Speak of the devil . . .”

  The door swung open and Alex walked in.

  “What happened . . .” June started to say, but the door opened again, and Stanley walked through. He looked gray, his brow furrowed, and this time June couldn’t stop herself from running across the room and throwing her arms round him. “Oh, Stanley, are you all right?”

  “Of course I am,” he said, looking embarrassed.

  “Let’s get outside, shall we?” said Alex.

  June turned to say good-bye to Riley, but his head was buried in the book again. She noticed he had a plum sauce stain on his shirt.

  “What happened?” she said when they got out into the car park.

  “Not a thing,” Stanley said.

  “Really? What about the charges?”

  “It turns out Inspector Parks is a fan of the library,” Alex said. “He agreed to let Stanley off with a warning. Although he asked that you consider dropping his wife’s charge for an overdue Michael McIntyre DVD.”

  June was so relieved she laughed out loud. “That’s amazing.”

  “It was all thanks to young Alex,” Stanley said. “He was most impressive in there.”

  “Parks just likes my dad’s cooking. He’s a regular at the takeaway,” Alex said.

  “Have you been waiting here this whole time?” Stanley asked June. “You didn’t need to.”

  Alex walked toward his car. “I’m afraid I’ve got to get back to the Golden Dragon. Dad’s on his own and he’s still meant to be off work. Can I give either of you a lift back to Chalcot?”

  “I’ll get the bus,” Stanley said. He was leaning on a bollard and June noticed for the first time how tired he looked.

  “Why don’t we get a lift with Alex?” she said.

  “The bus is fine.”

  June shrugged. “I’ll get the bus back with Stanley, then. Thanks so much for helping, Alex.”

  “You’re more than welcome.” He gave her a wave, got into his car, and drove off.

  “You should have gone with him,” Stanley said.

  “Don’t be silly. I’ll come back with you.”

  “There’s no need—I’m perfectly capable of getting home on my own.” He turned and started walking toward the bus stop.

  June rushed to catch up with him. “I can’t believe you did that at the library. You’re Mrs. Bransworth’s new hero,” June said, but he didn’t respond. “Are you all right, Stanley?”

  “I’m fine, my dear. Just a little tired.”

  The bus pulled up and they got on. Stanley slumped down in a seat next to the window and closed his eyes. He’d seemed so buoyant throughout the occupation, but June could see now the toll it had taken on him. They didn’t talk the whole journey back to Chalcot, and as they started down the hill toward the village, June wondered if Stanley had fallen asleep. She didn’t know where he lived and she didn’t want him to miss his stop, but at the same time she didn’t want to disturb him. As she was about to touch his arm to wake him up, Stanley’s eyes snapped open and he stood up.

  “This is my stop,” he said, leaning forward to ring the bell.

  “You live out here?” They were still a good mile out of the village, surrounded by open fields.

  The bus slowed down and Stanley stood up to get off.

  “Would you like me to come back with you?” June asked.

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “But you don’t look great. Why don’t I walk you home?”

  “I said I’m fine.” June had never heard Stanley use such a curt tone. “Thank you for your concern, but I really am all right. Now, go home and we shall regroup at the library next week.”

  He disembarked and June turned in her seat to watch him as the bus drew away. He took a few steps forward and paused to lean on a fence post before setting off along a footpath that led into a field. June turned back to face the front. She’d never known Stanley to be so abrupt with her, but maybe he was simply tired after the occupation and being arrested. Besides, he wouldn’t appreciate her following him home like some kind of stalker, and it was really none of her business where he—

  “Stop the bus!”

  The driver slammed on the brake. “What’s wrong?”

 
“I’m sorry but I need to check if my friend is okay. Please can I get off here?”

  “I can only let you down at a designated stop.”

  “Please, it’s an emergency.”

  The driver shook her head, but the bus doors swung open and June jumped down. She hurried back up the road toward the bus stop. When she got there, she could see Stanley striding across the field toward some woods on the far side. June set off after him, but he was walking fast, and by the time she got to the woods, she was panting. The footpath carried on along the edge of the field, but June had seen Stanley head into the trees. What was he doing all the way out here? June had assumed there was nothing but farmland around here; she had no idea there were any houses.

  As she entered the woods, the trees closed in around her, cutting out the late-afternoon light. There wasn’t any kind of path and June found herself tripping over roots and low branches. Birds shrieked in the canopy above her, and more than once she had to grab hold of a branch to stop herself from falling over.

  “Stanley!”

  There was a squawk as some birds flew up in alarm, and her voice echoed through the trees. In the distance, June could make out some shafts of sunlight through the gloom, so she made her way toward them. At one point her foot slipped on some damp soil and June fell on her side, landing in some stinging nettles and swearing. She limped to the end of the woods and emerged into a clearing, brushing herself down.

  The first thing that struck June was how beautiful it was. She was standing on the edge of a small meadow, with long grass and wildflowers soaked in the August sunlight. She could hear water to her left and turned to see a small stream running along the edge of the woods, carrying tiny silver fish in its current. June’s eyes followed the stream’s path, and that’s when she saw it. Parked about thirty meters away, under the shade of a large oak tree, was a small, decrepit trailer. There were tangled vines growing up one side and a washing line strung between the trailer and the tree, on which hung a shirt and one pair of socks, swaying in the breeze.

  “Oh my god,” June said under her breath.

  The trailer door opened, and Stanley stepped out, pausing on the front step to take a long stretch. June’s instinct was to drop to the ground, but at that moment Stanley turned to look at her. His expression remained blank, and then he walked back inside.

  June’s stomach fell. What had she been thinking, following Stanley like some second-rate Nancy Drew? He’d made it very clear he didn’t want her to come to his home, and now she could see why. Poor, poor Stanley. She started back toward the trees, mortified, when she heard his voice call out after her.

  “I suppose you had better come in.”

  June headed back toward the trailer. When she got to the door, she hovered outside, unsure, then pushed it open and stepped in. The trailer was dimly lit, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. To her left was a narrow single bed, neatly made with a sheet and blanket. Against the far wall was what looked like a cooker and a small sink, on the side of which sat a single plate and mug. On the right was a small table covered in papers, at which Stanley was now sitting, watching her survey the trailer.

  “Stanley, I—”

  “You don’t have to say it,” he interrupted. “The look on your face is the very reason I never invite people to come here.”

  June tried to compose her features. “It’s lovely. Very . . . cozy.”

  “It does perfectly well for my needs.”

  “How long have you lived out here?”

  “Twelve years. Before that I was at a spot on the other side of the village, but I got moved on from there.”

  “I had no idea, Stanley. Does anyone else know you live here?”

  “One or two, but I prefer to keep it private.”

  June remembered their conversation about his being homeless in the past; it had never occurred to her that he might still be. She looked around again. Despite its small size, the trailer wasn’t cluttered: no pictures or souvenirs, no mementos of a life lived.

  “I wish you’d told me.”

  “Told you what?”

  “Well, you know . . . that you’re homeless.”

  “I’m not homeless,” he said, and there was a sharp edge in his voice. “Just because I choose to live here doesn’t mean I need your pity.”

  “I wasn’t pitying you,” June said, although she knew she wasn’t convincing either of them. “It must just be hard living all the way out here.”

  “It’s not that remote—it’s less than a two-mile walk into the village along the river. And soon I’ll be getting some damned new neighbors.” He pointed over his shoulder at the trees behind the trailer. “A new housing development is going up on the other side of this copse. Eighty flats and houses they’re building. The developers have been making my life hell.”

  “But what do you do for electricity and water?”

  “I get fresh water from that stream, which I boil up, and I have a gas canister for the cooker and heater. These do me for lights.” He pointed at two small camping lanterns on the table. “Plus, there’s the lovely clean facilities at the library, which I make liberal use of.” He winked at June as he said this, and she found herself smiling in return.

  “That’s why you’re always the first to arrive.”

  “Yet another reason why we must protect the library, my dear.”

  “But don’t the council have a duty to provide you with somewhere to live?”

  “What, and be put in some flat on the twentieth floor of a tower block?” Stanley shuddered. “No, thank you very much. I’d rather live out here.”

  “What if something happened to you?”

  “I’ve been looking after myself perfectly well for years. And whilst this might not be the Savoy, at least I’m free from prying eyes.”

  He didn’t say it unkindly, but June felt a flush of shame. “I’m so sorry, Stanley. I shouldn’t have followed you. I was worried about you, that’s all.”

  “I know you were, and I thank you for being such a good friend. But if you don’t mind, I’m rather tired, and I’d like to get some rest now.”

  “Of course.” June backed toward the door and paused. “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

  “I’ll be fine. Although it will be rather quiet after the last few days with you rabble in the library.”

  June hesitated. “You can always come and stay with me for a bit, you know. I have a spare room.”

  “Thank you, June, but this is my home.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  June slept deeply that night, the exhaustion of the past few days finally catching up with her. When she woke she lay with her eyes closed, listening out for the voices of her fellow protesters, before she remembered that the occupation was over and she was back at home. She sat up, taking in the familiar sights of her childhood bedroom: her favorite books on the bookcase, the quilt that her mum had made for her spread over the bed, her old teddy bear watching from the windowsill. June got up, pulled on her dressing gown, and went downstairs. Alan Bennett was sitting by the front door and gave a listless meow when he saw her.

  “Morning. Did you miss me?”

  He turned and stalked into the kitchen, and June followed. The room was silent apart from the rhythmic ticking of the clock. Had it always been this quiet in the house? June flicked on the old radio in the corner of the kitchen. A pop song blared out, too loud, and she turned it off again. She glanced at the clock: ten a.m. It was a bank holiday weekend, so the library wouldn’t be open again until Tuesday morning. That meant seventy-two hours before she’d see anyone again; seventy-two hours of reading and peace and quiet, on her own.

  Yet where once a long weekend at home would have filled June with joy, now she felt strangely restless. She went back upstairs, had a shower, and got dressed. She ate breakfast, washed up the dishes, and dusted the l
iving room. She read Wolf Hall for an hour but couldn’t concentrate, rereading the same page three times. What would Stanley be doing right now? Would he be alone in his trailer until the library opened again on Tuesday?

  June walked into the kitchen and opened the freezer. A microwave lasagna sat on the shelf, waiting for her. She looked at the clock again. Seventy hours until the library opened. Seventy hours until she’d talk to another soul.

  June grabbed her keys and headed out the front door. As she rang the bell next door, she realized she was still wearing her slippers.

  “June, what a lovely surprise!” Linda opened the door wearing chandelier earrings, fuchsia lipstick, and an apron with the figure of a bikini-clad woman on it.

  “Hi. I was wondering if you fancied a . . .” From inside the house, June heard voices. “Oh, I’m sorry to bother you, Linda. I didn’t realize you had guests.”

  “It’s just the family here for lunch. Come and join us.”

  “It’s not urgent. I’ll come round tomorrow,” she said, backing away. Linda often invited her to join their meals, but June had always declined, not wanting to intrude on family time.

  She turned to walk back to her empty home and the microwave meal for one. Behind her, she heard a peel of laughter from inside Linda’s, and June was reminded of the meals she’d eaten in the library over the past few days, sharing a table and food with others, chatting and laughing. Now that the occupation was over, she would be back to eating every meal alone.

  June turned around. “Actually, Linda, I’d love to join, if that’s okay?”

  “Of course it is, love.” Linda looked delighted. “I’m just carving the beef. Go on through to the living room and say hi to everyone.”

  Although Linda’s house was the same layout as June’s, her living room couldn’t have been more different. A huge flat-screen TV filled the wall where June had her bookshelves, and there were no ornaments cluttering up the surfaces, just a few family photos and the odd scented candle. Linda’s daughter Clare was sitting on the pristine cream sofa with her husband, their three kids sprawled on the floor, playing a board game with Linda’s son, Martin. Her middle child, Elaine, was there with Jackson, who jumped up as June walked into the room.