June wanted to turn and walk away, but it was like watching a car crash in slow motion. Marjorie started to cast around her wildly. It wasn’t clear to June what she was looking for, until she saw Marjorie’s eyes fall on the giant cheese board on the table behind her. Marjorie reached out, and for a moment June thought she was going to grab one of the cheese knives. But instead she lifted up a large wheel of Brie, the biggest June had ever seen, and spinning back round she slung the cheese with all her might at Brian’s head.
“Stop!” June shouted, but it was too late, as the white disk flew through the air, spinning two or three times before it hit Brian in the face. He staggered backward and fell against Gayle, who in turn started to topple over. Rupert reached out to grab her and the three of them collapsed onto the marquee floor. There was a moment of agonizing silence.
“We should go,” Alex whispered into June’s ear. She stared for a moment longer at the scene in front of her: at Gayle in a heap of ivory silk and lace, Brian’s Brie-smeared face, and Marjorie, her whole body shaking with rage.
June opened her mouth to say something, but she felt Alex take her hand, pulling her backward into the crowd, and she turned and followed him. As June walked away she heard Gayle shout, “How could you do this to me? On my wedding day!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
They drove away from the wedding as fast as they could, Alex’s car bumping along the country lanes, the headlights startling rabbits in the dark. June’s head was spinning from all the alcohol and she felt sick. She’d never meant to create a scene like that. Poor Marjorie—she’d been planning today for years, and June had brought the whole thing tumbling down.
“Was that woman your boss?” Alex asked as they reached the outskirts of Chalcot.
June nodded.
“God, I hadn’t realized that was her.”
“What do you mean?” She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the window to try to stop the dizziness. She really shouldn’t have drunk so much.
“You remember during the library occupation when I brought you guys a takeaway and no one knew who’d paid for it? Well, it was her.”
“What?” June opened her eyes and looked at Alex. “Marjorie ordered the food?”
“She came into the takeaway in the afternoon and paid by cash. I didn’t recognize her, so I assumed she was a protester.”
“Oh no!” June put her hands up to her face. “All along I thought she was plotting to destroy the library, and actually she’s been secretly supporting us.”
They pulled up outside June’s house, and Alex turned the engine off.
“Are you okay? You look really pale,” he said.
“I ruined the whole wedding.”
“It wasn’t your fault—Brian is the one to blame.”
“Also, I feel a bit sick.”
A panicked look crossed Alex’s face. “Let me help you out of the car.”
He rushed around and opened June’s door. She tried to stand on her own, but dizziness washed over her and she allowed Alex to help her to the front door. She dug around in her handbag for the front door key, but she couldn’t find it.
“Here, let me.” He took the bag from her, pulled out the key, and opened the door. “Do you want me to come in and get you some water?”
“It’s fine. I’ll be fine.” June leaned against the doorframe so she wouldn’t fall over. “I’m sorry. Forgot to eat.”
“Are you sure you’ll be all right?”
He gave June a look of such kindness that she felt her breath catch. What would she have done without Alex tonight? In fact, what would she have done without Alex for the past few months? June remembered Stanley’s words during the occupation, something about opportunities and seizing them.
“I should get home,” Alex said. He leaned toward June to give her a good-bye hug, and as he did, she moved forward as well. Their lips crashed against each other, knocking front teeth. June took hold of his shoulders to steady herself, closed her eyes, and waited for the kiss.
But nothing happened.
When she opened her eyes again, Alex was staring at her with a look of complete and utter terror.
“I . . . I’d better go,” he said, backing away.
“Alex—”
“See you soon.”
He was at the car door, yanking it open and jumping in. June heard the engine rev and the car pulled away. She stood on the doorstep and watched him go.
When he reached the corner and disappeared out of sight, June bent over and was sick in the flower bed.
* * *
• • •
June opened her eyes and closed them again. She lay in her self-imposed darkness and assessed the damage. Her head was pounding, and her mouth tasted acidic. She reached down and felt the fabric of her dress, which meant she must have passed out fully clothed. Fragments of last night replayed across her mind: Marjorie shouting, Gayle’s expression, the ripe Brie flying through the air like a discus. June let out a moan and buried her head in the pillow. She lay like that until nature’s call became too strong and she had to get up.
In the bathroom she stared at herself in the mirror: mascara smeared round her eyes, her skin deathly white. She swallowed two paracetamol and made her way back to the bedroom, passing Alan Bennett on the landing.
“What have I done?” she said to him, but he closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. June got back into bed and pulled the duvet over her head.
When she woke up again her headache had receded. She reached for her phone to check the time and saw four missed calls from Alex. At the sight of his name, June had a sudden flashback—her drunken attempt at a kiss, his look of horror as he backed away—and felt shame burn through her body. How could she have been so stupid? Stanley had been wrong—of course Alex didn’t have a soft spot for her. And he had a girlfriend, for god’s sake! June threw her phone on the floor in disgust and closed her eyes, but the image of his shocked face was burned onto her retinas.
June dozed on and off for the rest of the day, waking in blissful ignorance before she remembered and the pain came flooding back. What had happened at the wedding after she’d left? Had Gayle and Rupert spent the rest of their evening in newly wedded bliss? Or had they ended up having a huge argument, with screaming and tears and the guests leaving early, gossiping in hushed voices about it being the worst wedding they’d ever been to? And what about poor Marjorie? All this time June had been convinced that woman was out to destroy the library, when all along Marjorie had had no idea what her husband was doing. June put her head under the pillow and willed herself back to sleep.
She was woken by the sound of the doorbell. It was dark, the only light coming from the streetlamp outside her bedroom window. Who the hell could it be at this time of night? June rolled over and closed her eyes, but there it was again, the incessant ring. She reached for her phone where she’d discarded it under the bed this morning. There were six missed calls from Alex and one text message. PLEASE CALL ME ASAP. With a sinking feeling June got up, pulled on her dressing gown, and hurried downstairs. She opened the front door to see Alex standing on the doorstep.
“I’m sorry,” June blurted out before he could speak. “I shouldn’t have tried to kiss you.”
“June—”
“I’m so embarrassed. It was the alcohol. I didn’t know what I was doing. I know you don’t see me like that.”
“June—”
“Please can we forget it ever happened?”
“June. It’s Stanley.”
“What about him?”
“I’m so sorry. Stanley . . . he’s dead.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
They sat at the kitchen table drinking mugs of sugary tea while June listened to what Alex told her. Found in his trailer by a dog walker. The police think a couple of days. An image came into her head of Stanley lying alone on
that narrow single bed, waiting to be discovered, and she had to put a hand over her mouth to stop a sob escaping.
“Inspector Parks came into the takeaway to tell me,” Alex said. “They’re going to do a postmortem, but they don’t think it was anything suspicious.”
June shivered and pulled her dressing gown around her shoulders. “I should have seen that he was unwell. I should have been a better friend.”
“There’s nothing you could have done.”
“That’s not true.” She looked at Alex. “I knew he was living alone in that trailer, Alex. I found out after the library occupation, but I was so wrapped up in my own problems that I did nothing about it. Perhaps if I’d contacted social services or—”
“June, stop,” Alex interrupted. “You can’t beat yourself up about that. I knew about his living arrangements too.”
“You did?”
June watched him squirm in his seat. “I’ve known for a while, but Stanley made me promise not to tell anyone.”
“I don’t understand. How did you know?” June asked, but Alex was lost in thought and didn’t reply.
They sat in silence for a few minutes.
“We let him down,” June said. “He should never have been living like that.”
“I think he was happy there. And the library was like his second home.”
Tears started to spill down June’s cheeks. “I have to save the library. Stanley devoted everything to fighting for it. I can’t let him down again.”
Alex reached across the table, resting his hand on top of hers. June felt a flush of warmth and let it stay there for a moment, safe and comforting. Then she remembered his panicked getaway last night and pulled away.
“It’s late; you should get some rest.” As Alex stood up, his chair let out a loud scraping noise on the floor, and June winced.
“Thanks for coming round to tell me in person. I appreciate it.” She knew she should show him out, but she didn’t have the energy.
Alex stopped when he got to the kitchen door. “I almost forgot.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a book, then came back and placed it on the table. June saw it was The House at Pooh Corner. “Parks gave me this. He said they found it by Stanley’s bed. It belongs to the library.”
* * *
• • •
The following morning, June left the house at ten. There was only one place she wanted to be today, even if it was the one place she wasn’t allowed to be.
As she walked toward the library, its old clock tower rising above the Parade, June felt a wave of emotion crashing over her. She remembered approaching the building as a child, holding her mum’s hand and feeling such anticipation about what wonderful stories and adventures she’d find inside. She remembered all those days she’d walked this route to work, when the library had been a comfort, a form of security. But today, all she felt was an overwhelming sadness. Never again would she unlock that front door and find Stanley waiting for her, smiling and talking about the weather. Never again would she be able to chat to him as she shelved returns or help him with the crossword.
Chantal was the first person to spot June as she walked into the library. “Have you heard?” she asked, her eyes red. “Stanley was in here on Thursday, talking about FOCL and the campaign. He was sitting just there . . .”
June followed Chantal’s gaze over to the chair where Stanley always sat. This morning it was empty, although someone had placed a neatly folded copy of the Telegraph on the seat.
“I heard they found him in some trailer on the edge of the village, no heating or electricity. Can you believe it?”
“He was very private,” June said carefully.
“He was like a grandpa to me,” Chantal said, her eyes glistening.
June heard a familiar voice to her left, and she turned to see Marjorie emerging from her office. June braced herself for the onslaught, but when Marjorie looked up she gave a strained smile.
“I heard about Stanley—” June started.
“Of course, it’s only right you should be here,” Marjorie said.
“How did your daughter’s wedding go?” Chantal said.
Marjorie’s jaw tightened. “It was lovely, thank you.”
“I’ve finished this and it’s a disgrace. Why anyone reads this shit I do not know.”
They turned around to see Mrs. B striding through the door, brandishing a copy of Hamlet. She stopped when she saw them all huddled together. “What’s going on? Is there news from the council?”
No one said anything, so June stepped forward. “I’m afraid I have some bad news, Mrs. Bransworth. Stanley’s dead.”
June saw her draw a quick intake of breath.
“Was he here?”
“No.”
“Alone?”
June nodded and Mrs. B closed her eyes. When she opened them again, it was with a look of determination. “You all know what we need to do now.”
“There’s less than two weeks of the consultation left,” June said. “I think we should stage a protest at county hall, see if we can get loads of young people involved this time. Maybe they could even do a school strike?”
“I’ll message all my friends from school,” Chantal said.
“I’m not sure there’s much point.” They all looked at Marjorie, who in turn was staring at June. “You were right, June. Brian finally confessed everything yesterday, although only after I threatened to leave him.”
Mrs. B frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m afraid not everything has been aboveboard,” Marjorie said. “A coffee chain has set its sights on this building and they’ve been paying my husband to help them. They’ve made a ridiculous financial offer for this place. There’s no way the council will turn it down.”
“You bastards!” Mrs. B shouted. “You and your damned husband—”
“This has nothing to do with Marjorie,” June interrupted. “She was as surprised about this as we are.”
“If it’s dodgy, then can’t we go to the police?” Chantal said.
“I’m not sure it will be possible to prove anything,” Marjorie said. “They’ve been very careful; there’s no e-mail trail or evidence of any conversations. My husband appears to be smarter than he looks.”
“But he confessed to you,” June said.
“He’ll deny it,” Marjorie said. “Not that I care. He can be arrested and thrown into prison. I’ve had enough of that bloody man and his lies.”
“Marjorie—” June desperately wanted to apologize for what had happened at the wedding, but Marjorie had already turned away.
“We have to report this to the police,” Chantal said. “We can’t let them get away with this.”
“You’re right, Chantal, but it won’t save the library.” Mrs. B shook her head. “These things take months to investigate, by which time the council will have made their decision about this place. And even if the coffee company loses the building, someone else will buy it instead.”
“So what, are we just giving up?” Chantal said. “After everything we’ve done, are we really walking away?”
“We have to go to the council meeting when they vote on the library,” June said. “Stanley was the one who suggested it, so we have to go and make them listen. It’s our last hope.”
June spent the rest of the morning inside the library. Her access to the network had been blocked, but she busied herself with visitor queries and tidying the shelves. She assisted a woman with her universal credit online, and when a young boy with dyslexia came in, June helped him choose some books. It felt good to be back here among the shelves and the people, having a purpose again. But every now and then June would hear someone walk in through the front doors, shuffling their feet or whistling, and she would look up expecting to see Stanley’s smiling face. And then she’d remember and feel t
he loss all over again.
The library closed at one o’clock, and June found herself alone in the building with Marjorie. As her boss dealt with some paperwork in the office, June sat down at one of the public computers where Stanley had spent so many hours. She opened up a browser and typed in a web address. When it asked for the password, she paused. Was it illegal to log in to someone else’s e-mail account? Stanley had told her his password many times, so it was hardly hacking. June’s fingers hovered over the keyboard and then she typed it in.
The inbox sat empty, not one single e-mail. She clicked on “Sent Items” and saw the same. Then June clicked on “Drafts” and the screen was suddenly filled with dozens if not hundreds of messages. All to the same e-mail address, with subjects like “Greetings from rainy England” and “Update on our library battle.” It took June a moment to work out what was going on, and when she did her heart ached.
Stanley had written all these e-mails to his son but never had the courage to send them.
The most recent message had been composed on Thursday, four days ago. It must have been Stanley’s last day in the library. June hovered the cursor over it. She wanted to read the words and hear her friend’s voice again. How had he been feeling? Was he unwell? Was he happy?
She stared at the mailbox for a moment longer, then scribbled something down and turned off the computer. These weren’t her e-mails to read.
* * *
• • •
That evening, June considered making pasta pesto for her dinner but at the last minute she headed up to the Golden Dragon. George was standing behind the counter as she walked in.
“Your usual?”
“Hi, George. Please can I have some fish-fragrant aubergine, steamed rice, and your green beans with chili?”
He looked at her in astonishment, raised an eyebrow, then walked into the kitchen. A moment later Alex appeared.
The Last Chance Library Page 20