The Last Chance Library

by Freya Sampson

  But it wasn’t just the library campaign that changed my life, dear June. It was you. I know you will blush and disagree here, as is your wont. But the friendship you have shown me, the lack of judgment when I told you about my past and the optimism you held for my future, have helped to free me from some of the guilt I have been carrying. I will never forgive myself for the way I treated my wife and son, but you have allowed me to feel some joy—and dare I say it, hope—and for that I will be eternally grateful.

  Now to more recent events. Yesterday, I visited my solicitor in order to sign my Last Will and Testament. I can assure you that this was as much of a surprise to me as it must come to you. I have never had anything of any value to leave; and, if truth be told, I’ve never had anyone to leave it to. So, you ask, what has changed? Some time ago, I mentioned in passing to dear George Chen that I was coming under pressure from these wretched property developers, who want the land on which my trailer is parked. He suggested I contact his son, Alex, who as you are aware is a qualified solicitor. Alex, in turn, put me in touch with an acquaintance of his, Eleanor Davis, who is versed in adverse possession. I won’t bore you with the legal details, but it appears that because I have been living on this land for so long, I had a claim to ownership. It has taken Ms. Davis and me over a year to navigate the paperwork and endless red tape, but a few days ago word came through that I am now the registered owner of the plot of land which I call home.

  But alas, it appears I do not have long to enjoy it. My fall a couple of months back, and my subsequent trip to the Accident and Emergency Department at Winton Hospital, alerted me to the fact of a rather unfortunate mass on my brain. The wonderful doctors of the NHS offered me a number of tests and treatments, but that would have meant protracted periods in hospital and did not seem to offer any long-term solution. So, I have chosen to use what remaining time I have to fight for our beloved library. But the headaches have become much worse in recent days, and now I fear that the sleep of death is approaching fast. This is why I’m writing to you now, for in these final hours it gives me immense satisfaction and a sense of relief to know that I am able to leave something to you, my dearest friend.

  I have instructed my solicitor to proceed with the sale of this land to the property developers. I cannot imagine they will pay much for a small piece of scrubland, but I hope that the sale will leave you with a little money. You may do with it as you wish. My only request is that you consider using it to leave Chalcot and see something of the world. I once saw photos of the Klementinum in Prague, which has a magnificent frescoed, baroque Library Hall. Or I’m sure you’d love the Rose Reading Room in the New York Public Library. Whatever you choose to do with the money, I pray that you start to live your life again, my dear June.

  Now, I bid you farewell and thank you once again for the kindness you have shown me.

  Your friend,

  Stanley

  June looked up from the letter, blinking in the early-morning light. She remembered Stanley coming into the library months ago with a small bandage on his head and assurances that it was only a scratch, and he’d complained of headaches a few times. But a brain tumor? Surely he could have had an operation to remove it, or at least chemotherapy to give him longer to live. And why hadn’t he told her about it during the many long conversations they’d had together? The thought of his knowing that he was going to die and not telling anyone made June shiver.

  She looked out over the meadow, dew sparkling on the long grass. It was so tranquil, with no traffic or disturbance from the outside world, only the sound of birds and the wind in the trees. This peace would be gone soon, when the developer’s bulldozers moved in and concreted it over for whatever monstrosity they wanted to build. All trace of Stanley’s life here would disappear.

  June felt a buzzing in her pocket and pulled out her mobile phone. An unknown number flashed up on the screen. She pressed answer and held the phone to her cheek, still staring out into the meadow.

  “Hello, is that June Junes?” a male voice asked.

  “Speaking.”

  “Sorry to ring so early, I . . . damn . . . Hang on, I spilled coffee on a book. Shit, one sec . . .”

  June could picture David, the short, harassed-looking man she’d met at the job interview yesterday. Throughout their conversation he’d had a child’s sticker caught up in his graying hair, and June had spent the whole time wondering whether she should tell him.

  “Right, sorry about that. I just wanted to get this done before things get too hectic here.”

  Here it goes. The thanks but no thanks, you’re not quite what we’re looking for.

  “I discussed it with my colleagues yesterday and we all agreed you’d be a fantastic addition to the team. So, I’m delighted to offer you the role of full-time library assistant. Starting as soon as possible, ideally.”

  June blinked. “Really? Wow, that’s amazing! Thank you so much.”

  “Great. We’ll e-mail a contract and the details over to you. I look forward to you joining us.”

  June ended the call. Behind her she could hear the sound of the diggers starting up, the silence shattered by their mechanical grind. Two miles away, the first visitors would soon arrive at the library for its final day. And in her house, boxes of her mum’s belongings were waiting to be taken away. There really was nothing to keep June in Chalcot anymore, but for the first time in her life, that thought didn’t completely terrify her.

  June stood up, closed the trailer door, and made her way back toward the trees. As she walked, she looked at Stanley’s letter again. Her eyes scanned down the page and then paused on a line that she’d only glanced over before.

  Alex, in turn, put me in touch with an acquaintance of his, Eleanor Davis.

  Something clicked in June’s mind and she stopped in her tracks. She pulled her phone back out and scrolled through until she found the number she wanted. It was answered on the third ring.

  “Hi, it’s June. Are you busy? We need to talk.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  It was gone three by the time June arrived at the library.

  “Where the hell have you been?” asked Marjorie, who was standing at the issue desk. Or rather, where the issue desk had once been and where now there was just a chair.

  “I’m sorry,” June said. “Something came up.”

  “Can you believe they’ve taken the computers and desks? They’re vultures. Vultures!”

  June looked around her. All the tables and chairs had been removed and crates were stacked in the corner, waiting to be filled with books. The few patrons in the library were standing in front of the half-empty shelves, looking confused.

  “You think they’d at least have waited until we shut the doors at five,” Marjorie said, shaking her head.

  “Hi, June.” Chantal walked over to her. “I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and this will all be a bad dream.”

  “I know, Chantal.”

  “Leila and I went over to Winton Library this morning,” Vera said, joining them from the cookery section. “It’s a miserable place, big and impersonal. We wanted to find a cake recipe for Mahmoud’s birthday.”

  “Oh?”

  “He’s fifteen next week and Leila has invited me to join them for a family meal. I’ve said I’ll bake him one of those rainbow cakes,” Vera said.

  “What complete and utter shit this was.” June looked across to see Mrs. Bransworth marching through the door, waving a copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. “It’s a load of overprivileged kids and a bit of magic. Absolute crap. Ah, hello, June. How was the interview?”

  “It went well, thanks. They’ve offered me the job.”

  “That’s amazing news,” Chantal said, grinning. “When do you start?”

  “They said as soon as possible.”

  “Well, I’m pleased one good thing has come out o
f this damn library closure,” Mrs. B said. “Stanley would have been happy for you.”

  “About Stanley. I have some news.” June felt their eyes on her and swallowed. “I found a letter from him this morning.”

  “A letter from Stanley?” Jackson had appeared from the Children’s Room. “What did it say?”

  “Well, it turns out he had a will.”

  “What could he have possibly left in a will?” Marjorie said. “The poor man was homeless.”

  “In his letter, Stanley told me that he’d managed to claim rights to the land he was squatting on, and he’d decided to sell the land to the property developers.”

  “Why on earth would he do that?” Mrs. B said. “He hated those developers—they made his life hell.”

  “So, that’s the other thing. Stanley knew he was going to die.”

  “Oh, dear Lord,” Vera said, crossing herself. “That’s sent chills down my spine.”

  “He had a brain tumor, but he refused all treatment. I think, because he knew he was going to die, he decided to sell his land.”

  “The poor old bugger,” Mrs. B said, shaking her head. “But how does all of this involve you?”

  June felt her cheeks growing red. “Well, for some reason, Stanley decided to leave the money to me.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful.” Marjorie smiled at June. “He always had a soft spot for you.”

  “What are you going to do with the money?” Vera said.

  “If I were you, I’d get the hell out of this village,” Chantal mumbled.

  “I could. But there was one other idea I had.”

  June’s phone bleeped. There was a text message on her screen, just two words. It’s done.

  “What’s going on?” Mrs. B said.

  “It’s a message from Alex.”

  “For god’s sake, we don’t care about your love life. You were telling us about Stanley’s will.”

  “This is about Stanley. In his letter, he said that Alex had put him in touch with a solicitor, a woman called Eleanor. I called Alex this morning and he told me she’s his flatmate, Ellie, and she’s also been dealing with Stanley’s will and the sale of his land.”

  “Yes, and?” Mrs. B said.

  “Alex said that Stanley had expected to get ten to twenty thousand pounds for the land. But it turns out the property developers really want it, and they’ve offered Ellie almost one hundred thousand pounds.”

  “For a piece of derelict land? That’s insane.”

  “Apparently they want to build a luxury leisure complex, and Stanley’s plot of land is key to that.”

  “So, is all of that money yours?” Marjorie asked.

  “There are a few expenses that have to be paid from it, but Alex said I’ll end up with most of it.”

  Chantal’s eyes were wide. “Just think of all the things you could do with that much money.”

  “I’ve decided there’s only one thing I want to do with it.” June looked around her at the library and then at the group standing in front of her. “I want this building.”

  Five shocked faces stared back at her.

  “What?” Marjorie said.

  “The Cuppa Coffee sale has fallen through and the council are looking for a new deal, so Alex has contacted them about arranging a lease. That’s what he just texted me about.”

  “But what would you do with it?” Jackson said. “I mean, you don’t wanna live here, do you?”

  “No,” June said. “I want to keep it as a library.”

  “Have you gone completely bananas?” Marjorie was staring at her. “You seem to have forgotten that the council has shut us down. I mean, look at this place.” She gestured at the half-empty room.

  “So, I’ve just been to see Sarah Thwaite and the leader of the council about the library,” June said.

  “Are they going to save it?” Vera clasped June’s arm. “Please tell me they’ve changed their mind.”

  “I’m afraid not. Their decision on the library is final—they won’t pay for it anymore.”

  “Bastards,” Mrs. B said.

  “But they have agreed to consider an application to reopen it as a community library. The village would have to raise all the funds to run the library ourselves. But if we prove that we can do that, the council will lease us the book stock and all the technology, so we’d stay part of the library service.”

  “So, we’d still have a proper library here in Chalcot?” Chantal said. “That would be—”

  “Hold on a minute.” Mrs. Bransworth held up her hands to stop them all. “A community library isn’t a proper library. There wouldn’t even be a librarian, just volunteers. And, more importantly, we shouldn’t have to run the library ourselves. This is what we pay our taxes for and the council should provide it.”

  “I know, Mrs. B. I completely agree,” June said. “But the council aren’t going to provide it, are they? All they’ll give us is the mobile library once a fortnight. So, I know it wouldn’t be a proper library like we had before, but at least this way there could still be a space in the village where people can borrow books and have a safe place to go.”

  “I’d be happy to help run it,” Marjorie said. “As of today, I’m officially retired. And I’ve thrown that sniveling husband of mine out, so now I’ve got plenty of time on my hands.”

  “But I thought you wanted this place shut,” Mrs. B said. “You’ve never shown any interest in saving the library before.”

  Marjorie looked at her feet. “I was a fool. I was too scared of the council to get involved, and I believed Brian when he told me he was working behind the scenes to save the library. So now is my chance to make up for that.”

  “I’ll help too,” Vera said. “Maybe I could sell some cakes to raise money?”

  “I could write some more poems for us,” Jackson said.

  “And the council will let us do this, will they?” Marjorie asked June.

  “You’d need to put forward a bid showing how the library would be run and funded,” June said. “But Sarah and the council leader said they’d give a six-month window, during which time they won’t accept any other offers on the building.”

  “It’ll be a hell of a lot of work,” Marjorie said. “And I’m not having a subpar library in my village. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it properly.”

  “June, are you sure this is what you want to do with the money?” Chantal said. “Just think of all the things you could do with it.”

  “It’s not really my money, is it?” June said. “I think if Stanley had known how much his land was worth, he’d have used it for this. What Stanley wanted more than anything else was to save the library, and now, in a way, he can.”

  “I still think it’s bullshit,” Mrs. B said, frowning. “But you’re right: we owe it to Stanley to try to keep this place open.”

  “And what will you do?” Marjorie said, turning to June. “Will you stay and help us run it?”

  June didn’t immediately reply. She thought about her job offer at a large, well-resourced library. She thought about her house, full of her mum’s belongings in boxes. For a brief second Alex’s face flickered into her mind, and June pushed it out.

  “Well?” Marjorie said. “Are you with us or not?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  SEVEN MONTHS LATER

  June walked slowly up her front path. Through the window she could see the old red curtains, faded from the sunlight. Weeds poked up through the paving stones, and she bent down to pull one up. Her mum had always kept the front garden immaculate, with geraniums planted along the edge of the path, but over the years June had let things slip.

  “Can I help you?”

  A young woman was standing behind June, a shopping bag in each hand and a small curly-haired boy peering round from behind her legs.

 
“I’m here to see Linda.”

  “She lives next door, at number ten.”

  “Thanks.” June paused for a moment. Should she tell her who she was? All the correspondence had happened via solicitors, so June had never met the woman before.

  “This is my house.” The boy had stepped out from behind his mum and was staring at June. He must have been about four, the same age as she’d been when she first moved here.

  “It’s a lovely-looking house,” June said.

  “That’s my bedroom.” He pointed up at the top front window, to June’s old room. “It has pink walls, my favorite color.”

  “Come on, Danny, we need to go in for lunch,” his mum said, and she gave June a brief nod as she walked up the path toward the front door. But the boy didn’t move.

  “We have a garden as well,” he said. “I have a swing.”

  “That sounds wonderful. Can I ask you a question, Danny?”

  The boy nodded seriously.

  “Do you like reading stories?”

  “Yes. I can already read by myself and I haven’t even started big school yet.”

  “Well, can I tell you a secret?” June crouched down to his eye level. “Up in the loft of your house, at the very back behind the water tank, there’s a box of books that used to belong to the little girl who lived in the house.”

  Danny’s eyes were like saucers. “Are you joking me?”

  “No. She loved reading too, and she left them there for the next little boy or girl who lived here. So, they’re yours now.”

  “Come on, Danny, hurry up,” his mum called from inside.

  “What books are they?” he asked.

  “You’ll have to wait and see,” June said, and the boy grinned at her. “Good-bye, Danny. It was nice meeting you.”

  “Bye!” He charged past her and into the house. June heard him shouting, “Mum, there’s books for me in the—” And then the door slammed shut and it went quiet again.

  Smiling to herself, June crossed the driveway and rang the doorbell of number ten. She heard the familiar chime, and a moment later the door swung open and there was Linda, resplendent in an emerald green tracksuit and matching eyeshadow.