The Telephone Box Library

by Rachael Lucas

  ‘It gets more interesting by the second.’

  Feeling her cheeks going pink, Lucy lifted the binoculars again and studied the landscape for a moment. She couldn’t get them to focus at all – everything was hazy and blurred – but it gave her a second to gather her thoughts. She looped them over her neck and handed them back to Sam. He still had the ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

  ‘Susan’s been a help, too. I’m going to have tea with two of the women who live in the Abbeyfield retirement house, thanks to her. They’re both in their nineties and have lived here in the village all their lives.’

  ‘Sounds like you’ve settled in pretty well.’

  In the distance, the ancient woods beyond the village marked the entrance to Lawcott Manor, the big house that had been requisitioned during the war for use as a military hospital. There was so much history here in this one little village, and every corner she turned seemed to lead to another story.

  ‘Not a bad place to live, is it?’ Sam was shading his eyes against the sun, looking out at the village.

  ‘At first I was surprised to find how many people seem to have stayed here all their lives. But there’s something about it, isn’t there?’

  He nodded. ‘Nice to belong somewhere, I think. That’s what I wanted for Freya. I think especially with – well, she’s only got me. I wanted her to have roots.’

  ‘Give them roots and wings,’ she said, thoughtfully. ‘That’s an old saying, isn’t it?’

  ‘Think so. I didn’t exactly travel far, mind you.’

  ‘Are your parents still in the village?’

  Sam shook his head. ‘No. I didn’t know my dad, and my mum passed away last year.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay. We weren’t all that close.’

  ‘Still hard, though.’

  ‘Yeah.’ A muscle jumped in his cheek. ‘It’s why I want to make sure Freya’s got people around her – friends, instead of family.’

  ‘She gets on well with Bunty, doesn’t she?’

  ‘Very much so.’ He laughed. ‘Bunty’s a real crossword whiz. She’s been training Freya up for years. She says she wants to join GCHQ when she leaves school, or HMGCC. One of the two.’

  ‘What’s HMGCC?’

  ‘It’s based near here – technological whizz kids creating all sorts of communication equipment for the government. Bunty was the one who pointed her in that direction. I half wonder if it’s something to do with what she did in the war.’

  Lucy looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Really?’

  ‘Mmm. She doesn’t talk about it much, but I’ve picked up the odd thing here and there.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Lucy thought of Henry’s comments when they were sharing a cup of tea. ‘I’m trying to get to the bottom of it, but she’s definitely taken the whole Loose Lips Sink Ships thing to heart.’

  ‘Different generation, I think.’ He turned around, leaning against the wooden frame of the treehouse so he was looking directly at her. He shaded his eyes from the sun and met her gaze. ‘You wouldn’t catch Bunty spilling all on social media.’

  ‘Nor me,’ Lucy wrinkled her nose. ‘I mean, we were advised against it because of work – you just can’t take the risk when you’re a teacher – but it’s not really my sort of thing.’

  ‘Me neither.’ He motioned towards the steps. ‘Shall we go back down?’

  She climbed down cautiously after him, and he caught her hand as she hopped off the bottom step.

  ‘It’s lovely. But I’m quite glad to be back on solid ground.’

  They headed back through the gardens.

  ‘I went to Bletchley the other day.’ She grazed a hand across a huge, blowsy rose. The petals fell off and landed on the ground in a little heap. ‘Oops.’

  ‘I won’t tell,’ said Sam. ‘I haven’t been to Bletchley Park for years. If you’re going again and you want company, shout. I bet Freya would love it –’ He stopped himself, looking awkward, and shook his head. ‘Sorry. You’re probably really busy doing research stuff. You don’t want us tagging along.’

  ‘Actually, I thought I’d like to take Bunty sometime. We could make a day of it?’

  ‘I’d love that.’ Sam pulled the gate shut and locked it, checking with a shove that it was secure. ‘I make treehouses that aren’t in the air, too, y’know,’ he added.

  ‘Definitely more my kind of thing. But don’t you need a tree to build a treehouse?’

  ‘Ah.’ He smiled. His expression lit up when he was talking about work, she noticed. ‘They’re set around the trunk, sometimes. I made one from an old oak that had been struck by lightning. I’ll show you one sometime, if you like.’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘Only if you’re not too busy.’

  Lucy shook her head. ‘I’m busy doing nothing, really. That’s the whole point of my time here.’

  ‘Must be pretty nice to be able to just relax and take some time out.’

  She nodded, remembering something Freya had said, and glanced at him as they were walking back down the lane.

  ‘Freya was telling me at the Abba night that she reads a lot.’

  ‘God, yes. All the time. She was obsessed from the moment she could read. I dunno where she got it from – I’m not really a reader, and her mum – well, Stella wasn’t really, either. But I used to take her to baby and toddler class at the library, and we always chose a book at the end. I think that’s probably where it started.’

  ‘That’s a good thing, though.’

  ‘Of course. I’m just not – well, I wasn’t ever that keen on school. I was always happier outside doing stuff than stuck in a classroom.’

  ‘Maybe you just had the wrong teachers.’ Lucy raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Maybe.’ He cocked an eyebrow.

  ‘It’s so pretty here, isn’t it?’

  ‘Gorgeous. It’s funny – I take it for granted a bit, because I’ve grown up with it. But coming out here now, with you – well, it’s making me look at it differently.’

  She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, a voice carried over from behind the hedge on the corner.

  ‘Well, hello.’

  It was Beth from the shop, wearing a pair of huge 1950s-style sunglasses and her red hair tied back with a polka-dot ribbon. ‘Nice day for a walk,’ she said. Lucy noticed her giving Sam a not-very-discreet wink.

  ‘I was just showing Lucy the treehouse up at Janet’s place. It’s nearly finished,’ he said. ‘You could come and have a look too if you like sometime.’

  ‘Me?’ She put a hand to her chest. ‘I wouldn’t want to intrude.’ She gave Lucy a knowing smile. ‘Nice to see you settling in.’

  ‘Oh God.’ Sam shook his head after they’d walked out of hearing distance, then put both hands up to cover his face. ‘I apologize in advance for any village gossip that might ensue as a result of that one-minute conversation.’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve heard Beth likes to be on top of what’s going on.’

  ‘That’s one way of putting it.’ He snorted with laughter. ‘She’ll have us married off by the time you get back to your place. Honestly, she’s a nightmare.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Lucy said. ‘She’s well aware I’m only here temporarily.’

  Although, for the first time, Lucy felt a pang of sadness as she imagined leaving Little Maudley. Definitely the village, not the man walking by her side, she told herself, firmly. And she had to get back to work sometime. Life for her was in Brighton, not in this sleepy little village where the biggest concern was whether or not the phone box was due to be decommissioned. Talking of which, she’d been cornered by Helen the other day, looking for her thoughts on the subject. She’d tried to tread carefully, but found herself looking up telephone boxes and their history afterwards – once a historian, always a historian. She smiled to herself at the thought. She had to admit it would be a shame to lose the iconic red box from the green – it had stood at the heart of the village for a century, seen the war and countless changes over
the years. No wonder Bunty had looked so upset when she’d mentioned Helen’s plans to have it whipped out and replaced with a bench and a floral display. It might not be used as a phone box these days – Lucy had tried and failed to remember the last time she’d made a call from one – but it seemed almost brutal to just wipe it out because it wasn’t needed any more. It was part and parcel of village life, like the shiny red post box and the old metal pump that stood beside it on the green.

  They carried on down the path, walking side by side. Lucy felt very aware of Sam’s physical presence, and when their arms brushed as she swerved to avoid a low-hanging branch, she pulled hers back and moved away quickly. It was ridiculous, feeling like that. She’d spent far too much time hanging out in the company of male teaching colleagues to feel awkward about walking perfectly innocently down a country lane with a neighbour. Even if (she had to admit to herself) he was a particularly good-looking one.

  Chapter Eleven

  She woke up the next morning still thinking about the telephone box, and it stayed in her mind as she pottered around making tea and tidying the cottage. With his usual last-minute timing, her brother Tom had texted – waking her up – at six in the morning to say he’d be in Oxford that evening, if she fancied joining him.

  I’ll have to check with Mel and see if she’ll take Hamish, she’d texted in reply, half-asleep. It wasn’t until a couple of hours later, when she was coming home from taking Hamish for a morning walk, that she remembered Mel had mentioned something about being away for a few days.

  ‘Don’t worry at all,’ Bunty said cheerfully when she explained. ‘I’m more than happy to have my little chum round for the evening. Don’t rush back tomorrow morning. How nice to spend some time with your brother.’

  Later that evening, Lucy looked at Hamish, who was spread-eagled on the warm, pale golden stone of Bunty’s garden terrace. He opened one eye briefly, and gave her a brief wag of his tail.

  Bunty smiled briefly. ‘As I said, he’s not exactly any trouble.’

  She had a copy of the local newspaper folded on the faded, silvered wood of the garden table, and a glass of water sitting beside it. Hamish looked quite at home.

  ‘And my other little friend, Freya, said she might pop round in a while, too.’

  As if she’d been summoned, Freya appeared – first her head popping over the garden gate, then an arm reaching through the honeysuckle and unfastening the catch.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘How lovely to see you, my dear. Lucy’s leaving us Hamish.’

  ‘Oh, good.’ Freya bent down to ruffle the hair behind his ears. ‘So,’ she said, cocking her head to one side and looking at Lucy with her eyebrows raised, ‘I heard you were out with Dad?’

  Even the teenagers here didn’t miss a trick. ‘Yes. He took me to see Janet’s treehouse that he’s been working on.’

  ‘Cool. It’s really nice, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s lovely. He’s really talented.’

  She caught a brief glance that was exchanged between Freya and Bunty but pretended not to notice. She wasn’t going to be the victim of multi-generational matchmaking, no matter how handsome Sam might be. And Freya had enough on her mind right now, without anything else to think about.

  Freya sat down on the chair next to Bunty and hooked one leg over the arm, dangling her flip-flop off the end of her big toe. Lucy was just leaning down to give Hamish a final scratch behind the ears before leaving, when Freya spoke.

  ‘I’ve been thinking.’

  Lucy straightened up, dusting dried-up pelargonium flowers from the knee of her jeans.

  ‘You know how they’re closing the library?’

  ‘Yes, I read about it in the Advertiser.’ Bunty tutted. ‘It’s ridiculous. This country is falling to rack and ruin. What are we without libraries? We worked hard for all these public services, and now the government is whipping them away faster than we can do anything about it.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Freya nodded emphatically. ‘And you know how they’re trying to get rid of the phone box?’

  Bunty tightened her lips and shook her head crossly. ‘Completely ridiculous. Sometimes I think I’ve just had enough of the people in this village.’

  ‘Actually, Lucy, you might be able to help with this?’ Freya looked up at her, pushing her long hair back from her face and winding a lock of it around her finger, thoughtfully. She pulled her phone out from the pocket of her cut-off jeans. ‘I’ve been reading about things you can do with phone boxes . . .’

  Bunty looked at Lucy – a very brief look, with her eyebrows lifted in admiration. She pushed up her cardigan sleeve and peered in at Freya’s phone. ‘Let me just get my specs. I can’t see a thing on those tiny screens. Now where did I leave them?’

  ‘They’re round your neck,’ Freya giggled. ‘Okay, look.’

  They all gathered round the screen of Freya’s phone. Lucy shaded her eyes to stop the sun from glaring off the glass, and realized that she was looking at a telephone box just like the one in the village, only this one was decked out with flowerboxes on either side and a brightly coloured sign in one of the windows.

  ‘Village Library,’ Freya read out.

  ‘Oh, that’s gorgeous.’ Lucy’s heart lifted.

  ‘Well, I never.’ Bunty leaned in for a closer look. ‘And who runs this library?’

  ‘Oh, it’s done by people in the village. They swap books every few months, and it’s all done on goodwill.’

  It was absolutely perfect. A telephone box library would give the dilapidated old phone box a new purpose, and the village a focal point that everyone would be able to appreciate. Lucy could imagine mothers and toddlers pottering along to exchange picture books, and elderly residents like Bunty would have a reason to get out and chat to people.

  ‘You have to admit that Helen Bromsgrove would have an absolute field day with this idea, if she wasn’t desperate to rip it down.’ Bunty looked thoughtful.

  ‘Precisely. I showed Dad, and he said it wouldn’t be that hard to fit it out with shelves and stuff, and apparently they just sign the phone box over to the village committee.’

  ‘That sounds like a far more sensible idea than ripping it out,’ said Bunty. She gave a sigh – it sounded like one of relief to Lucy, although she still couldn’t work out why Bunty had any reason to be particularly attached to the phone box. Just a strange suspicion that there was something – and she was still working, slowly and carefully, not prying or asking too many questions, to get Bunty to share her stories of wartime in Little Maudley.

  ‘Dad said I should talk to you and see if we can make a plan, and try and persuade Helen to bin her plans to demolish it.’

  ‘Of course, it’s a great idea.’ Lucy looked at her watch. ‘But I must be going, or I’ll be late for dinner in Oxford with my brother. Why don’t we walk up to the village hall tomorrow for the meeting – I’ll call for you at about half past six?’

  ‘Deal.’ Freya beamed with happiness.

  She was a sweet girl, Lucy thought, waving them both goodbye and giving Hamish a brief pat. Sam had clearly done a good job of bringing her up. It was always interesting to see just how keen teenagers were to get involved in campaigns for thing like this. Despite the bad press they always seemed to be getting, in her experience most of them were passionate about something – whether it was the environment or animals. It was just a case of working out what it was that lit them up. And Freya had clearly taken a shine to this idea. It was lovely to see.

  ‘Lucy?’

  Freya popped her head out of Bunty’s gate. Lucy had been just about to get in the car, and paused with one hand on its open door.

  ‘Can I ask you something?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Freya stepped onto the path and faced her. She put her hands on her hips and looked indecisive for a moment.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I don’t want to be rude, but – I went to the shop to get some crisps earlier and Beth was there, te
lling Margaret – Bunty’s Margaret – that you and Dad were wandering around the lanes together and there was definitely something going on. I said that there was definitely not.’

  Lucy opened her mouth to speak. Village gossip travelled even faster than she thought it would.

  ‘There isn’t, is there?’ Freya narrowed her eyes, as if sizing Lucy up. She lifted her pointed little chin slightly.

  ‘No.’ Lucy shook her head, decisively.

  ‘It’s just that there are always all these women around – I mean, when he’s working and stuff – and they’re all, well –’

  ‘We’re just friends.’ And barely that, Lucy added silently. They’d only spent the briefest of times together, but this sharp-eyed reaction from Freya was a shot across her bows. It was clear that they were a tight-knit unit, and Lucy wasn’t going to get in the way of that.

  She headed south towards Oxford, thinking how different Freya’s close relationship with Sam was from hers with her own mother. Despite her being the youngest, somehow she’d always been dubbed the sensible one. ‘You’re my good girl, Luce,’ her mother would say, as she heaped responsibility on her and allowed Tom to run amok. Tom was the blue-eyed boy, not expected to be anything other than charming and feckless – her mother’s type, it had become apparent over the years, as one man after another moved in and then out of their colourful, busy Brighton terrace. When her mum finally decided that Roger was the one, Lucy was so exhausted by the comings and goings of her family that she was secretly quite relieved to wave her mum off at Heathrow Airport to her new life in Darwin. Thankfully Tom had settled down over the last couple of years too.

  She tapped the steering wheel in irritation as the traffic snarled to a standstill. Despite finding Tom’s careless charm frustrating when they were growing up, Lucy was looking forward to seeing her big brother. They’d always been close, in that way that children of slightly unconventional families often were, and looked out for each other, supporting each other through the ups and downs of their mum’s love life. And he seemed to be settling down – a bit. At the very least, he’d found a demanding job that seemed to be occupying most of his attention.