The Telephone Box Library

by Rachael Lucas

  ‘How is she?’ She fiddled with the button on her shirt, twisting the fabric around her finger.

  ‘Good. Surprisingly good. I mean, at the moment it’s the honeymoon period, isn’t it? Stella’s taken her out for lunch today, and they’re going to the cinema.’ He frowned slightly, biting his lip. ‘I do feel a bit like I’m the one going on about making sure she doesn’t forget her homework and tidies her room, and Stella gets to come in and do all the fun mum stuff.’

  ‘That’s teenagers for you. Right now she’s focusing on what’s in front of her. They can be incredibly perceptive and thoughtful one moment, and as self-absorbed and thoughtless as toddlers the next. That won’t last.’ Lucy thought for a moment. ‘She’s always going to know that you’re the one who brought her up and kept her safe.’ She reached out a hand and touched his arm lightly. ‘That bit matters.’

  He nodded. ‘I guess you’re right.’

  ‘I usually am,’ she said, with a note of amusement in her voice.

  He smiled and shook his head. ‘So what’s the plan with Susan? What have you been up to?’

  ‘Oh, you know; partying, hanging out with the stars, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Yep. Definitely.’

  ‘We were finishing off the booklet for the WI anniversary. They’re having a little celebration on the thirtieth, if you fancy it?’

  ‘I dunno – it sounds a bit rock and roll for me.’ He gave a teasing smile.

  Lucy shook her head, laughing. ‘Yeah, all right. I admit it’s not exactly a glamorous book launch.’

  ‘I think it’s lovely,’ he said, sincerely. ‘You didn’t have to do any of this village stuff, and you’ve really thrown yourself into it. I heard Beth telling someone the other day that she thinks you’ve really settled in well. It’s a shame you’ve got to –’ He stopped himself.

  A knot tightened in her stomach. ‘I didn’t mean to get so caught up in it all. It just sort of – happened.’

  His eyes met hers and neither of them spoke for a moment.

  ‘Anyway.’ She cleared her throat.

  ‘Yes.’ Sam pulled his phone out of his back pocket. ‘I better get going. I’ve got places to go . . .’

  ‘Treehouses to build.’

  ‘That sort of thing. Exactly.’

  She watched him spin round on his heel and head to the Land Rover, climbing in and closing the door. As he drove off, he gave a wave. The knot in Lucy’s stomach tightened a little bit more.

  The WI anniversary celebration was a big event in the village calendar. Lucy arrived at the village hall to find it decked with floral bunting, and Helen and all the local worthies milling about in smart clothes. Music from the 1940s was playing through the speakers, and the photographs had been displayed on a brightly coloured wall chart which went from 1939 to the present day, dotted with various notices and ephemera that had been handed in, as well as some of the artwork and crafts made by the women of the village.

  ‘Here we are,’ said Susan, resplendent in a green suit and blouse which looked more suitable for a garden party at Buckingham Palace than a damp October evening in a village hall. ‘The guest of honour!’

  Lucy looked around to see who she was talking about.

  ‘You, my dear.’ Susan took her arm and led her to the top of the hall, where a stack of books was sitting on a table. They looked very smart – Susan had clearly turned on the charm with her nephew, because rather than the soft-covered booklets she’d been expecting, they were very handsome-looking green books with a pretty line drawing of the village printed on the front, and ‘Little Maudley WI, 1939–2019’ along the top. She opened one. Inside, there was a list of contributors – all the villagers she and Susan had spoken to – and underneath, her name was printed in black and white. Lucy Evans – editor. She turned to Susan, her heart soaring with happiness.

  ‘They look amazing!’

  Susan beamed. ‘Don’t they just? I think we’ve rather outdone ourselves.’

  ‘Hello, my dear,’ said Henry, the elderly man she’d interviewed about his time working as an ARP warden alongside Bunty’s husband Len. ‘I wondered if I might trouble you for your signature?’

  Lucy looked at Susan.

  ‘Go on, dear. Here you are – I brought a nice pen, just in case.’

  She rifled in her green handbag and pulled out a lovely fountain pen. Lucy took off the lid and bent over the table, signing her name on the flyleaf. She looked up at Henry, whose eyes were twinkling.

  ‘You’ve done a wonderful job with this, my dear. It’s a shame the village will be losing you.’

  Lucy swallowed back a wave of sadness that threatened to wash over her. When she spoke, her voice wobbled slightly. ‘Thank you.’ She straightened up, and was surprised when Susan – not normally demonstrative – put an arm around her shoulders and spun her round to face the room.

  ‘Ladies, gentlemen.’ Her voice was loud and clear. ‘A moment, please.’

  Helen looked up from the side of the room where she’d been organizing teas. Lucy suspected that Susan had sneaked in with an announcement before Helen could take over. The WI power struggles were amusing to behold. Susan – seeing Helen mouthing something – carried on regardless.

  ‘Now, I have someone here who has worked incredibly hard – and for no reward – to bring together this little book, this wonderful book. And I wanted to take a moment, before we all get stuck in to the tea and cakes, to say how much I have appreciated her help.’

  Henry turned to look at Lucy, giving her a wide smile.

  ‘Lucy only came to the village for a short time, and has been kind enough to spend a lot of that time helping us out. I’d like to raise a toast.’

  Lucy looked across the room and spotted Bunty, who normally avoided anything to do with the WI like the plague (‘I don’t like jam, or “Jerusalem”, or being organized’). She lifted a casual hand in greeting and gave a small smile. Lucy beamed and waved back.

  ‘To Lucy, with huge thanks.’

  ‘To Lucy!’ The room echoed with voices toasting her name. Lucy felt a rush of warmth for this funny little village and all the people who lived there, and even for – well, perhaps not quite for Helen.

  ‘Susan! I can’t believe you’ve pre-empted my speech. I had it all written down on my iPad, look.’ Helen hurtled across the room, her voice low but her eyes narrowed in disapproval.

  ‘We don’t need a ten-minute speech, Helen,’ said Susan, squaring her shoulders as if preparing for a fight. ‘I just wanted everyone to thank Lucy for her work, and then we can get on with enjoying a nice glass of bubbly and some cake.’

  ‘Well,’ said Helen, who’d been well and truly shut up. She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times like a furious guppy, then marched off to find her husband.

  ‘He’s going to get it in the neck now,’ said Henry, sagely.

  ‘Look at this,’ said Bunty a while later, as they leafed through the booklet together. She pointed to a photograph. ‘There’s Milly, my schoolteacher friend. What a lovely surprise.’

  ‘That was given in by one of the women from the village. She said it was on the wall in her aunt’s house.’

  Bunty peered forward. ‘I remember the day that photograph was taken. Milly borrowed that dress from me.’

  They turned a few more pages.

  ‘Gosh, this all takes me back. I have to admit,’ Bunty said, turning to Susan, ‘it’s been rather nice to have this little trip down Memory Lane.’

  ‘Not too late to join us,’ Susan said, hopefully.

  ‘I think perhaps that ship has sailed,’ said Bunty, laughing wheezily. ‘But you’ve done a wonderful job. And so have you, Lucy.’

  ‘Hello!’

  Freya appeared from nowhere between them.

  ‘Come to join, have you?’ Bunty laughed.

  ‘I don’t think it’s my sort of thing.’ She shook her head. ‘But I wanted to come and have a look at the photos, and see Lucy’s book. Can we buy a copy?’


  ‘I’ve got one already.’ Sam’s voice made Lucy turn, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. He was holding a copy. ‘It looks amazing.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Let me see.’ Freya took it out of his hands, and a moment later somehow she and Bunty had disappeared together, leaving Sam and Lucy alone by the wall of photographs. Lucy fiddled with her hair, catching a strand in her fingers and twirling it.

  ‘I didn’t think the WI was your sort of thing. Are you even allowed to be here, with the whole being male thing?’

  ‘It’s not my sort of thing at all.’ Sam indicated the group of elderly women to their left. ‘I just thought I’d come and cheer you on.’

  ‘That’s really nice of you.’

  ‘I am nice.’ His eyes sparkled with amusement.

  ‘Ah, Sam,’ said Helen, who had no ability to read the room whatsoever. She was bearing her iPad, which was open on a list-making app. ‘Just the man I wanted to see. Now, about the bonfire.’

  Sam shot Lucy a look that spoke volumes.

  ‘And you, Lucy – just checking you’re still happy to help out with choosing the books for the library?’

  ‘And me!’ Freya reappeared. ‘I want to help, too.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Helen typed Books – Lucy and Freya onto her iPad. ‘Just let me know when. I’ve got a surprising number of boxes already, just from village donations.’

  ‘I hope they’re not all boring,’ said Freya. ‘I’m relying on the telephone box library to keep me in reading material.’

  ‘I think you’ll be quite happy with what we’ve got so far,’ said Helen, briskly. ‘Now, Sam, back to what we were talking about –’

  ‘Lucy,’ said Susan, tapping Lucy on the arm. ‘There’s a man here from the Advertiser who would like to take a photograph.’

  By the time Lucy had finished having her photograph taken, sitting side by side with Susan behind a table with a pile of the books and posing with Henry by the photograph display on the wall, Freya had nipped across to tell her that they were going home. Mel, who had popped in briefly, gave her a kiss on the cheek and bought a copy of the commemorative book, then scarpered.

  ‘Sorry, it’s not you, it’s me. I’m allergic to this sort of thing. Plus the dogs are at home.’

  ‘The dogs are always at home.’

  ‘I’ve left the kettle on.’ Mel stuck out her tongue, laughing. ‘Something like that. Come and see me tomorrow.’

  ‘I can’t. I’m going down to Brighton. Need to have a chat at the school and work out what I’m doing next.’

  Mel looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Don’t talk about that. I don’t want you to leave me to the tender mercies of Helen.’

  ‘You’ve got Sam.’

  ‘Yeah, and Stella’s back on the scene.’ She made a face. ‘Everything’s changing and I don’t like it.’

  ‘I’ll come and see you when I get back,’ said Lucy.

  ‘Let’s go to the bonfire? We can drink mulled wine and toast marshmallows.’ Mel wrapped her scarf around her neck and fastened her coat. The weather wasn’t messing around this autumn – there was a chill in the air, and the forecasters were even talking about a white Christmas.

  ‘Now you’re talking. It’s a deal.’

  Mel blew a theatrical kiss. ‘See ya.’

  Lucy walked home with Bunty, waiting at the gate until she’d gone safely inside. She turned, something inside her compelling her to look across at Sam’s house, where a light glowed from the window upstairs. She shook her head, chiding herself for being ridiculous, and turned away, opening the door of the cottage to a disapproving Hamish, who thought she’d been gone far too long.

  She got up the next day and headed down to Brighton, leaving Hamish in the capable hands of Bunty. Tom was at the flat when she popped in, sprawled on the sofa doing work.

  ‘Hello,’ he said, climbing out of a mountain of scatter cushions and papers. ‘I wasn’t expecting you until later.’

  ‘I know. Decided to get up early and drive down first thing.’

  ‘That sounds very efficient. Is this the old workaholic Lucy coming back to life? Are you off to resume your duties?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not quite.’ The flat looked different, somehow. Tidier. ‘What’s with all the cushions?’

  ‘It’s Kate. She bought them. Said I needed to make the place look less like a doctor’s waiting room.’

  Lucy laughed. She’d taken her colourful throw up to the cottage, and without it the room had looked a bit bare and beige. But she’d always been so busy with work that she hadn’t had time to notice, or to do anything about it.

  ‘She’s got a point. But buying sofa cushions together? That’s a big commitment, Tom.’

  He laughed, throwing one at her head. ‘Even your big brother has to grow up sometime.’

  ‘She’ll be moving in next.’ She cocked her head, sizing up his response.

  ‘Well, actually,’ Tom began, ‘about that . . .’

  An hour later, after a long heart-to-heart, Lucy gathered up some of the bits and pieces she’d left in her room. It was strange, looking around, to realize how much stuff she’d left behind when she went – as if she’d made a conscious decision to walk out of one life and into another. It was as if one part of her had known she had no intention of coming back.

  The head teacher’s office hadn’t changed. Someone had hung up a colourful poster on the wall that said ‘Just Smile – and Remember Why You Wanted to Teach’. Nick glanced at it and then gave Lucy a knowing look.

  ‘The new school secretary. She’s very fond of a motivational poster.’

  ‘I bet that helps no end when you’ve got school inspectors breathing down your neck.’

  ‘Oh, it makes all the difference.’ Nick shook his head and sat down at the desk, motioning for her to take a seat. ‘So – you’ve come to see me about starting back in January, right?’

  ‘Not exactly.’ Lucy looked out of the window at the streams of children heading back into their classrooms after lunch break. She couldn’t help narrowing her eyes, trying to focus and pick out the ones she’d taught last year. There was Jack, about six inches taller and with his dark curls tied back in a ponytail. And Naima, talking animatedly to a blonde girl who was showing her something on her – off limits in school hours – phone.

  ‘And there’s nothing I can do to persuade you?’ Nick looked at her directly. When she’d been signed off work with stress and they’d agreed she would take a sabbatical, he’d made it very clear that the door was always open for her return.

  ‘Nothing.’ Lucy had made her mind up.

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  She shrugged. ‘My brother’s going to buy me out of my half of the house, so I’ll have a decent nest egg behind me. I’m not giving up teaching – it’s in my blood. But I’m not rushing into anything. I might do some supply, then hopefully work part-time. Somewhere smaller – less pressure.’

  He raised his eyes in slight acknowledgement. The school had been a pressure cooker for years, and it wasn’t likely to change.

  ‘You’re a bloody good teacher, Luce. Our loss.’ He reached out, putting a hand on her arm. ‘I can’t make you change your mind?’

  She shook her head. There was no way she was going back to everything she’d had in the past – working ridiculous hours, lying in bed worrying about staffing policies, her health suffering – that wasn’t what she wanted.

  He looked at her for a moment, sizing her up.

  ‘You look different. Happier.’

  ‘I am.’ She gave a nod of acknowledgement.

  He narrowed his eyes. ‘And all this glowing health is just the side-effect of escaping the chalk face?’

  ‘Mm-hmm.’

  He raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Come on, Luce. You’ve been married to the job as long as I’ve known you. There’s more to it than that. Have you –’ He frowned slightly, scrutinizing her face. ‘Have you – met someone?’

 
‘Not really.’ She’d been notoriously single the whole time she’d worked there, claiming she was too busy to worry about relationships.

  ‘Not really?’ He gave a brief chuckle. ‘That sounds like code for something interesting.’

  Lucy shrugged and laughed. Whatever was going to happen in the future, she was making this decision for herself, and for her own happiness. That was the thing that mattered most – and coming back here, to the place where she’d worked herself to breaking point, just proved it.

  ‘So you’re heading back to the village today?’

  She nodded. The back seat of the car was packed with cardboard boxes of stuff she wanted to keep. Whatever she was doing, wherever she was going, she’d sort it back at the cottage. That way, Tom and Kate could get on with making the flat into a home.

  ‘And what’s happening in the village this week? I have visions of it being like Midsomer Murders.’

  Lucy laughed. ‘It’s not that far off – without the murders, so far, anyway. I need to get back because we’ve got a mountain of discarded paperbacks to sort out for the telephone box library, and then there’s the cricket club bonfire this weekend.’

  ‘Well, I can see how Brighton would struggle to compete. It sounds like it’s a complete riot.’

  ‘It’s one of those you-had-to-be-there things.’

  ‘Clearly.’

  He stood up, and so did she. Surprising her, he went to shake her hand but instead enveloped her in a bear hug. ‘Take care, Luce. Don’t forget you’re a bloody good teacher.’

  ‘Thanks, Nick.’

  Tears were stinging her eyes as she turned to leave his office. His phone rang as she put a hand to the door and he raised a hand in a silent goodbye, picking it up as she left.

  Bunty’s words popped into her head as she drove for the last time out of the school gates. She was right. If you only have one chance to live life, you should choose to be happy.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Freya was out with Stella again. Sam was feeling a bit redundant, and trying hard not to show it. Apart from the brief chat they’d had that day on her doorstep, he hadn’t had a moment to speak to Lucy alone, and it was nagging at him. Everything was changing. Lucy’s car had reappeared earlier, its back seat covered in cardboard boxes. His heart had thudded to his feet when he’d seen that. It was as if someone had knocked all the air out of him, and he didn’t want to admit to himself exactly why. The car was gone again now, and he felt utterly miserable.