by Ivan B
Serena still grinned.
“The secret is that it is not really selling well, at least not in book shops; according to the literary press over 90% of its sales are through heavily discounted promotions.”
Mary relaxed.
“Well done and thanks, but I nearly had a heart attack. How many copies of Long walk on a rippled lake do we have?”
“Three, it’s a dreadful book; all doom gloom and depressive introspection.”
Mary relaxed, maybe they couldn’t beat the supermarket on price, but they might by selling books that the public actually wanted.
Ten minutes later Mary was trembling with suppressed rage, she’d opened two letters from the County Council, both were not good news. Since John had run the library he had enjoyed the luxury of only paying full business rates for the shop and 50% of the full business rates for the library as it was classified as a public amenity, but the County Council were now going to charge him 70% from next April. Their argument was that the Internet Café was a full business and not a public amenity. The second letter stated that the rent for the property – book-shop, library, Internet Café, Storerooms and the flat - was going up by 100% from next April. This letter also reminded Mary that they had to rent the flat, the store rooms, the Library and the basement as access to them was via the book shop; there was no option they either rented it all, or none of it. To rub salt in the wound there was also an invoice for £250 for repairs to the metal staircase used as the external fire escape, the Council deemed these repairs ‘essential,’ but had not consulted Mary about them. Mary took a few deep breaths and turned to her overall finance spreadsheet. It confirmed her first instincts; they could not afford the rises unless they increased prices almost to a point that was probably unacceptable to the public. She sat back and thought, and decided she needed more information. She picked up her phone and called Sally, an old school friend; after the usual pleasantries Mary popped the question regarding the rent and rates. Sally laughed.
“Who’s not been reading their council minutes then?”
“What have I missed?”
“Your local councillor, Mrs Freda Church, pointed out that Eastburgh’s population had now past the 15,000 mark and therefore is entitled to a public library. There was a bit of argy-bargy and the usual barracking from the opposition councillors, but in the end it was agreed that a public library is to be funded for Eastburgh and that the target was to have it in place in two years time. I don’t know what you’ve done to offend Mrs Church, but she insisted that the council also explore ways of reducing the subsidy for your library in the meantime. I suspect she wants to squirrel money away for some pet project she has not yet disclosed.”
Mary was flabbergasted.
“But would they want to put their library in the old ballroom?”
Sally groaned.
“Of course not; the scheme would be to extend the library at the college and open it to the public.”
Mary was now confused.
“But it is already open to the public.”
“Only from ten to three and not weekends, and it currently has very little fiction apart from the classical sort.”
“Did they give any ideas how much this will cost them?”
Sally tut-tutted.
“It’s no good Mary it will only cost them for the books and a few shelves. The staff is already in place and the hall next door to the current library is not used by the college since they ceased to offer physical education courses.”
Mary clutched at a last few straws.
“What are the odds of a reversal of council policy on this?”
“Nil, or as near zero as you can get. Mrs Church’s party has a large overall majority and even some of the other councillors backed her. It’s the principle as far as they are concerned; people pay the rates and therefore are entitled to the benefits, ergo a free library.”
Mary put the phone down and almost swore out loud. With the supermarket, the rent and the rates and the council’s intention, the writing was clearly on the wall; the library and book-shop appeared to be doomed. She leant back in her chair and considered e-mailing John, but was struck by a simple thought; if she was far away and received such an e-mail there were only two options, go home and tackle the problem or instantly pull the plug and recoup what money you could. Mary sighed, she knew that John has already effectively lost interest in actually running his business; he liked being there and mingling with the public, but his heart was really with his far-away daughter and not in the business. She was sure that he would, without hesitation, pull the plug. Mary looked down the library at the two single mums behind the counter, the various people choosing books and the almost full Internet Café and decided to wait before talking to John; after all he had given her full executive authority, so she might as well use it.
Fifteen minutes later Mary was feeling slightly better, at least as far as the threat from the new public library was concerned. She’d taken a straw poll of customers and every one had dismissed the concept of using a library in the college. As one grey-haired old lady put it, ‘it’s a mile out of town, full of aggressive youngsters and I couldn’t pop in there while I do my shopping.’ Mary wasn’t so sure about the aggressive youngsters, but the public libraries location was certainly interesting and would entail a special visit rather that combining the visit with a trip to the town centre. She made a few other discreet enquiries and also found out that there would be no Internet access as the students used classroom computers on a college network that would be unavailable to the public. Mary smiled to herself, maybe just like the supermarket’s book sales; this public library could be fought off, mainly by location and Internet use, but at what price and over how long?
However, later that afternoon, having completed an exhaustive financial prediction, Mary was not so sure. They could cope with the rent/rates rise, but only just and certainly not if either of the charges rose again or if they lost a substantial number of library customers. She was contemplating putting up the library charges in advance when the vibrating pager operated in her pocket necessitating a visit to the book-shop. Serena and her assistant for the day, Peter, were standing in the doorway preventing a tall youth from leaving. Serena was showing her patience.
“I’m sorry sir, but I have reason to believe that you are carrying a book that you have not purchased.”
The youth held up his hands.
“Where.”
Mary, from behind the youth, answered gruffly.
“Stuffed down the back of your trousers. The choice is yours; give the book back, pay for the book, or take a ride in a police car.”
The youth turned round and squared up to Mary.
“Prove it!”
Mary took out her mobile phone.
“Ever had a police body search?”
The youth took one look at Mary’s face and decided that she was serious and pulled a book out of the back of his trousers and placed it on the counter. Serena laughed.
“And the other one, you took two copies.”
The youth dutifully pulled out a second copy and turned to leave. Mary tried a trick.
“And the third book please, we have got CCTV you know.”
The youth scowled and placed a third, much smaller, book on the counter and then walked out of the shop. Serena placed the books back on the shelves; Mary looked round the shop.
“What’s happened to the travel section?”
“Sent the books back to the warehouse, we just can’t compete with the supermarket. We now sell limited edition books in their place from a set of local authors and I’m glad to say there has been quite an interest so far today.”
Mary smiled, Serena was not missing a trick.
“Any idea what’s next on the supermarket’s agenda?”
Serena giggled.
“My spies at the warehouse tell me that they’re stocking up on Janet Boyne’s Love is a sunlit junkyard. It’s her sequel to “Love is a quiet marketplace and has obviously been h
urried into print, we haven’t sold a single copy in two months.”
Mary wanted reassurance.
“So we are holding our own?”
Serena nodded while rocking her head from side to side.
“But our profits were down by 6% last week up to yesterday. This month I hope to pick up a bit; the problem would escalate if the supermarket ever actually chose the right best-seller, that could hit us hard.”
The gentle ringing of a small bell upstairs signalled that the library was about to close; Mary smiled at Serena and held her arm.
“Thanks for everything; I’m not sure that I could run the book-shop as well as you.”
Serena smiled in return.
“Then just remember that in the Christmas bonus; I’ve got two small children who will want the entire toy-shop for Christmas!”
Mary went back to the library and noted that it was already nearly empty. An old lady stopped Mary before she left.
“You opening late when there is late night shopping during the summer?”
“Of course, if I can get the usual evening opening dispensation from the council.”
She half-smiled and Mary tried her with her current standard question.
“Tell me, will you be switching to the public library when it opens at the college?”
She screwed up her nose.
“Certainly not, it’s on the wrong side of town there’s never any free parking. They tried to have an exhibition centre there, but it didn’t work.”
She paused.
“Mind you if what Mrs Unger says is true then it might be a different matter.”
Mary tried to tease out the last drop of information.
“What does Mrs Unger say?”
“She says, though where she gets her information goodness knows, she says that the supermarket is going to close and that they will be putting the library there.”
Mary raised her eyebrows in disbelief.
“Why ever does she think that?”
“Well they must be in trouble ‘cause their not selling liquor and the building is owned by the council, it used to be the labour exchange.”
Mary laughed.
“That was a few years ago Mrs Stone.”
She fixed Mary with a glassy stare.
“Don’t you laugh at me young woman; you go and check; I’m telling you the building is owned by the council!”
Mary gave her a sweet smile, she didn’t want to upset Mrs Stone and her cronies.
“I’m not laughing at you Mrs Stone and I didn’t mean to offend; I’d just forgotten that it was once a labour exchange.”
Mrs Stone gave the glimmer of a smile.
“Labour Exchange, then the Main Post Office, then a bank, then a record shop and now a supermarket. Nothing every stays there long on account of the parking.”
Mary played the game.
“What parking?”
She poked Mary gently with her umbrella.
“That’s just the point; who these days wants a supermarket without parking.”
She wandered off and gradually disappeared down the escalator; Mary waited until she was clear and then turned them off. She went to turn out the lights and suddenly realised that Bill was still working and the master console.
“Problem Bill?”
He didn’t look up.
“Not really. I discovered two little tykes looking at a porno site and I just want to add it to the ‘forbidden sites’ list, but to do it properly takes a minute or two.”
Mary left him to it, just turning off the library lights, and wandering over to John’s favourite window and gazing out at the staff exiting from below. A few moments later Bill called out her was leaving and Mary gave him a casual wave. She finished turning off the lights and checking that the power was off to all the computer terminals and then stood thinking.
A few moments later she had struggled up the stairs and was on the top floor. She paced out the distance between the doors and then paced out the width of a storage room. The results were not illuminating. Each storage room seemed to be fourteen of her paces across and the doors just over seventeen paces apart. She looked at her watch and decided to call it a day. She carefully went down the stairs holding on to the banister rail like grim death; last year on these very stairs she had taken a tumble. She had avoided breaking anything, but she had severely frightened herself and was not taking any chances.
At home mother was trying to watch the news as Mary entered yelling.
“I’m home, dinner in two minutes.”
She pulled a paper parcel from her backpack and proceeded to unpack the fish and chips from the local chip-shop; this was a Saturday night tradition. She took the food through and placed it on her mother’s rolling table and sat down in front the television with her mum. She tasted the fish and added some more vinegar.
“How’s Ipswich doing?”
Her mother scowled.
“Beat Spurs five-nil.”
“And Norwich?”
Her mother scowled again.
“Lost to Portsmouth three-nil.”
Her mother suddenly smiled.
“Had a phone call from Jenny this morning, said she was just making sure that I was OK.”
Mary swallowed and tried to hide her thoughts.
“That was nice of her.”
Her mother made a sneering sound.
“She said did I know that there was a new retirement home opening in Harwich, just down the road from her.”
Mary stopped eating.
“What did you say?”
He mother chased an errant chip along he edge of her plate.
“I said that the only way I’d go into a retirement home would be in a coffin, especially in Harwich.”
Mary resumed eating.
“She only means well.”
Her mother thumped the arm of her chair.
“No she does not, she’s interfering.”
Her mother eyed her suspiciously.
“Are you in on this?”
Mary shook her head.
“No, you heard last night’s conversation. I don’t want you in a home I want you here.”
Her mother nodded and promptly changed the subject.
“Saw Mrs O’Reilly at the day-centre today, did you know her seventeen year old granddaughter has got engaged?”
Mary grinned to herself, she knew exactly where this conversation was leading.
“Really, that’s a bit young.”
Her mother fixed her with a stare.
“Well thirty-five is a bit old.”
She munched on another chip
“Not cramping your style am I?”
Mary wagged a finger at her.
“There are no men in my life mum and I’m quite happy that way, now shall we stop trying to pair me off and have some yoghurt?”
Her mother watched her leave the room, but the conversation with Jenny had unsettled her. She wouldn’t tell Mary, but Jenny’s main argument for her going into a home was that it was unfair on Mary to expect her to give up her life and look after her ageing mother. She recalled Jenny’s closing remark, ‘well mum you could easily live for twenty years and who’s going to want a fifty-five year old spinster?’ As usual Jenny’s arguments had enough grains of truth in them to disturb, but as she listened to Mary working in the kitchen, and thought about the nightmares, she wondered who was looking after whom.
Chapter 5
Honesty is probably the best policy
Mrs Webb woke up at 2am to hear Mary moaning in the room above. After five minutes she swung her legs off the bed, grabbed her walking stick and made for the door. She switched off the Baby-Monitor in the hall and pressed the button to bring the stair lift down to the bottom. When it arrived she sat on it and pressed the ‘up’ button. She hated the stair-lift, it gave her the heebie-jeebies and in normal circumstances she wouldn’t use it. At the top of the stairs she quietly made her way into Mary’s room, this was the single room and at one tim
e had been her nursery. Mary had resisted all attempts to move her into either of the two spare double bedrooms. Mary was lying on the bed and moaning constantly, her mother leaned over her and whispered gently.
“It’s all right Mary, I’m here, it’s all right.”
After a few attempts at this Mary suddenly stopped moaning and fell into a regular breathing pattern. Her mother perched herself on the bedroom stool and watched her.
Mary knew she was in bed, but there was something wrong; she was lying on her belly and her legs felt like lead and her arms were all covered in bandages. Her eyes were full of tears from the pain in her back and she could hardly see. She found it irritating and humiliating, especially as her nose was beginning to run as well. She needed her mother, but her mother wasn’t there. She tried to call, but only noises came out. She tried to move, but her body wouldn’t answer her requests for movement, she called again, and again and again, but her mother didn’t come. Suddenly she knew her mother was there, she couldn’t see her, but she definitely was there. Mary relaxed and knew she could sleep safety and she would wake up safe and well.
After about ten minutes her mother crept out and went down the stairs using the stair lift, once she was at the bottom she sent the lift back to the top so that Mary could use it in the morning. She turned the Baby-Monitor on and went back to bed via the toilet. Before she flushed the loo she inspected the contents of the WC bowl. She was passing blood, not every time, but most times; that, with the slight pain in her kidneys, was worrying. She flushed the loo and went back to bed. One thought dominated her mind, who would whisper in Mary’s ear when she was gone?
The following morning Mary fell into the going-to-church routine. Normally this meant popping a casserole in the oven before leaving, but in view of the impending church barbecue that was not necessary. She got her mother to the car by ten-twenty and commenced her pick-up round. Over the last three years she’d started to pick up some of mum’s friends as well as take her mother to church. She now had four stops on the way to church, each one taking about five or six minutes; with a little bit of luck and a following wind she usually managed to get the gaggle of old ladies into church on time, however sometimes it was a close run thing, especially if one decided to go to the toilet. Today she had them all seated at the back row but one of the church by five to eleven and took up position behind them. From here she could provide any necessary help with hymn books and suchlike, although most of the time the all managed to cope and helped each other out. As had become usual a young girl called Josie joined her. Every Sunday since just after Christmas her father had dropped her off outside the church. She had attached herself like a limpet to Mary and had resisted all entreaties to join the Sunday school. As she entered the pew she held up a book, Mary took t from here.