June thought of Vera in the library, her face twisted and sour as she watched the activity in the Children’s Room. June had always assumed Vera disliked kids, but maybe it was something else that made her so bitter – regret.
‘We’re here,’ Alex said, and June looked out the window to see they were pulling up on Mawley high street.
She followed him off the bus and they crossed the road towards The Chequers. June couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in this pub, or any pub for that matter, and she was immediately alarmed by the noise and the number of people. But Alex steered her to a table in a quiet corner and then went to buy them both a drink. While he was gone, June’s mind drifted back to Vera. She imagined her at home, baking a birthday cake for one of the local children, and Fred walking in with his suitcase and telling her he was leaving. Vera would have begged him to stay, cried and tried to wrestle the suitcase off him, but Fred would have said—
‘Here you go.’ Alex placed a large glass of wine on the table. ‘Are you all right? You looked a million miles away there.’
‘Sorry, I was daydreaming. Thanks for the drink.’
‘I remember you daydreaming at school,’ Alex said, sitting down opposite her. ‘You used to do it in English; you’d stare off into space for ages and then suddenly you’d start scribbling away. Your creative writing was always the best in class.’
‘Oh, that’s not true,’ June said, although she couldn’t help but smile. ‘But I do like to make up stories in my head, I always have. Sometimes, at the library, I watch people taking out books and try and imagine what their life might be like.’
As soon as the words left June’s mouth, she regretted them. She’d never told anyone except her mum, and out loud she realised how silly it made her sound.
‘Ooh, let’s play it now,’ Alex said. ‘What about that lady over there?’
‘Oh no, we don’t have to. It’s just a stupid thing I do.’
‘No, go on. See that lady in the butterfly dress; what do you think her story is?’
‘Really?’
‘Yes!’
June turned to study her. The woman must have been in her mid-twenties, wearing a pretty fifties-style tea dress and red lipstick. She was with a man wearing a linen shirt and chinos. June thought for a moment.
‘Her name is Hannah. She lives with two friends in a flat full of clothes and laughter. She works in a dull office job, but at the weekend she and her friends dress up and go dancing. She dreams of doing something creative, maybe becoming a painter.’
‘And who’s the guy? Is he her boyfriend?’
‘No, but she wants him to be. They’ve been seeing each other for a few months but he won’t commit to her.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because he has a long-term girlfriend. She has no idea that he’s just stringing her along.’
‘Poor Hannah,’ Alex said, and he sounded genuinely sad. ‘I think the guy is bad news. In fact, do you think he’s dangerous? Maybe he’s a serial killer and tonight she’s his victim.’
June raised her eyebrows. ‘I was going for tragic romance and you want a grisly horror.’
Alex laughed out loud and June grinned. She’d never played the game with anyone else before.
‘No wonder you were so good at those creative writing assignments. I always got a C because I added zombies and monsters. Do you still write?’
‘Not really,’ June said, and she took a sip of her wine.
‘Oh, that’s such a shame. I always thought you were going to be a—’
‘Do you have any hobbies, Alex?’ June said, before he could finish his sentence.
‘Sure, I do have hobbies, June,’ he said, and she thought she could see a faint smile on his lips. ‘I like to go climbing, and I play football on a local five-a-side team: we’re rubbish but the drinking after is fun. I love going to the cinema – there’s an amazing independent one near my flat in London that plays old sixties and seventies horror movies. And on Tuesday nights I go . . .’
June listened with growing amazement. She’d expected him to say one or two things, but how could one person be so busy? It sounded exhausting.
‘What about you?’ Alex said, when he got to the end of his list.
‘I read,’ June said. There was a pause as Alex waited for her to carry on. ‘And I like walking.’
‘Cool. Do you ever go hiking? I used to do a lot with Dad when I was younger.’
‘Sure,’ June said, and she took a gulp of her wine to cover up the fact that the only walking she did was to and from work.
‘Do you like travelling?’ Alex said. ‘I went backpacking every summer while I was at uni, it was amazing.’
‘What was your favourite place?’
‘Ooh, the million-dollar question. India was brilliant, and I also loved Vietnam. Have you been?’
June shook her head. The furthest she’d ever been was to Weymouth with her mum.
‘You should go, it’s amazing. There’s such a rich history and the food is . . .’
June nodded as she listened to Alex, but inside she was squirming. This was exactly why she hadn’t wanted to come tonight. She had nothing interesting to say, no exciting hobbies or exotic travel to talk about. All she’d done for the past ten years was work in the library and read books. June closed her eyes, wishing she could run out now and spare herself the humiliation of him realising what a pathetic little life she led.
‘June?’
She opened her eyes. ‘Sorry, what?’
‘I said, do you still see many people from school?’
Oh god, this was it. The moment she had to tell Alex that she had no friends, no hobbies and no life. ‘Well, the thing is . . .’ June stopped as a thought occurred to her. ‘Actually, I’m going to Gayle Spencer’s hen do in a few weeks.’
‘Gayle? No way, how is she?’
‘She’s good. She got engaged in the Maldives at New Year.’
‘Nice,’ Alex said. ‘I never realised you and her were close at school.’
‘We’ve been friends since primary school.’ This wasn’t a complete lie, but June could still feel her cheeks colouring.
‘Wow, I had no idea. You two always seemed so different,’ Alex said, and June cringed at the reminder of what a loser she’d been at school.
‘I know, Gayle was a lot cooler than me,’ she said, taking a despondent swig of wine.
‘Actually, I thought you were the cool one,’ Alex said. ‘All those girls ever talked about was boys and parties, while you were reading all these amazing, interesting books.’
June was so surprised that she choked on her drink.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Sorry,’ she said, through the coughing.
Alex waited for her to finish. ‘This might sound strange, but I always had this image of your life after school, where you’d go to uni and have all these smart, bookish friends, and you’d all have deep, intellectual conversations.’ His face had gone quite pink. ‘Sorry, that sounds absurd, feel free to laugh at me.’
But June didn’t laugh; instead, she felt her stomach fall. What Alex had described was exactly what she used to dream of herself: going to university and finally making close friends, staying up all night talking about books and supporting each other’s writing. She went to take another drink and realised her glass was empty.
‘Do you want another pint?’ she said, standing up and grabbing his glass before he could answer.
June made her way towards the bar. How had Alex so accurately guessed her eighteen-year-old dream? They’d hardly known each other at school; she was amazed he’d even noticed her, let alone understood her so well. She thought back for a moment to that fantasy, the friends and the life she’d imagined for herself, and then pushed it out of her mind.
As she reached the bar, June heard a sudden explosion of laughter behind her, and she glanced round to see where it was coming from. Shit. Brian Spencer, Gayle’s dad, was sitting at a tabl
e next to the bar with two younger men. Had he heard her just lie about still being friends with his daughter? Brian’s mouth was open as he laughed, and June could see the half-chewed food inside. She grimaced and turned away so he wouldn’t see her. As she waited to be served, she could hear Brian’s voice, full of privilege and self-importance.
‘What you have to understand, boys, is the value of a bit of wheel grease.’
‘And, in this particular instance, you think that the wheels could be greased?’ one of the men said.
‘I do. Although I should warn you, it won’t be cheap.’
‘What can I get you, love?’ The barmaid was staring at June impatiently.
‘A pint of lager and a white wine, please.’
‘Of course, I can’t make any promises.’ Brian’s voice floated back over. ‘But I play golf with a couple of the councillors and they trust me. I’m sure they could be incentivised to see the benefits of this idea.’
‘I told you, Phil – Brian here could be a good investment.’ This guy sounded younger and posher. ‘I know this better than most.’
They laughed at this, the deep guffawing laugh that men only seemed to do around other men.
June paid for the drinks and headed back towards the table, careful to keep her face turned away from Brian. As she walked past, she caught a glimpse of one of the men sitting with him, his cheeks flushed with alcohol, his hair so blond he looked like Draco Malfoy from Harry Potter.
‘And what about Marjorie, won’t she mind?’
‘Oh, you don’t need to worry about that,’ Brian said. ‘I can handle her.’
Back at the table, June found Alex looking embarrassed. ‘Sorry, you must think I’m a complete weirdo for saying all that,’ he said.
‘Not at all. I’d have loved to have had that life you described, but it just . . . didn’t quite work out that way.’
‘Why not, if you don’t mind me asking?’
June had managed to spill some wine on the table and she traced a pattern in it with her finger. ‘I always wanted to go to Cambridge to study English, but Mum got diagnosed with cancer while we were in the sixth form. She still wanted me to go, so I applied and got offered a place, but they let me defer it so I could look after her. And then she died, two years later.’
‘Oh, June, I’m so sorry.’
‘I know I could have taken up my place after that, it’s what Mum would have wanted. But once she was gone, the idea of leaving home felt too . . . terrifying.’
‘And you’re not tempted to go to university now? There are some great courses for mature students.’
June shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think that’s for me. Besides, I love my life here in Chalcot.’
‘Well, I’m glad you’re happy here. And you’re so lucky to have a job that you love.’
‘I honestly can’t imagine working anywhere else, which is why all this council stuff is so terrifying.’
‘How’s the campaign going?’
‘I wish I knew. It’s been a month now and there still haven’t been any public events. I’m trying to eavesdrop at the library, but no one says anything in front of me.’
‘What have FOCL been doing all this time?’ Alex said, with a frown.
‘I’ve no idea. Although I did pick this up in the village shop the other day . . .’
June reached into her bag and pulled out a crumpled flyer, which she laid on the table. The words ‘Save Our Library (please)’ were written at the top in large Comic Sans font.
‘Jesus, this isn’t going to save anything,’ Alex said. ‘What are they doing on social media?’
‘I don’t know, I’m not on it.’
Alex took his phone out and typed something in. ‘They must be on Twitter, surely?’ He scanned the screen. ‘A-ha, here they are.’
He passed the phone over to June and she saw there was one tweet.
Friends of Chalcot Library @FOCL
Join us on Saturday 7th August for a protest event at the church hall. A raffle, face-painting, and a performance from Chalcot’s very own Colin the Clown. All welcome! #savechalcotlibrary
‘Well that’s something, I suppose.’ June went to hand Alex’s phone back and, as she did, she saw a WhatsApp message flash up on his screen.
Ellie
Just got some exciting news – call me ASAP! Xx
June felt her heart drop when she saw the kisses, and then felt stupid: it was none of her business who messaged Alex. He glanced at his phone and smiled, and June took a long drink of wine.
‘So, are you sure there’s nothing you can do to help FOCL?’ he asked, once he’d put his phone away.
‘No, I can’t risk it. The council would sack me if I do anything in public, it’s as simple as that.’
‘What if it’s not public? What about trying to help them in secret?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I know you can’t risk the council seeing you being involved, but you could be FOCL’s undercover operative?’
June chuckled. ‘I’m not sure I’d make a very good secret agent, despite having read Harriet the Spy three times as a kid.’
But Alex didn’t laugh. ‘I know you won’t believe me, June, but I think you have much more to offer than you realise.’
‘No, I don’t,’ she mumbled.
‘You know, when I was reading Matilda, I kept thinking how much you reminded me of her.’
‘Matilda?’
‘Well, obviously you both love books, but Matilda also had so much integrity and really cared about people. You were always the same at school.’ Alex took a swig of his pint before he spoke again. ‘I think you need to ask yourself: what would Matilda do?’
*
That night June slept deeply and didn’t wake until after nine on Saturday morning. She lay in bed running over the events of last night: Alex’s busy and exciting life, his ridiculous comment about her being cool, the WhatsApp message . . .
She went downstairs and made herself a cup of tea. Alan Bennett lay under the table and lashed out at June’s feet every time she walked past, but she was too distracted to tell him off. What about Brian and the snatches of conversation she’d overheard in the pub? Hadn’t he said something about ‘incentivising councillors’, and why had one of the men asked Brian about Marjorie? They must have been talking about the library, surely.
June took a sip of tea and swore as she burnt her tongue. If Brian was up to something dodgy with the library then she should tell someone – but who? She couldn’t exactly rock up to the council and make wild accusations when she didn’t have a clue what was going on.
June reached for her mobile phone and searched for Twitter, and after several minutes she worked out how to find FOCL’s page. She stared at the tweet they’d written about next week’s protest and, as she did, an idea began to formulate in her mind. But could she do it? It was risky, she didn’t have any evidence, and whoever read the message would probably just think she was a crank.
June put the phone down; she should stay out of this.
And then she remembered Alex’s words. What would Matilda do?
She took a deep breath, picked up the phone and clicked on sign-up. In a few minutes the account was set up. She composed a short message before she could change her mind.
Matilda @MWormwoo8
@FOCL I have some information that might be of use to you.
June pressed Tweet and threw the phone down on the table as if it were red-hot. She picked up The Hobbit and read three sentences before glancing back at her phone. Nothing. She carried on reading, but she hadn’t even made it to the end of the page before she checked again. Who would be the person to see her tweet, Chantal or Mrs B? And if they replied to her, what was she going to say?
She needed to do something to distract herself, and if reading wasn’t going to work then there was only one other thing for it: cleaning.
June pulled on an old T-shirt and started in the living room. She worked
meticulously, starting with the long bookcases and then making her way round the room. She polished each of the snow globes on the shelf above the TV, then moved on to the china ornaments on the mantlepiece: the Charles and Diana commemorative mug she and her mum had found together at a car boot sale, the model of a red bus they’d brought home from a sightseeing trip to London. June was dusting the china girl with a book when she heard her phone ping, and she rushed across the room to look at it. Friends of Chalcot Library followed you. June closed her eyes for a moment; she could still back out now, it wasn’t too late. Maybe Brian wasn’t up to anything dodgy after all? She opened her eyes and started typing a private message.
I think Brian Spencer is plotting against the library.
June pressed send and realised that she’d been holding her breath. A moment later a reply popped up.
Who are you?
I’m a friend of the library.
I want to help you.
What do you know about Brian?
He met with two men and they talked about how he could grease the wheels and convince county councillors about something. They referenced Marjorie Spencer so I think it’s about the library.
Who were the men?
I don’t know.
What do they want to do with the library?
I don’t know. Sorry.
June waited for a response but there wasn’t one. From the curt tone she guessed it must be Mrs Bransworth, but what would she do with this information? She might confront Brian outright, but he’d just deny everything. Hopefully FOCL would do some digging and find some concrete evidence for what was going on. June wondered for a moment if Marjorie was involved, but pushed the thought out of her mind. There were many things wrong with her boss, but June’s mum had always said that if you cut Marjorie in half it would say ‘Chalcot Library’ through the middle. Still, maybe June should keep a closer eye on her at work, just in case.
The Last Library Page 8
