That evening, as June lay slumped on the sofa listlessly watching an old episode of Four in a Bed, she heard her phone buzz. She glanced down and saw a message from Alex. At the sight of his name, June felt a stab of pain at the memory of their phone conversation and his words to Ellie. Girl from school . . . Lives alone . . . Doesn’t have anyone . . . Alex had been the one person who June could call anything near to a friend, but now he knew how sad her life really was.
She picked up the phone and clicked on his message.
Alex Chen
Hey, hope ur ok? Dad told me he just saw the library protest event on the local news - I can’t believe those old FOCL fuddy-duddies booked a stripper! Great news for the campaign though x
June sat up abruptly. In all her self-pity, she hadn’t once thought about the library event this morning. She quickly searched on her phone to find the local news and pressed play. There was a report on some local building development, but June couldn’t concentrate on it, willing the story to hurry up.
And then suddenly Tessa was on the screen, standing outside the church hall.
‘Six libraries in Dunningshire are threatened with closure by the council. But only one has come up with such a novel way of drawing attention to their cause.’
The news piece cut to inside and there was Rocky, wearing some kind of S&M cowboy outfit, grinding away in the centre of the church hall. There was a small, shocked-looking crowd watching him, and in the middle stood Jackson, his mouth hanging open.
‘With just seven weeks to go until the council’s consultation ends, organisers in Chalcot have laid on an eye-catching protest,’ Tessa was saying.
The piece went to Mrs Bransworth, looking dazed. ‘Er, we thought this might help draw attention to our campaign,’ she stuttered, as Rocky thrust and gyrated behind her.
Now Stanley was on screen, standing in front of the library. ‘We may only be a small library but it’s vital to this community. People rely on it for so much more than just books. It will be a travesty if the council shut it down.’
And then the picture was back on Rocky, this time wearing nothing but a tiny thong. As the camera panned around it showed Vera sitting in front of him, rubbing what looked like whipped cream into Rocky’s chest, a look of absolute concentration on her face.
The news piece ended, and June sat staring at her phone in stunned silence. It had worked. Rocky’s performance had got the library protest on the news. A smile slowly spread across her face, and she laughed out loud, startling Alan Bennett, who’d been sleeping next to her.
‘I did it, Alan,’ she said, as the cat looked at her in confusion. ‘I actually did it.’
June picked up a picture frame from the table next to the sofa. It held a photo of her mum, taken years ago outside Chalcot Library. Beverley was grinning, the clock tower rising above her head as she squinted at the camera. June brushed some dust from the glass.
‘I’m sorry I’ve been so hopeless, Mum,’ she whispered. ‘I know I’ve been wasting my life and I’ve let you down. But I’m going to try to change that now, I promise.’
Chapter Seventeen
WHEN JUNE ARRIVED FOR her shift on Monday afternoon, she found Vera camped out at a table inside the library, telling everyone who’d listen about her exploits with Rocky.
‘You know, I thought it might be shaving foam, but it was real whipped cream. I had a taste,’ she was telling an excited crowd of ladies from the Knit and Natter group.
‘It was the most remarkable sight,’ Stanley said, joining June as she started tidying up the noticeboard. ‘He had three different outfits: policeman, cowboy and fireman. And he had Velcro on his trousers so he could rip them off easily. Such a prudent idea – I might try it with my suit.’
‘Stanley, look at this,’ said Chantal, coming over to him with her phone. ‘Before the news went out yesterday, we had one hundred and eleven likes on our Facebook page. Now we have almost a thousand.’
‘That’s wonderful!’
‘People keep messaging, asking what we’re doing next.’
‘We need to ask Mrs Bransworth. She’ll have a plan.’
‘She’s here now,’ Chantal said, pointing towards the door.
‘Here’s the hero of the hour,’ said Stanley. ‘Three cheers for Mrs Bransworth.’
‘Stop it,’ Mrs B snapped. ‘That stripper had nothing to do with me; I disapprove of sexual exploitation in any form.’
‘Well, who organised it then?’ Stanley said.
Mrs B lowered her voice, and June had to strain to hear her.
‘The stripper told me he’d been redirected to the protest by someone called Matilda.’
As Mrs B said the name, June almost dropped the pile of leaflets she was holding. She quickly turned her back on the group.
‘Who the hell is Matilda?’ Vera said.
‘Matilda is our secret informant,’ Stanley said. ‘She sends us information via Tweeter.’
‘You mean Twitter,’ Chantal said.
‘Yes. She’s our spy and sends us twits. She’s the one who told us about Brian Spencer at the pub and Marjorie’s secret meetings with the management consultants. And now she’s done this for us.’
‘Well, I may not approve of her methods, but Matilda has saved our arses once again,’ Mrs B said. ‘Now, we need to strike while the iron’s hot.’
‘What about staging something outside County Hall?’ Stanley said. ‘We could make placards and sing songs.’
‘Yes, like in the American civil rights movement,’ Mrs B said.
‘Don’t tell us you were there as well,’ Vera muttered under her breath.
The group carried on chatting, but June moved away. A County Hall protest was a good idea, but what the library really needed was more books being taken out. The council had said they’d be basing their decision on issue numbers, and June knew that right now Chalcot’s were perilously low. She glanced back at Mrs B, Stanley and Chantal, and then she pulled her phone out and quickly typed a Twitter message from Matilda.
‘Get over here, now!’
Marjorie was watching June across the library floor, her eyes narrow. ‘What was that stunt you pulled with the stripper?’ she whispered, when June joined her.
‘I did that for you, Marjorie. It was the only way I could stop him performing at the hen do.’
‘But in the process, you put the good name of Chalcot Library in disrepute. I’ll be a laughing stock at the next Library Managers’ monthly meet-up.’ Marjorie fanned herself with a paperback. ‘Does anyone know it was you who sent him?’
‘No one, I did it anonymously.’
‘That’s something, at least. If the council found out, then we’d both be out on our ears.’
‘You have to admit, it was good publicity for the library campaign though,’ June said.
‘Hmm . . . So how was Gayle’s hen do?’
‘It was fine,’ June said, praying that Gayle hadn’t told her mum what happened.
‘Well, I appreciate you helping me out. As a thank you, I’ll make sure you’re invited to the wedding. Evening only, of course.’
‘Oh, there’s no need.’
‘Don’t be silly, I know you want to come.’
‘But really—’
‘This conversation is over, I have lots to do.’ Marjorie turned to walk away, then looked back at June. ‘Just remember what I said. The council must never find out you had anything to do with that stripper or FOCL. If they do, I won’t be able to protect you.’
*
For the rest of the week, June did whatever she could to help FOCL secretly. She researched other successful library campaigns around the country and forwarded their details via Matilda. And when Marjorie went to do outreach on Wednesday morning, June plucked up the courage to have a search around her office in case she could discover any information about Mrs Coulter, the management consultant. She didn’t find anything, but the adrenalin from her undercover spying made her jumpy for the rest o
f the day.
On Thursday, June was helping a patron with his online passport application when she heard a familiar voice behind her. She’d been avoiding Alex since their awful phone call, and had skipped her Chinese takeaway on Monday night, so the sudden sound of him nearby made June’s skin flush hot. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that he was deep in conversation with Stanley.
‘Did she say anything else?’ Stanley was saying, in a low voice.
‘No, just what I told you already.’
‘But what do you think it means? Should I—’
‘Excuse me, miss?’ The man June was assisting was staring at her. ‘What do I need to do now?’
‘Sorry,’ June said, her whole body burning with shame. Were they talking about her call to Alex on Saturday? It was bad enough that he’d found out how pathetic she was, but now Stanley knew as well. June kept her back turned to them as she helped fill out the man’s application, praying that Stanley and Alex wouldn’t notice she was there.
But a few minutes later, she felt someone walk behind her.
‘Hey, stranger.’
June couldn’t bear to turn around and see Alex’s pitying face, so she kept her eyes fixed on the computer screen in front of her. ‘Hi.’
‘How are you?’
‘OK.’ June typed something on the keyboard, hoping he couldn’t see that her hands were shaking.
‘You didn’t come into the takeaway on Monday, I was worrying about—’
‘I’m sorry, I’m just helping a customer here,’ June said, before he could finish. She heard a faint sigh behind her, and then a moment later she could sense that Alex was gone.
June finished and headed towards the desk. Stanley was sitting in his chair and June saw him glance at her as she walked past, but he said nothing. As she got back to the desk, Mrs Bransworth came storming in through the front door.
‘Those arseholes!’ she shouted. ‘The cheating, conniving bastards!’
Everyone in the library turned to look at her.
‘What’s wrong?’ Stanley said.
‘I just went into the shop to see how many signatures we have on our petition, and Naresh told me that someone has stolen it.’
‘No! What about the one in the pub?’
‘That’s gone too. They said it disappeared from the bar yesterday.’
‘My god. We had nearly five hundred signatures supporting the library, all lost.’
‘We’ll have to start again,’ Mrs B said.
‘But what if it gets taken again?’
Neither of them spoke for a moment, and June could see them both desperately searching for ideas.
‘Maybe we should try one of those online petitions like Chantal suggested?’ Stanley said.
‘I suppose,’ Mrs B said, although she sounded unsure.
‘I can’t believe someone would stoop so low as to steal a petition.’ Stanley was shaking his head. ‘Who would do that?’
‘Probably the council,’ Mrs B said. ‘Unless it was someone closer to home . . .’
As she said this, she looked straight at June. For a second their eyes met, and June quickly looked away.
‘Don’t think I haven’t noticed you creeping around eavesdropping on us,’ Mrs B shouted across at her, so loudly that everyone in the library went quiet. ‘What would your mother say if she knew you were working to get this library closed? You’re a disgrace, June, and your mum would be ashamed of you.’
June felt Mrs B’s words like a knife in her heart. For a second she wanted to shout that she was Matilda, that she was helping them fight, but instead she turned and rushed towards the back of the library, tears blurring her vision.
Was that really what everybody thought about her, Stanley included? June closed her eyes, willing herself not to cry. It took her a few minutes to compose herself and, by the time she returned to the desk, Mrs B and Stanley had moved over to the computers and out of earshot. June watched them hunched over the keyboard together. By the look of things, they were setting up an online petition, which was all very well but how would anyone in the village find out about it? At least with the paper petition it had been left in prominent places so people could see it, but June knew that lots of the villagers wouldn’t know the first thing about an online one. If only there was a way she could spread the word, without anyone knowing it was her.
June looked at Stanley and Mrs B again, and then an idea came to her and she felt a fizz of excitement. Yes, that was exactly what Matilda would do.
*
A little before midnight, June picked up her rucksack and left the house, making her way back up the hill towards The Parade. The streets were empty at this time of night, but she’d still taken the precaution of wearing dark clothes and an old baseball cap of her mum’s, the peak pulled down low over her face.
The library building was dark as she approached, the clock tower silhouetted against the moon. June checked that nobody was around as she unlocked the front door and slipped through. Inside, the library was pitch-black, but June knew this space better than anywhere, and was able to manoeuvre between the tables and shelves without bumping into a thing. When she reached the computers, she switched one on, turning the monitor so its glow couldn’t be seen through the window, and began to type.
An hour later, June crept out of the library and re-locked the front door. The rucksack on her back was heavier now, and she pulled it over both shoulders as she crept away from the library towards the village shop. Across the road, a dog walker was strolling in front of the pub, whistling to himself, and June huddled into the shadows until he passed. Then she reached into her rucksack and set to work.
*
The following morning, June arrived at the library at nine o’clock as usual. She’d had only two hours’ sleep, but despite that she hummed to herself as she went through her setting-up routine. At nine fifteen she heard the front door swing open, and Marjorie bustled in.
‘Have you seen it out there?’ she shrieked, by way of a greeting.
‘What’s wrong, Marjorie?’
‘The Parade has been vandalised!’
‘Has it?’ June said, with all the fake surprise she could muster. ‘I can’t have been paying attention on my way in this morning.’
‘Well, I don’t know how you could have missed it. Every single building has these plastered all over the front.’ Marjorie waved a piece of paper at June and then started to read from it. ‘If you care about books and education, sign the Chalcot Library petition . . . If you believe that every child deserves the best start in life, sign the Chalcot Library petition . . . If you want to support those most at need in your local community, etcetera etcetera. And then there’s a link to some online petition thing.’
‘Wow. FOCL must have done them,’ June said, trying to keep her face neutral.
‘There are hundreds of these posters out there – the village looks terrible. I have to call Brian, as chair of the parish council he’ll be furious about this mess.’
Marjorie stormed towards the office and June turned to look out of the library front window. The Parade was busy this morning, small groups of people clustering in front of the pub and the bakery to read the posters that had been pasted up overnight. June pulled her phone out and opened up a browser with the new FOCL library petition. Seven hundred and eighty-nine signatures, it said.
She allowed herself a small smile, slipped the phone back in her pocket, and carried on with her work.
Chapter Eighteen
JUNE WATCHED THE MAN, in his mid-twenties and dressed in unseasonably warm clothes, as he slumped in the corner playing on his phone. He had barely looked up from the screen in the past hour, absorbed in whatever game he was playing. His skin was pale, like he didn’t go outside much, and June had decided that he was a vampire, hiding out in the library to avoid the blazing sun. Earlier, he’d eaten some roast beef Monster Munch, so clearly he was craving meat. Any minute now he was going to throw his phone aside and walk
over towards Vera, who would look up at him in alarm. He would lean forward and open his mouth, and then say—
‘This is a public library, not a knocking shop!’
Marjorie was marching two red-faced teenagers out of the toilet. ‘I know it’s hot outside, but you’ll have to find somewhere else to go.’ She led them to the front door and then watched as they scurried away, hand in hand.
It was late August, and a heatwave had brought Chalcot to a standstill. The hanging baskets on The Parade had long since wilted, the shop sold out of ice cream within hours of each new delivery, and a hosepipe ban was driving all the gardeners crazy. The coolest building in the village was the library, where the thick stone walls and high ceilings made the temperature almost bearable.
As a result, it was also the busiest building in the village. When June unlocked the doors every morning, she found Stanley joined by a queue of impatient pensioners, who’d barge past her to claim the prime real estate of a window seat. They stayed there all day, fanning themselves with leaflets from the rack, complaining about their swollen ankles and demanding cups of water. And when she wasn’t running errands for them, June was in the Children’s Room acting as amateur entertainer to dozens of restless little ones, while their parents and carers stared listlessly at their phones.
Marjorie came to join June at the desk. ‘Are you still going into Winton this afternoon?’
‘I’m not sure I can face it in this heat. Do you need me to do an extra shift here?’
‘No. I need three silver cake platters from the catering shop on Winton high street. Can you collect them for me and drop them back here?’
The Last Library Page 11
