The Last Library

by Freya Sampson

  June smiled, too overwhelmed to speak.

  ‘There’s one last person I need to thank, and that’s our donor, who’s committed to help fund the running costs of the library going forwards. He saved our arses when it became clear that our fundraising efforts weren’t going to be enough.’

  June glanced sideways and saw the handsome man smiling, and suddenly she felt her heart stop. The bright blue eyes. The slightly gappy teeth.

  Mrs B cleared her throat. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in saying a huge thank you to our biggest supporter, the son of our much-missed Stanley . . . Mark Phelps.’

  Everyone burst into applause, but June was too stunned to move. Stanley’s son was here, in Chalcot, helping the library. How was that possible?

  The applause died down as Mark stepped to the front. ‘Thanks for your kind words, Mrs Bransworth. I’d just like to say something quickly, if that’s OK?’

  The room hushed and waited for him to speak again. Mark took a moment to compose himself.

  ‘As some of you may know, my father and I had been estranged for many years, which is something I’ll always regret.’ Mark’s voice was quiet, and June strained to hear him. ‘When I learnt about Stanley’s death last year, the person who wrote to me also included the login details for his email account. I thought this was a bit odd, but when I logged into it, I discovered two hundred and eighteen messages, all addressed to me. None of them had ever been sent.’

  ‘My god, all those hours Stanley spent at the computers . . .’ someone said, but Marjorie shushed them.

  ‘His emails were extraordinary: funny, honest, heartbreaking. In many of them he talked about his love of Chalcot Library and the battle to save it from closure. He wrote with such passion about this place and why it was important to him, and it brought back lots of fond memories. You see, even when things were really bad with my dad, he still used to take me to our local library. He loved to read me stories, Winnie the Pooh and Roald Dahl, and he’d do all the voices. I think they were our happiest times together.’

  Mark hesitated, and June watched him fighting with his emotions.

  ‘One thing that struck me about his emails was the way he wrote with such affection about one particular person, someone who’d always shown him kindness and compassion, and who’d been a true friend to him long before the library was threatened.’

  Mark glanced down at his hands for a moment, anguish written across his face. When he looked up again, his eyes found June.

  ‘June, I’ll never forgive myself for not making contact with my dad when he was alive, especially now I know the conditions he was living in. But it gives me huge comfort to know that in the last years of his life, you cared for him and showed him unconditional friendship. He loved you like a daughter.’

  June felt tears spring to her eyes, but she didn’t try to wipe them away.

  ‘Everything Stanley wrote about you reminded me that libraries aren’t made by books, they’re made by librarians. And so, while my father may not be here to see it, I want his legacy to be that there’ll always be a paid librarian here in Chalcot, someone to help people in the way June helped him.’

  He stopped talking and the room erupted into thunderous applause. June joined in with them, smiling at Mark as she did, and so it took a moment for her to realise that the cheers and clapping were for her.

  *

  The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. June talked to Mark and there was wine and laughter as she caught up with the old patrons. She’d spent so long trying not to think about Chalcot Library and Stanley, so it was wonderful to share happy stories and memories without feeling that familiar stab of pain.

  ‘Vera and I are running cafe here,’ Leila said, handing June a slice of baklava.

  ‘All the money we raise goes towards the library costs,’ Vera said. ‘I’ve never been so busy.’ She turned to serve a customer, a smile on her face.

  ‘I’m starting university in September,’ Chantal told her. ‘Marjorie helped me with my UCAS form. I’m doing a degree in social work.’

  ‘Oh, Chantal, I’m so pleased,’ June said, giving her a hug.

  ‘Come on, there’s a photographer from the Gazette who wants a group shot,’ Mrs B said, grabbing June on her way to the door.

  Outside, the Friends of Chalcot Library gathered in front of the library, with a crowd of onlookers watching.

  ‘Is that everyone?’ The photographer had a camera up to his face.

  ‘I still think we should have invited Rocky,’ Vera said.

  ‘OK, everybody say cheese!’ the photographer said.

  ‘Down with the Tory government!’ Mrs B shouted.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Mrs Bransworth, will you ever give it a rest?’ Marjorie said.

  ‘Never. Mary and I are off to a protest up North tomorrow, another council trying to close their libraries.’

  ‘Mary?’ June said.

  ‘Mrs B is spending a lot of time with that woman from the Dornley WI,’ Vera whispered to June. ‘I think she might be one of those les—’

  But June didn’t hear the rest of what Vera said, because at that moment she spotted a figure standing at the back of the crowd. June hadn’t seen Alex since the day of Stanley’s funeral, nine months ago, and the sight of him made her stomach somersault. He caught her eye and smiled, and she walked over to join him.

  ‘Hey, stranger,’ he said when she reached him. ‘How are you? I like your hair.’

  ‘So, I’ve got a bone to pick with you,’ June said.

  Alex looked at her in alarm. ‘What have I done?’

  ‘I finally read Pride and Prejudice and Zombies a while ago, and I have some major reservations about the plot.’

  Alex’s face broke into a grin. ‘What are you talking about? It’s an amazing book, much better than Jane Austen’s boring original.’

  They both laughed, and June felt her heart lift.

  ‘Doesn’t this place look great?’ Alex said. ‘And Ellie just told me Stanley’s son is here. This must be so strange for you.’

  ‘This whole thing has been completely surreal.’

  ‘I hear you’re not working here anymore?’

  ‘No, I’ve left Chalcot. I work at a library in Kent now.’

  ‘Wow, that’s fantastic,’ Alex said, and then he frowned. ‘Why didn’t you reply to any of my texts?’

  ‘Sorry. I meant to but . . .’ June trailed off, unsure what to say. I was embarrassed because I’d assumed Ellie was your girlfriend and I’d made a complete fool of myself? I thought you wouldn’t want to have anything to do with me now you’d gone back to your old life? She took a deep breath. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘During the occupation, Stanley told me that I should learn to seize opportunities, otherwise I’d end up sad and alone with a life full of regrets.’

  Alex raised his eyebrows. ‘Woah, that was pretty brutal.’

  ‘I think he knew there was something I wanted, even though I didn’t realise I wanted it myself.’

  ‘But still, don’t you think telling someone they’ll end up sad and alone is a bit full on? I mean, talk about projecting—’

  June sighed; this was not how she’d imagined it would go. ‘Alex, you’re missing the point,’ she interrupted. ‘He was talking about you.’

  She watched his expression go from indignation to surprise. His cheeks flushed and for once he didn’t seem to know what to say.

  ‘I tried “seizing the opportunity” once before, after the wedding,’ June said, to fill the silence. ‘But that was . . . well, you know what happened then. It was a disaster.’

  Alex looked mortified. ‘I’m sorry, I just wasn’t expecting you to kiss me. And you were so drunk, I didn’t want to take advantage of you.’

  ‘You don’t have to apologise, I was a mess. And I felt so guilty because I thought you had a girlfriend.’

  ‘I tried to tell you that Ellie’s
just my flatmate.’

  ‘I know that now. I’m sorry.’

  ‘No, I’m the one who’s sorry,’ Alex said. ‘I really wish I could’ve told you back then what Ellie was doing to help Stanley secure his land, but he’d made us promise we wouldn’t tell a soul. I felt terrible keeping it a secret from you.’

  ‘It’s fine, I understand. And it’s amazing what she did for him.’

  ‘Can I ask you something?’ Alex paused, and June could see him weighing something up in his mind. ‘After Stanley’s funeral, you told me you regretted kissing me and that it was a mistake. Did you mean that?’

  Now it was June’s turn to cringe. ‘I thought you weren’t interested in me. I just couldn’t face more rejection.’

  ‘Oh. I really thought you meant it.’

  ‘No, quite the opposite. I . . .’ June faltered. It was all very well seizing opportunities, but what if she’d still got it wrong? She could completely humiliate herself right here in front of Alex and . . . June stopped herself and looked him in the eye. ‘I’ve been attracted to you ever since you came back to Chalcot, Alex, but for so many reasons I was too scared to say anything. So, I was wondering, would you like to go out with me sometime?’

  Alex didn’t immediately reply, and June felt heat spread through her body. She wanted to close her eyes and sink into the floor, but she forced herself to keep looking at him. She couldn’t read his expression and, when his shoulders moved, she thought for a horrible second he was about to turn and walk away. But then he stepped towards her, and June felt his hands reach for her and then his face was close, and his lips were on hers. Now June did close her eyes as she sank forwards into him. For a moment they were locked together, and June wasn’t aware of anything except Alex, his lips, and the sensation of his heart pounding against hers.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, would you two get a room?’

  June was dragged back down to earth by the sound of Mrs B’s voice. She and Alex pulled apart to see everyone grinning at them.

  ‘About time,’ Chantal said. ‘We’ve all had bets on when you two would finally get together.’

  June felt her cheeks flushing and she glanced across at Alex, who was looking dazed.

  ‘Why is everyone just standing around out here?’ Marjorie was marching over towards them. ‘We have a busy library to run, for goodness’ sake.’ She turned to June. ‘You see what I mean? Useless, the lot of them.’

  ‘Are you sure we can’t tempt you back to Chalcot?’ Mrs B asked.

  June looked around her. There were hanging baskets up outside the library, their flowers a shock of yellow against the red-brick walls. Next door was the village shop, where she’d bought hundreds of microwave meals over the years. And across the road was the bench where she and her mum used to sit when she was a child, eating their jam doughnuts on a Saturday morning.

  ‘I love Chalcot, but I’m not coming back. I’ve started a new life now and I’m happy.’ June glanced over at Alex, who smiled at her.

  ‘I can’t believe you’ve deserted us for a big fancy library,’ Marjorie said, shaking her head.

  ‘Actually, I have some news,’ June said.

  ‘Really? What?’

  Everyone looked at June and she pulled herself up a little taller. ‘I always dreamt of going to university and one day becoming a writer, but when Mum died I let that dream die too. But I’ve realised it’s time to stop living in fear and take some risks. So, I’ve enrolled in a part-time degree course for mature students, and I’ve started writing again.’

  ‘Oh, June, that’s wonderful,’ Alex said. ‘Stanley would have been so proud of you, and your mum.’

  ‘Well, make sure you send us a copy of your book when it’s written,’ Mrs B said. ‘I just hope it’s better than the rest of the crap we have here. What a load of rubbish – I’ve a good mind to hand my library card back in protest.’

  June looked at Alex and rolled her eyes, laughing.

  ‘Are you busy tonight or do you fancy dinner together?’ he said, as they turned and walked down The Parade, away from Chalcot Library.

  ‘Good idea,’ June said, taking his hand. ‘I’ve heard about a great place that does an excellent hot and numbing beef.’

  ‘Sounds perfect. Now, June Jones, I need to pick your brain on a book recommendation . . .’

  Acknowledgements

  When I was a child, I used to go to my local library every week and take out six books. It was there that I first discovered Matilda, where I worked my way through the St. Clare’s, Nancy Drew and Point Horror series, and where I borrowed my first Jilly Cooper novel. So I have to start by thanking every librarian who ever recommended a book to me, or took the time to ask me what I thought of something I’d just read. Without you, The Last Library would not exist.

  While writing this book, I spoke to a number of librarians, library campaigners and volunteers who generously shared their stories and experiences with me. Particular thanks to Sylvia Davis, Krystal Vittles, Dawn Finch, David Wolstenholme, Jim Brooks, Mary Palmer and Rashid Iqbal. And thanks to Lotte Pitcher, crossword extraordinaire, and Abigail Palmer-Page, for the invaluable advice on technical issues.

  To my incredible agent, Hayley Steed, thank you from the bottom of my heart for first believing in me and June, and for all your support, enthusiasm and endless patience. I am so lucky to have you in my corner. Thanks as well to everyone at the Madeleine Milburn Agency, in particular Liane-Louise Smith, Georgina Simmonds and Sophie Pélissier, the rights dream team.

  To my wonderful UK editor, Sarah Bauer, who re-created Chalcot Library in her meeting room the first time we met, and who has blown me away with her passion, vision and baking skills ever since. And thank you to the brilliant team at Bonnier Books who have worked so hard to get The Last Library out into the world, especially Katie Lumsden, Jess Tackie, Clare Kelly, Jenna Petts, Felice McKeown, Katie Meegan, Alex May, Laura Makela and the whole sales team. Huge thanks as well to Jenny Richards and Anna Morrison for the stunning cover.

  In America, a heartfelt thank you to the team at Berkley for falling in love with June and a bunch of eccentric English library patrons. To my fabulous editor, Kerry Donovan, who has been such a wonderful champion of the book, and to Bridget O’Toole, Elisha Katz, Diana Franco, Tara O’Connor, Christine Legon, Dan Walsh and Mary Baker for taking such good care of The Last Chance Library across the Atlantic.

  To the very first Friends of Chalcot Library, my classmates at the Faber Academy. Thank you for all the encouragement on the dark days and the prosecco-fuelled celebrations on the good ones. Special thanks to Hannah Tovey, Tamzin Cuming, Sophie Binns, Bryan Glick, Ben Ross and Lissa Price for reading various early drafts and giving me such honest feedback. And to Richard Skinner, our teacher, whose ‘just keep going’ mantra still rings in my ears every time I struggle with a scene.

  Finally, a huge, slightly tearful thank you to my parents and brother, for filling my childhood with magic and encouraging me to tell stories at the bottom of the garden. To Bethany, for lifting me up when I need it and ensuring I never take myself too seriously. To Olive and Sid, for always making me laugh and for being (mostly) patient while I struggled to write a book and home school you this past crazy year – I love you both more than you’ll ever know. And to Andy, for believing in me when this felt like a pipe dream, for giving me the space and time to give it my best shot, and for never complaining about the piles of books that have overtaken our home. This one’s for you.

  About the Author

  Freya Sampson works in TV and was the executive producer of Channel 4’s Four in a Bed and Gogglesprogs. She studied History at Cambridge University and is a graduate of the Faber Academy. She lives in London with her husband, two young children and an antisocial cat. The Last Library is her debut novel.

  https://freya-sampson.com/

  @SampsonF

  /FreyaSampsonAuthor

  @freyasampsonauthor

  Dear Reader,

  I’ve a
lways loved libraries. As a young child, I would go to my local library every week to borrow books, and as a student I spent many late nights squirreled away in the university library trying to hit an essay deadline. But it wasn’t until my early thirties, and the birth of my first child, that I began to appreciate just how important libraries really are.

  Despite living in a bustling city, I found the early months of motherhood quite isolating. I didn’t know many other people in the area with babies, and I was too nervous to go to cafés in case my colicky baby started to cry, disturbing paying customers. When I finally plucked up the courage to leave the house with my daughter on our own, the first place I went to was my local library. There was a children’s nursery rhyme session on, and I sat surrounded by parents and carers from all walks of life, small children running around the place, and I felt welcome and unjudged.

  The more time I spent in the library, the more I began to recognise the same faces that visited regularly. One particular older gentleman came in to read the newspaper. He would often try and start conversations with other people, but most avoided eye contact and ignored him. One day, I watched as a library worker stopped by his table for a chat. I didn’t hear what they talked about and the conversation couldn’t have lasted more than two minutes. But when she walked away, I saw the man smile, and I realised that that brief moment of kindness from the librarian was possibly the only conversation he would have all day. That was when the idea for The Last Library was born: a story about the unlikely friendships that can be made and found, and what a community can achieve when it comes together to fight to save their library from closure.

  The characters in my novel visit Chalcot Library for many different reasons. For eccentric Mrs Bransworth it’s to escape into books and stories (even though she complains about all of them). For elderly Stanley Phelps it’s to use the computers to access email, and for teenager Chantal it’s a quiet space to do her homework. But for all of them, the library is also a place where they can feel safe and find human connection. So, I hope that when people read The Last Library, they will be reminded of just how important our libraries are: a refuge for some, a lifeline to the world for others, and a place of books and companionship for all of us.