“I saw that order and wondered if it was you. How are you?”
“Okay. I went to the library this morning.”
“How was it?”
“Horrible . . . and nice. Do you think we should organize a funeral for Stanley? I’m not sure who else will.”
“I believe Stanley’s solicitor is dealing with it.”
“Stanley had a solicitor?” June couldn’t hide her surprise.
“I spoke to her and apparently his named next of kin is his sister, so they’re trying to trace her before anything’s arranged.”
June hated the idea of Stanley’s body sitting in a morgue somewhere, all alone. “He needs a proper send-off.”
They stood in silence.
“June, I need to tell you something,” Alex said.
She studied the Formica counter. Was this going to be about her humiliating attempt at a kiss after the wedding? Or was he about to finally admit that he had a girlfriend? Either way, this was the last thing she wanted to discuss right now.
“I’ve been wanting to say it for a while, but with everything that’s happened I haven’t had a chance,” Alex said.
“Please, you don’t have to say anything.”
“But I don’t want you to find out from someone else. I—”
“You look well, George,” June said as she saw Alex’s dad walk out of the kitchen carrying her bag. “How’s your hip?
“Fine, so I don’t know why Al is still here,” George said. “I keep telling him he can go back to London.”
“Dad . . .”
“The doctor says my hip is healed. Why are you still hanging round here, getting in my way?” He swiped at his son, although not without affection.
“How much do I owe you?” June said, rummaging in her bag for her purse.
“Nine pounds fifty.”
She handed over a ten-pound note, grabbed her food, and ran out of the takeaway before Alex could say another word.
* * *
• • •
June avoided the takeaway and Alex for the rest of the week. She stayed away from the library too. On Friday, she received an e-mail from the council, but when she opened it there was just a curt message from some HR person reminding her of the terms of her suspension. The e-mail said the investigation into the occupation was progressing and they would be in touch with the outcome in due course.
That evening, as she was walking to the village shop to buy her dinner, June heard her name being called from across the street. It was Mrs. Bransworth, waving her arms above her head.
“I’ve been looking for you all week,” she said as she crossed the road toward June, oblivious of the cars screeching to a halt behind her. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Oh, you know, around.” In truth, June hadn’t left the house. She was currently reading A Little Life, which was doing nothing for her mood.
“They’ve set a date for Stanley’s funeral. Alex told me it’s taking place on Friday the twenty-fourth at two o’clock, at Winton crematorium.”
“But that’s when the council meeting is happening.”
“I know.”
“What are we going to do?”
“I asked Alex if the funeral could be moved but he didn’t think it could. Stanley’s sister is only coming up for one day, apparently.”
“I can’t miss his funeral.”
“Stanley’s dead in a box; he doesn’t care.”
June winced.
“But you’ve got to do whatever is right for you,” Mrs. B said, and she turned and marched back across the road, drivers gesticulating at her madly.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
June stood in front of the tall, imposing stone building and looked at the sky. Gray clouds were rolling in, threatening rain, and she’d forgotten her umbrella. She looked around to see if anyone else was coming, but there was no one in sight. So, this was it—she’d have to do this alone. June checked the time; it was one fifty. She tried to ignore the churning in her stomach and walked inside.
June had been in this room once before, eight years ago, and it was exactly as she remembered it. The wooden paneling along the walls, the smell of beeswax polish, the heavy, flat silence. But whereas last time it had been full to bursting, every seat taken and people standing along the walls, today it was deserted. Stanley’s coffin stood on the same dais at the front, but while June’s mum’s had been covered in colorful flowers, Stanley’s was completely plain. No flowers or photos, no sign of the person inside.
June walked up the central aisle, trying to control her breathing. As she did, she saw a small figure in the front row, so still that she hadn’t noticed her at first. The woman had gray hair and was sitting bolt upright, her back to June. This must be Stanley’s sister.
“Excuse me?” June’s voice echoed round the drafty room.
The woman turned to look at her. She was elderly, well into her eighties, and was wearing an old-fashioned navy woolen suit with a blouse buttoned up to the neck. Her hands, pale and wrinkled, were clasped in her lap.
“I’m June Jones, a friend of Stanley’s. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
The woman stared at June with watery gray eyes, then turned back to the front without saying a word. June was unsure what to do, so she took a seat in a row on the other side of the aisle. The two of them sat in silence, the only sound the ticking of a clock at the back of the room, counting out the painful seconds like a metronome. June tried to keep her breathing in time with the clock, in order to fight her overwhelming desire to turn and run out of the room.
“Hi.”
She jumped. Alex was standing in the aisle next to her, dressed in his suit and a black tie.
“You’re here.”
“Of course,” he said, sitting down next to her.
Over the next few minutes, several more people drifted into the room; June recognized a woman from the Knit and Natter group, a couple of parents from the Children’s Room, and one or two others from the library occupation. Eventually, a man entered through a side door and walked over to Stanley’s sister. He was carrying a single sheet of paper.
“Is this everyone?” he said to her. The old lady nodded, and he went to stand at the lectern next to the coffin. “Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Guy Wilson. I’m the officiant at today’s funeral service for Stanley Phelps. Before I begin, a few pieces of housekeeping. First off, please switch all mobile phones to silent. Secondly—”
There was a loud crash at the back of the room.
“Sorry we’re late. Bloody traffic.”
June swung round to see Mrs. Bransworth marching up the aisle, followed by Chantal, Vera, and Jackson.
“I thought you weren’t coming,” June whispered to Mrs. B as she took a seat.
“Decided that even though the old bugger won’t know I’m here, I wanted to say good-bye.”
“Granny Linda gave us a lift,” Jackson said, sitting down on June’s other side. “She said you’d look after me, June.”
“I wonder if there’ll be a buffet afterward,” Vera said.
The officiant coughed. “Right, if everyone’s here, we can begin.”
He said a few words about the service and the fact that Stanley’s sister had requested there be no music. He gave a brief speech about Stanley, factual information, his date of birth, where he was born, his parents and sister. He said that Stanley had worked as a chartered accountant for many years and died of a brain hemorrhage. There was no mention of Kitty or Mark, or anything to do with the library. June didn’t recognize the man being described.
“Now, seeing as it’s a short service, would anyone else like to say a few words about Stanley?” The officiant looked at Stanley’s sister, who had sat motionless throughout the ceremony. She gave a tight shake of her head.
“Anyone else?”
&
nbsp; He looked out at the small congregation. June thought of all the things she wanted to say about Stanley, about the wonderful man he was and the kind friend he’d been. She wanted to thank him for all that he’d done, not just for the library but for her personally. June could feel Alex’s eyes on her, waiting. She glanced over at Stanley’s sister, who was staring forward, stiff as a rod.
“Are you okay?” Alex whispered.
June looked down at her hands and saw they were trembling in her lap. In fact, her entire body was shaking, causing her teeth to chatter. She closed her eyes and willed herself to calm down.
“Oh, for god’s sake.”
June opened her eyes to see Mrs. Bransworth marching toward the front. She stopped when she got to the lectern and took a deep breath.
“I’m not one for speeches and I hate funerals, so I’ll keep it brief. But Stanley deserves more than this pathetic affair.” As she said this, Mrs. B looked over at Stanley’s sister. June couldn’t see her face, but she saw the old woman’s shoulders tense.
“I’ve known Stanley for fifteen-odd years, but to be honest, I never paid him much attention. He always seemed too bourgeois, with his tweed suit and reading that awful Torygraph crap. But it turns out you really can’t judge a book by its cover.
“In the last few months, meek little Stanley Phelps proved himself to be a lion. A man who stood up for what he believed in and was willing to be arrested for his convictions. A true comrade who fought with his dying breath to protect something he knew was important, not just for himself but for everyone.”
Mrs. B’s voice wobbled, and she coughed to clear her throat.
“If we all take one lesson from Stanley’s life, it should be that it’s never too late to find your voice, to stand up and shout from the top of your lungs about injustice. Because if each one of us had even a little bit of Stanley’s courage and humanity, this world of ours would be a damn sight better place.”
She stopped talking and June wanted to burst into applause. But there was a loud, drawn-out creak, and she looked over to see Stanley’s sister standing up, leaning on her walking stick. Alex jumped up and went to help her, but the woman shook him off without a word. They all watched as she turned and made her way at a snail’s pace down the central aisle, not looking at any of them. When she reached the back of the room, she pulled open the door and let it slam shut behind her, the sound echoing round the silent room like a gunshot.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
June stayed in her seat until everyone had left and then walked up to the coffin. She touched it, feeling the rough wood under her fingertips.
“Good-bye, Stanley,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I didn’t speak up today, but thank you.”
She reached into her bag and pulled out the library copy of The House at Pooh Corner that Stanley had been reading. June looked at its aged, faded cover, the plastic protector yellow and cracked, and placed the book on top of the coffin, where the flowers should have been.
Outside, Mrs. B, Vera, Chantal, Jackson, and Alex were waiting for her in a black taxi, the windows steamed up in the driving rain.
“The sister has pegged it,” Mrs. B said as June climbed in. “What a miserable old bat.”
“I hope my funeral lasts longer than that,” Vera said.
“We thought we’d go to the Plough for a drink in his memory,” Alex said as they drove out of the car park.
June stared out of the rain-streaked window as they reached the roundabout and took the exit back toward Chalcot. So this was it. She’d said good-bye to Stanley and now all she could do was sit and wait for the decision from the council meeting, helpless once again.
Unless . . .
“Stop the taxi!”
“What is it?” Alex said as everyone turned to look at June.
“This might sound crazy, but if we hurry, do you think we could still make it to the council meeting before they vote?”
“It started half an hour ago; they’ll never let us in,” Vera said.
“Maybe not. But we should try, shouldn’t we?”
“Seat belts on!” Alex shouted, as the driver slammed on the brakes and executed a three-point turn in the middle of the road. There was a cheer around the vehicle.
“Put your foot down, sod the speed limit,” Mrs. B yelled as they almost jumped a red light.
“You lot run on ahead and I’ll catch you up,” Vera said as they pulled into the council car park.
They piled out of the taxi and raced through the rain toward the building.
“Where’s the committee meeting?” June called to the woman on reception as they burst through the doors.
“It’s in the main chamber, but it’s well underway,” the woman replied, but they were already running up the stairs.
As they approached the chamber, June saw a young security guard standing by the door. He looked up in alarm as he saw them charging down the corridor toward him.
“I’m sorry, the meeting started an hour ago,” he said as they reached the door. “You’re too late to go in.”
“Please, we really need to be in there,” June said.
“Those are the rules, I’m afraid.”
“Please, sir?” Jackson said in his most innocent voice.
The guard shook his head. He couldn’t have been much older than eighteen. “I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can do.”
“What about if we slipped you twenty pounds?” Chantal said.
Mrs. B stepped forward to read his name badge. “Now, you listen to me, Sam Tucker. I’m going to report you for obstructing my democratic rights.”
“I’m just doing my job.” He backed away. “Now, please, can you all step away from the door so you don’t disturb the meeting?”
They all turned and started walking back along the corridor.
“Well, I guess at least we tried,” Alex said.
“I can’t believe we got this close,” Mrs. B said, shaking her head.
“Hang on.” June spun back round to the guard. “Your name is Sam Tucker?”
He nodded and she walked back toward him.
“This is a long shot, but are you any relation of Jim Tucker?”
“He was my grandpa,” Sam said, looking confused.
“Who the hell is Jim Tucker?” Mrs. B said.
“Sam, did your grandpa used to take you to Chalcot Library when you were little?” June asked.
Now he looked terrified. “Yes, why?”
“This might sound weird, but do you remember when he started to read you stories?”
Sam’s eyes were wide. “He learned to read when I was nine. What is all this about?”
“My name is June. I’m the library assistant at Chalcot. I’m the person who taught your grandpa to read.”
The young man’s face lit up. “You’re June Jones?” She nodded and he laughed. “You’re a hero in my family. My grandpa used to talk about you all the time; he thought you were amazing.”
June smiled back. “Your grandpa worked so hard to learn to read for you and your sister.”
“My mum won’t believe it when I tell her I met you! Do you still work there?”
“I do—but here’s the thing: Chalcot Library is under threat. Right now, in this chamber, the council are voting to decide whether or not to close it and five other libraries.”
Sam looked appalled. “They can’t do that!”
“That’s why we need to get in. We want to try to stop them closing the library.”
“But if I let you in, they’ll know it was me. I’ll lose my job.”
“Is there another way we can get in? Another entrance?”
He thought for a moment. “There’s a balcony upstairs in the chamber. It’s closed at the moment for maintenance work, so no one’s up there.”
June beamed at him. “Sam, you’re a
n absolute star. Your grandpa would be proud.”
The boy blushed. “Go down here, up the stairs, and take the door that says ‘No Entrance.’ The balcony is the red door on the right.”
They all hurried on down the corridor and up the stairs. When they reached the no entrance door, Alex stopped. “We can’t all go in. We’ll draw attention to ourselves.”
There was a quick discussion among the group before it was agreed that June and Mrs. Bransworth would go in. The two of them crept down the corridor until they came to the red door.
“Ready?” Mrs. B whispered, and June nodded.
She pushed the door open and they snuck in. June could hear voices coming from down below.
“We can debate this all day, but the numbers speak for themselves,” a man was saying in a loud nasal voice. “Visits to this library are down fourteen percent on five years ago, and borrowing is down by twenty-one percent over the same period, despite the recent spike. I’d argue that it’s a perfect candidate for closure.”
June caught Mrs. B’s eye and could see her own fear reflected back at her. Were they talking about Chalcot?
“But visitor and borrowing numbers are down at all the libraries in the county, even the bigger ones,” a female voice said. “And, in this instance, the library’s cost per issue is quite low compared to others. Plus, the response from the local community shows there is huge public support for the library.”
June crawled forward to the edge of the balcony in case there was any way to look down onto the floor below, but she couldn’t see a thing.
“There are other factors we need to consider,” the first man said. “As the consultants’ report highlights, this library would require significant costly refurbishment over the next two years if it’s to continue operating.”
“Some of that has already been done for us,” a voice said, and there was a murmur of knowing laughter around the room.
“They’re talking about us,” Mrs. B whispered, her breath hot on June’s ear.
The man continued. “I propose that rather than keeping this library open and having to pay for the renovations, we close it and consider how better we may be able to use the premises. It could be a valuable asset to the council in these strained financial times.”
The Last Chance Library Page 21
