‘I hope not,’ I say. ‘Romeo and Juliet both topped themselves, y’know …’
‘OK, OK, forget them,’ he says. ‘Let’s just be ourselves: Marley and Lexie! So what’ll we do now? Something fancy? Cinema? Bag of chips? This is supposed to be the perfect date, remember!’
‘Well, there’s something I want to show you!’
I tell Marley about Greystones and the old railway carriage. His confidence crumbles, his eyes flashing hurt, and suddenly I’m treading carefully again.
‘You didn’t tell me,’ he says. ‘You didn’t want me with you to check it out?’
‘It was a bit awkward after Friday,’ I say. ‘I thought I’d scope it out first.’
Marley sighs. ‘I guess. I mean, it sounds good – I’ve been so scared that the Lost & Found was going to fizzle out before it even properly begins …’
‘Not if I can help it,’ I promise.
And right there, in the booth at the Leaping Llama, he leans over, pulls me close and kisses me.
19
A Long-Lost Legend
I hand my library song lyrics over to Marley as we sit on the steps of the old railway carriage later that night.
‘You wrote me a song too?’ he checks, wide-eyed. ‘That’s amazing!’
‘I wrote it for the library,’ I tell him. ‘But … well, I wondered if you could do anything with it. Make it into something.’
He scans the words.
‘I really did put my foot in it on Friday, didn’t I?’ he says. ‘Dylan and me, we’re not big into books and reading. Just never got the habit, and books seem like a chore, somehow. Like work.’
‘That’s because you only read for school,’ I point out. ‘Libraries are all about reading what you want to read, for fun or for research. Books on musicians, maybe?’
‘Maybe,’ he says. ‘Never thought of that. Anyway, I was out of order shooting my mouth off like that. I’ll make some music for your song, Lexie. It’ll be a challenge to work this way round!’
‘I’ll work on your song too,’ I promise. ‘Our song. Whatever!’
‘C’mon,’ he says with a grin. ‘Back to work!’
We’d abandoned all hope of a proper date to come straight here, and Marley fell in love with the place, just as I knew he would. Already, someone – Jake, maybe – has made a start on packing up the vintage magazines and peeling the old photos off the wall, but the magic still hangs in the air, so real you can almost touch it.
Marley discovers a broken Dansette record player and a cupboard full of vinyl records from the sixties, lots of them signed. ‘Have you seen this?’ he asks, over and over. ‘I mean this is treasure! The Beatles, The Stones, The Kinks, David Bowie, Ked Wilder – all these amazing oldies! Must be worth a fortune!’
I pick up a Ked Wilder single, wiping a layer of dust from its sleeve to see more clearly the legendary sixties pop hero with his mop of black hair, skinny jeans and dodgy winklepicker shoes. He stayed here lots of times, according to Miss Winter. I try not to wonder which other long-gone performers have been right here in this room, writing songs or partying or just taking some time out. The magic still lingers, somehow.
We spend the rest of our date night clearing the main living space of personal stuff, boxing it up for Jake to take up to the house. With the valuables gone, we’re left with worn-out rugs, peeling paint, faded couches and windows thick with dirt.
‘It’s a mess,’ Marley says. ‘But it’s a beautiful mess, right?’
It really is.
The next week is crazy. Almost every spare moment is spent down at the old railway carriage. Most of the band get involved, though Romy can’t stay late – she says her mum’s not well – and Sami doesn’t show his face at all. Marley says that his uncle and aunt are strict, and don’t quite understand what this is all for.
‘Sami lives with his uncle and aunt?’ I ask.
Marley stares at me. ‘You don’t know about Sami?’ he says. ‘Seriously? He’s from Syria, Lexie. A refugee. He lost his whole family on the journey over, but he got to come to Britain as an unaccompanied minor because he had relatives here. I thought everyone knew?’
‘Not me,’ I whisper. ‘Oh, Marley, how awful!’
To lose your mum is bad. What must it feel like to lose your whole family? To pitch up alone in a strange country thousands of miles from home? No wonder his eyes are dark with shadows. No wonder his flute playing makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
That’s the moment when I know for certain that the Lost & Found is not just about music but much, much more, and I’m grateful to Marley for railroading me into doing something way outside my comfort zone. How many of the others are grateful too? Awkward, overweight Romy, for sure; shy, bespectacled George; ambitious, determined Soumia; and beautiful Sasha with her eyes full of secrets.
On Monday night we clean, a whole squad of us with mops and buckets and dusters. Lee provides trumpet backing while the rest of us work, and it is strangely satisfying.
On Tuesday, we wallpaper the railway carriage with sheet after sheet of old music, the pages overlapping to make a beautiful patchwork. The sheet music is from a box I rescued not long ago; this is the perfect use for it.
On Wednesday, we throw out the moth-eaten rugs and paint the old floorboards. Jake’s stepdad, Sheddie, tells him he can take his pick of the leftover emulsion paint in one of the old workshops, so we carry the whole lot up to the train and begin to paint thick, swirling stripes, pale golden yellow, tulip red and sky blue.
‘What will Miss Winter think?’ Happi asks, anxious. ‘This is probably not what she had in mind!’
‘She lived through the sixties,’ Bex reminds us. ‘Psychedelia and all that crazy stuff. She won’t bat an eyelid!’
‘Apparently the Millford Gazette called round to interview her today,’ Jake comments. ‘And she kept them on the topic of the library closures the whole time. It should go in on Friday …’
‘That’s handy,’ Bex says. ‘I’m taking the petitions to town on Saturday afternoon. I’ve printed out some official-looking ones and borrowed a couple of clipboards from school. If the newspaper interview is good, we should get lots more people wanting to sign!’
‘Me and Lexie have been working on something else that might help the library campaign,’ Marley says with a wink in my direction. ‘It’s almost ready. Can we get Sasha along tomorrow? A snare drum, a violin or two? There’s a new song we need to try out!’
On Thursday, Happi, Bex, Jake and I carry on with the rainbow swirls while Marley plays us some guitar riffs and Sasha tries to fit the words to the music. Working together makes the song a genuinely joint effort, and what started out as my own private reaction to the library closures looks like it could be our next song.
On Friday, the railway carriage is off-limits while Jake’s stepdad sorts out the electrics, checks that the tiny bathroom is working properly, and sands and varnishes the woodwork. We take the evening off, and it just happens to be the evening that Louisa Winter’s interview appears in the Millford Gazette.
It’s not just one page – it’s a full-colour centre spread! I open it up on the living-room carpet and Mary Shelley mooches over to take a look. ‘National Treasure Louisa Winter Condemns Library Carnage,’ the headline blares. There’s a big colour picture of Louisa posing next to one of her paintings, artist’s palette in hand, her green eyes gazing at the camera. On the opposite page there are older photos of Louisa in her modelling days, including one of her hand in hand with sixties pop legend Ked Wilder. I begin to read.
Millford’s very own Louisa Winter, internationally acclaimed artist, sixties wild-child and modelling sensation has spoken out about the imminent closure of five local libraries. Speaking from her Millford studio, Louisa likened the closures to ‘throwing our children’s futures away and making a bonfire of all we have learned about culture, community, education and creativity’.
My mobile buzzes into life with an incoming call from Ja
ke.
‘Have you seen it?’ he demands, breathless. ‘In the paper? Louisa’s interview?’
‘I’m reading it now,’ I say. ‘It’s good! She says she’s getting all her famous friends to write letters to the council, and I bet loads of people locally will write their own now!’
‘Have you got to the bit about the festival?’ Jake asks. ‘Keep reading, Lexie. Louisa says we’re having a big festival in the park in June to protest about the cuts and the closures. Everyone’s invited along to support the libraries, and local bands are invited to perform …’
‘That could be us!’ I exclaim. ‘June’s a bit too soon, really, but –’
‘We’re doing it,’ Jake interrupts. ‘We have to, because Louisa’s told the paper we’re playing.’ He reads aloud:
Newly formed local teen band the Lost & Found will play support for sixties pop legend Ked Wilder, who often stayed in Millford at the height of his fame and was a regular at Bridge Street Library. The festival will be Wilder’s first public performance in more than a decade and is expected to draw a crowd of thousands.
‘You’re kidding,’ I say, and then I find it in the newspaper spread before me and my eyes widen. ‘Whoa – you’re not kidding! Jake, this is awesome. And terrifying. And … what are we going to do?’
‘I’ll ring the others,’ he tells me. ‘You tell Bex and Marley.’
I click to end the call. Mary Shelley stalks across the newspaper and stops to look at me, inscrutable, her beaky little face tipped to one side. I think she’s trying to be encouraging. It’s difficult when your best friend is a tortoise … conversation can be kind of one-sided.
I scan though the interview again, trying to take it all in.
‘Bex!’ I yell. ‘Quick! We’re going to be famous!’
20
Going Places
It’s Saturday morning and Marley is like a kid at Christmas. He’s so excited at the idea of the festival that he is driving me crazy, talking non-stop and grabbing my hands every few minutes to dance me around in some kind of celebration dance. This is not ideal when you’re trying to walk along the street, trust me. People tend to stare.
I am marching him over to Bridge Street Library to sign him up for a library card; he’s so grateful about the whole library protest thing that he’s actually agreed.
‘Stop it, Marley!’ I say, laughing, pulling away from him now. ‘Calm down!’
‘Calm down?’ he echoes. ‘You’re kidding, right? I can calm down when I’m dead, but right now I am buzzing! We’ve got our first gig and it’s going to be huge. Supporting Ked Wilder – do you have any idea what that means?’
I roll my eyes. ‘Five solid weeks of hard work and slog followed by half an hour of sheer terror, that’s what it means,’ I tell him. ‘We’re nowhere near ready for this, Marley! We only have one song, and even that’s rough around the edges!’
‘Two songs,’ he corrects me. ‘That library thing will be top of our playlist. Have you managed to do anything with the guitar piece I wrote for you?’
‘I haven’t had time,’ I argue. ‘I’ve been scrubbing cobwebs off windows and painting psychedelic stripes all week, remember? And then there was the small distraction of school! Give me a chance!’
‘A chance?’ Marley says. ‘I’d give you my heart on a platter, Lexie Lawlor. You are awesome. This gig – it’s all thanks to you. You found us a new practice space – one we can use every evening if we want to – and you found us Louisa Winter, who just so happens to be rich, famous and very well connected. Oh, and as loopy about libraries as you are! Don’t worry, I’m not knocking it …’
‘Good,’ I say. ‘And it’s Jake we have to thank, anyway. He lives at Greystones; he’s the one who found Louisa!’
Marley shrugs. ‘Whatever … Look, I admit I was wrong. You were right. Libraries open doors. Who knew?’
‘I knew,’ I remind him, grinning.
‘OK, OK, rub it in why don’t you …’
Inside the library, it’s even busier than usual for a Saturday. Miss Walker is looking extra cool in a vintage style dress printed with shelves of books. ‘My library dress,’ she says, giving a little twirl. ‘I am fighting this every inch of the way, and every which way I can!’
She hands us the form for Marley to fill out for his library card, plus an extra one to take back for Dylan, and when I explain about our plan to get as many people to sign up as possible she smiles and tells us that lots of people have been in during the week to do just that.
‘As for today, it’s been non-stop!’ she says. ‘It’s not even lunchtime, and already I’ve had the Millford Gazette in asking how I feel about the library closures – and would you believe that Radio Millford are calling in five minutes to do a live round-up of what’s happening? Miss Winter’s interview has certainly stirred things up a bit!’
‘That’s brilliant!’
‘It is,’ she agrees, putting Marley’s information into the computer. ‘The radio researcher asked if any of the protesters were available to chat, and in walk you two! Could you say a few words about why you care so much about Bridge Street Library and how the whole protest festival idea came about?’
‘Yesss!’ Marley crows. ‘How cool? We’re going to be on the radio!’
My reaction is less gleeful. ‘Um … I’m not sure I can,’ I tell Miss Walker. ‘I think Bex might speak better than either of us.’
‘Bex isn’t here and you are,’ the librarian points out. ‘Please, Lexie? For the libraries? It’s nothing scary, just a little chat on the phone …’
‘A chat on the phone with half the town listening in,’ I say, and then the penny drops – people really are out there listening. Speaking out might help the libraries, but more than that, someone might recognize my name and find a way to contact my mum. I just need to say who I am and mention that I’m in foster. It has to be worth a shot, surely?
‘We’ll do it, no worries,’ Marley is saying. ‘Might be fun …’
Another librarian, the plump, grey-haired one, comes over to hold the fort at the desk while the interview takes place, and then the telephone rings. Miss Walker picks it up, smiling and nodding at us, and we know right away she’s talking to a researcher and isn’t actually live on air, because she gives our names and explains who we are. The researcher talks to each of us in turn, to check we’re coming over loud and clear – or possibly to make sure we’re not nuts.
‘Don’t think of it as radio,’ she says. ‘Imagine you’re talking to a friend. We’re just coming to the end of the traffic report – Tony will be with you soon! Can you put Miss Walker back on the line?’
The whole library is hushed as the clock shows it’s twelve, and Miss Walker’s face lights up as she begins to chat, telling listeners about the busy library and how upset her regulars are that it will soon be closing. She invites anyone who thinks that libraries are old-fashioned to call in and see for themselves.
‘The council tell us that kids today don’t use libraries, but that’s absolutely not the case here,’ she declares. ‘In fact, some of our most passionate protesters are teens. I’m handing over to Lexie Lawlor, a thirteen-year-old from the local school who can tell you herself just why she cares so much …’
Miss Walker hands the telephone to me. She has already given me the best and clearest introduction possible. If anyone out there is looking for me, they’ll know I’m safe, at least.
‘Hello, Lexie!’ the presenter says brightly. ‘The media would have us believe that teenagers are too wrapped up in themselves to care about things like libraries; is that true? Tell us how you got involved in speaking up for Millford libraries!’
Marley digs me in the ribs, and I stumble out of silence.
‘Well, me and my foster sister Bex have been using Bridge Street Library for years,’ I begin. ‘Miss Walker runs some cool reading groups and we get to have hot chocolate and cookies …’
I’m wandering off the point, but the presenter doesn’t seem
to mind.
‘Hot chocolate, eh?’ he says. ‘If only all libraries were like that!’
‘Libraries are not just about books these days,’ I point out. ‘Although the books are vital because we don’t have a library at school any more, and not everyone has books or Kindles at home. Libraries do other things too, though – there are lots of groups that meet here. My friends and I are in a band and we used to practise here, but now that the libraries are being closed we’ll have nowhere to go. We’re all upset, because actually the libraries belong to us and the council shouldn’t be allowed to take them away or sell them off or whatever. My mum used to take me to libraries loads when I was little. Those were brilliant times. The council should be supporting libraries, not slamming the doors shut!’
‘Well said, Lexie!’ the presenter booms. ‘Now I believe your friend Marley is going to tell us all about this protest festival? Welcome to the show, Marley Hayes!’
Marley takes the phone and chats away with charm and confidence, skirting around the fact that the first he knew of the protest festival was when I called last night to say I’d read about it in the paper. To hear him tell it, he’d pleaded with Louisa Winter to get involved, and she’d agreed, rewarding his determination with a debut slot at the festival.
‘My girlfriend and co-writer Lexie has collaborated with me on a song for the libraries,’ he states. ‘We’re a new band, but let’s just say that Louisa Winter and Ked Wilder have taken a very keen interest in our work …’
I raise my eyebrows, amazed at his cheek, but Marley just grins and shrugs, unrepentant. By the end of his interview, he’s wangled us an invitation to showcase our songs on air once the festival is over.
Marley hands the phone back to Miss Walker, and I drag him over to the library’s music section. I stand him in front of the biographies and watch his mouth drop open.
‘If you want tips on how to make it in the music business, this is where to find them,’ I whisper as he flicks through a book about the Red Hot Chili Peppers. ‘Although, judging by that performance, you’re pretty much a pro already. What was all that about pleading with Louisa Winter? You’ve never even met her!’
Love from Lexie Page 9
