“But how am I supposed to do that?”
“You’ll think of something.” Marjorie stood up and walked to the office door. “I appreciate you doing this for me; it won’t be forgotten.”
She stood by the door like a sentry until June left.
•••
At the end of her shift, June hurried out of the library, her head spinning. Over the years, she’d trained herself not to think about school or Gayle Spencer, but now all the unwanted memories came flooding back.
June had been devastated when Gayle rejected her in the first term of secondary school. Her response had been to bury herself deeper inher books, withdrawing from everyone around her. People could hurt her, June had realized, in a way that a character in a novel never would. Her mum had implored her to put the books aside and make new friends, but June had made a friend once before, and look how that had ended. Instead, she vowed to keep her head down until she left this school and Gayle behind. Things would be different when she got to university, June told herself time and again; there would be more people there, and she would find like-minded friends. Until then, she had Lizzy Bennet and Jo March to keep her company.
But now, after all these years, Marjorie expected June to go to Gayle’s hen do and pretend they were still friends, while Tara and Becky and all those other women sniggered behind her back, just like the old days. And not just that, but June was also somehow supposed to stop a stripper from performing. She grimaced at the thought; whatever happened, she needed to get out of this.
June increased her pace toward home andCold Comfort Farm. But as she passed the bakery, she heard her name being called. When she turned around, she saw Stanley coming out of the library, waving his arm in the air. June waited for him to catch up, praying this wouldn’t be another of his attempts to get her to join FOCL.
“Hello, my dear,” he said when he reached her. “I’m glad I caught you. I’m stuck on today’s last clue and I thought you might be able to help.” He produced a newspaper from his carrier bag.
“Stanley, is that stolen library property?” June said in mock indignation.
“It’s borrowed, not stolen. I’ll return it first thing tomorrow.”
She smiled and took the paper from him, pleased to be asked for help again.
“Seven down,” he said. “ ‘Start angry confused victims protesting,’ eight letters.”
June looked at the space in the crossword; several of the letters were already filled in. “I think it’s ‘activism,’ Stanley.”
“Is it?” He looked at the paper, frowning. “So it is, silly me. Are you headed this way too?”
They set off side by side, neither of them speaking as they made their way along the Parade. The Chalcot in Bloom committee had been busy in recent weeks, and colorful baskets of flowers had been suspended from every lamppost and shop awning, but June couldn’t enjoy them today. She felt the awkward silence hang between her and Stanley and reminded herself once again that this was why she shouldn’t try to talk to patrons outside of work.
“Do you know, I can remember your first day working at the library,” Stanley said as they turned left at the post office to go down the hill.
“I’m not sure I can; it was all a blur.”
“You were quiet as a mouse. I don’t think I heard you speak all day. You looked terrified.”
“I was terrified.”
“How old were you?”
“Eighteen.”
“Goodness,” Stanley said. “May I ask what made you decide to become a library assistant?”
June took a moment before she answered. “My mum got sick during my A levels, so instead of going away to university I became her carer. We needed money, so Marjorie employed me as a part-time library assistant until Mum was well enough to return to work at the library. But that never happened...”
She trailed off, and when Stanley spoke again it was in a voice so quiet, she almost didn’t hear him.
“And here you still are, ten years later.”
“I know.”
They walked on in silence, past the village green, where June could see a dad and child feeding ducks on the small pond. When they reached the Golden Dragon, June glanced in the window to see if Alex was there; he often popped out to say hello to her and chat about books, but there was no sign of him today. Stanley didn’t speak until they had almost reached the church.
“You know, I’ve met many librarians in my time, and I think your mum was one of the finest I’ve ever known.”
“Wasn’t she amazing?” June said, smiling. “She seemed to find it all so easy; it was like she was born to do the job.”