“And weren’t you born to do it as well? You certainly have it in your blood.”
“God, no. I love working at the library, but I’m not a natural like she was. I’m too shy and I hate talking in front of people, so I can’t run any of the activities like Mum did. I’m pretty useless, really.”
Stanley raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything, so June continued.
“Sometimes I think that the only reason Marjorie hasn’t sacked me is out of loyalty to my mum. And she’s retiring at Christmas, so god knows what will happen to me after that.”
“Do you really think that?” Stanley said, and June nodded. “My dear, Marjorie hasn’t sacked you because she knows that if you went, the whole place would fall apart. You are the glue that holds Chalcot Library together.”
June couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s rubbish. Marjorie is the one who does all the hard work.”
“Can you really not see it?” Stanley stopped walking and turned to face her. “Tell me, if you weren’t there, who would encourage young Jackson with all his projects? Who would humor a lonely oldlady’s moaning or assist people with their benefits? And who would do the crossword with a silly old man like me? Every single day, you go above and beyond for people in the library.”
“But Mum always said that being a librarian was like being a social worker, so anyone in my job would do the same. Plus, they’d be able to do loads of other things that I’m too scared to even try.”
Stanley let out an audible sigh. “What about Jim Tucker?”
June hadn’t thought of Mr.Tucker in years, and the mention of his name made her throat thicken.
She’d met Jim not long after she started working at the library. Back then it was still open on a Saturday morning and he would bring his grandchildren in most weeks. June had never paid him much attention, apart from noting that he seemed a bit grumpy, dismissing the two kids whenever they brought him a book. Then one day, about six months after she’d started working there, June was coming home one evening when she spotted Jim sitting on a bench, staring into space.
“Jim’s grave is over there, you know,” Stanley said, interrupting June’s thoughts. He was pointing across the road to the churchyard, and June could see the same bench that she and Jim had sat on all those years ago.
She couldn’t remember how their conversation had started that day. But she did remember Jim telling her that he’d had some bad news from the doctor and he wasn’t very well. June had offered some platitude, at which point he’d stopped her in her tracks.Do you know my biggest regret?June had looked at him, wondering what on earth he was about to confess.I’ve never read a story to my grandchildren.
June had told him it was okay, he could read them one onSaturday; she’d help him choose a book. Jim had shaken his head and told June his deepest secret: that he couldn’t read. He said his wife knew but that all his life he’d managed to hide it from everyone else: his employers, his friends, even his own children. He’d been too stubborn and embarrassed, he said, and now it was too late, and he’d never get to read to them.
“You know, I used to see you with Jim down by the river,” Stanley said.
“He was proud and didn’t want anyone to know I was helping him, so we used to meet in secret after I finished work.”
The lessons had gone on for nine months. Jim had been severely dyslexic and even the simplest words confounded him. But eventually, very slowly, it had started to come together.
“I remember coming into the library one day before Christmas and seeing Jim there,” Stanley said. “He had his grandkids with him, and they were messing around a bit. Suddenly old Jim pulled a book off the shelf and started to read to them. I won’t forget the look on those children’s faces for as long as I live.”
June could remember it too and smiled. “The book wasPeter Rabbit. His granddaughter loved rabbits, so Jim had spent weeks practicing it.”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about Jim lately,” Stanley said. “Everything that’s been going on has made me think about all the people I’ve known in this village, and how the library has helped them. Howyouhave helped them.”
He hesitated for a moment, staring across at the churchyard. “This is what annoys me most about this bloody council business. What these management consultants with their calculators and spreadsheets will never work out is that the library is about so muchmore than simply books. Libraries are like a net, there to catch those of us in danger of falling through the cracks. That’s what we’re really fighting to protect.”
He stopped and June waited for the next line, the “this is why you need to join FOCL” chat. But when she looked at Stanley, she could see that his eyes were wet. He hurried to wipe them, and June looked away to allow him some dignity. When she looked back, he had composed himself again.
“Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time, my dear. You have somewhere you need to be.”
“I do?”
Stanley reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. “You’re busy, remember? That’s why you can’t come to the FOCL meeting tonight.” He turned to walk back up the hill, the way they’d just come. As he did, she could hear him muttering to himself, “ ‘Activism.’ I should have got that one.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
On Friday morning, June was setting up the library when she heard a faint knock at the door. When she pulled it open, she found a woman standing outside, wearing a long dress and a head scarf.
“Morning. I’m afraid we’re not open for another ten minutes,” June said.
The woman looked at her in confusion.
“Ten more minutes,” June said, holding up ten fingers.