June put the phone down; she should stay out of this.
And then she remembered Alex’s words.What would Matilda do?
She took a deep breath, picked up the phone, and clicked on “Sign up.” In a few minutes the account was set up. She composed a short message before she could change her mind.
Matilda @MWormwoo8
@FOCL I have some information that might be of use to you.
June pressed “Tweet” and threw the phone down on the table as if it were red-hot. She picked upThe Hobbitand read three sentences before glancing back at her phone. Nothing. She carried on reading,but she hadn’t even made it to the end of the page before she checked again. Who would be the person to see her tweet, Chantal or Mrs.B? And if they replied to her, what was she going to say?
She needed to do something to distract herself, and if reading wasn’t going to work, then there was only one other thing for it: cleaning.
June pulled on an old T-shirt and started in the living room. She worked meticulously, starting with the long bookcases and then making her way round the room. She polished each of the snow globes on the shelf above the TV, then moved on to the china ornaments on the mantlepiece: the Charles and Diana commemorative mug she and her mum had found together at a car boot sale, the model of a red bus they’d brought home from a sightseeing trip to London. June was dusting the china girl with a book when she heard her phone ping, and she rushed across the room to look at it.Friends of Chalcot Library followed you.June closed her eyes for a moment. She could still back out now; it wasn’t too late. Maybe Brian wasn’t up to anything dodgy after all. She opened her eyes and started typing a private message.
I think Brian Spencer is plotting against the library.
June pressed send and realized that she’d been holding her breath. A moment later a reply popped up.
Who are you?
I’m a friend of the library. I want to help you.
What do you know about Brian?
He met with two men and they talked about how he could grease the wheels and convince county councillors about something. They referenced Marjorie Spencer so I think it’s about the library.
Who were the men?
I don’t know.
What do they want to do with the library?
I don’t know. Sorry.
June waited for a response but there wasn’t one. From the curt tone she guessed it must have been Mrs.Bransworth replying, but what would she do with this information? She might confront Brian outright, but he’d just deny everything. Hopefully FOCL would do some digging and find some concrete evidence for what was going on. June wondered for a moment if Marjorie was involved but pushed the thought out of her mind. There were many things wrong with her boss, but June’s mum had always said that if you cut Marjorie in half it would say “Chalcot Library” through the middle. Still, maybe June should keep a closer eye on her at work, just in case.
She returned to her cleaning with renewed vigor. It felt good to have finally done something to fight for the library. Alex had been right; June might not be able to publicly join FOCL, but perhaps she could help them behind the scenes afterall.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
June handed the copy ofGone Girlto the young woman and watched her walk out of the library. She’d never seen her before, and June imagined that the woman had moved to Chalcot because she was on the run. Her parents were a respectable middle-class couple, with a BMW and annual ski holidays to France, but behind closed doors they were mean and bullying, controlling every aspect of their daughter’s life. So she had faked her own kidnapping, creating a ransom note and leaving false clues so that her parents didn’t suspect. But then her dad happened to come to Chalcot for work and spotted her at the library. He waited for her outside, and when she left, he followed her into an alleyway and in a low and threatening voice said—
“I need new book.”
“Hi, Leila,” June said, smiling at the patron in front of the desk. “What did you make of the Hairy Bikers?”
“I think Mary Berry better,” Leila said shyly. She came into thelibrary at least once a week now, and each time June helped her choose a new recipe book. June had found out that her son, Mahmoud, helped her translate the recipes into Arabic.
“I’ve put a new book aside for you—would you like to look at it now?”
“Thank you,” Leila said, and she waited while June went to find it.
“Here you go.”
“I have... for you...” Leila reached into her bag and pulled out a small package wrapped in a paper towel. June opened it to find a diamond-shaped slice of cake topped with crushed pistachios. It smelled delicious.
“Basbousa,” Leila said.