“I went to the protests against the poll tax and ended up getting arrested in a riot. I spent three days in prison after that.”
“Goodness,” Stanley said.
“But I felt alive again. For the first time since she died, I felt alive.”
June sank back in her chair. When had she last felt really, truly alive? She cast her mind back over the eight years since her mum died, but all she could picture was being at home, alone with her books. That was hardly living, was it? And then June remembered how she’d felt when she’d watched the news piece about Rocky, that secret thrill at knowing she’d done it herself. Or that night she’d spent creeping round Chalcot, putting up posters.
“We should all get some rest,” Mrs.B said, standing up.
June cleared up their mugs and went to rummage through thelost property box. She found an abandoned coat and brought it back out.
“In case you get cold,” she said, handing it to Stanley.
“Thank you, my dear. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow; try to get some sleep.”
June watched him push some chairs together to create a makeshift bed, while Mrs.B fashioned a mattress out of her Afghan coat over by the Audio Book shelf. She was amazed by the ease with which they made themselves at home.
June lay down in the corner by Fiction A–E and closed her eyes, but she wasn’t tired. She was acutely aware of the sounds coming from Mrs.B and Stanley, the snuffles and breathing of other human beings. This was, she realized, the first night she’d spent in the same room as another person since her mum died. June adjusted her position, but her mind was racing, and after a few minutes she got up and collected a pile of picture books from the returns trolley. She carried them through to the Children’s Room, where she began sorting through the shelves.
Ahlberg, A.; Alborough, J.; Antony, S. The Children’s Room had been redecorated years ago, but June could still remember what it was like when she was a child. Where the mural now was there used to be a picture of Winnie-the-Pooh, and the miniature sofa by the window had replaced a table and chairs.
Campbell, R.; Carle, E.; Child, L. June could picture her mum sitting in here, reading stories to the assembled children. And it was here that June had read a book herself for the first time, sounding the words out loud while her mum listened, grinning.
Dahl, R.; Donaldson, J. Years later, when June’s mum was in the final stages of her cancer and living in the hospice, she’d insisted they go to the library one last time. It had been a terrible palaverinvolving an ambulance and all sorts of equipment, but when they got here June wheeled her mum into the Children’s Room and they sat watching Marjorie conduct Rhyme Time, her mum singing along with the kids.
Hargreaves, R.; Hill, E.; Hughes, S. This last memory brought tears to June’s eyes, and she curled up on the floor and allowed them to fall in the darkness. Every inch of this room was steeped with memories, her mum’s DNA woven into the story rug and well-thumbed books. If the library was lost, June’s mum would be lost again too, and that was something she could never lethappen.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
At some point June must have fallen asleep, because when she opened her eyes she was lying on the floor, the coat she’d given to Stanley laid over her. The sun was already up, throwing long shafts of light across the books in the Children’s Room. June stood up, stretching, and walked back into the main room.
“What the hell?”
Every spare bit of wall space had been covered in posters sayingKEEP YOUR HANDSOFFOURLIBRARYandSAVECHALCOTLIBRARY.
“We’ve done a bit of interior decorating,” Mrs.Bransworth said as she stuck another poster up over a framed picture of the Queen.
“How many are there?” June asked.
“Forty-five, to be exact. I did them all by myself on the computer,” Stanley said proudly.
Mrs.Bransworth jumped down from the chair she was standing on. “What time does the dragon get here?”
“Around nine fifteen,” June replied.
“Right, we have two hours to get everything ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“We’re not going to sit around drinking tea all day. This is a war and we have to plan our attack.”
•••
The next two hours were a whirlwind of activity. Stanley typed up and printed out a hundred flyers about the protest, stating why they were occupying the library and what their aims were. June rearranged the tables to maximize space, and hand-drew several large signs, which they hung up in the front windows for passersby to see. After so long sitting on the sidelines, watching, it felt wonderful to be finally working alongside Mrs.B and Stanley as part of the team.
Mrs.B was pacing around the front door. “Oi, June. I need something large and heavy that can’t be moved easily.”
June looked around and spotted the ancient returns trolley, and together the two of them maneuvered it to the front. Mrs.B explained it was so they could barricade themselves in if things got nasty.