‘Need I remindyou,Councillor Silverman,’ he hissed, ‘that as chair of the borough libraries you’re sailing perilously close to the wind.’
‘Actually, I’m no longer employed by the council. Take this as my official notice.’ He looked around the crowd.
‘I joined in order to serve the people. If you insist on closing the library, then I can no longer fulfil my duties as a public servant.’
Joyce took the steps two at a time and gripped Dore’s arm.
‘Dore, think about this,’ she muttered.
‘I’ve been awake all night, thinking over what you said, and you were right. We simply hadn’t tried hard enough. This is a hill I am prepared to die on. Besides, this’ll give me more time to focus on my duties at the Swiss Cottage shelter and editingThe Swiss Cottager.’
He glared at Mr Foster. ‘I have a feeling I know what our next front-page story will be.’
He gestured to Joyce and Adela, his voice full of emotion. ‘You fail to see what’s right before your eyes. These women aren’t just librarians. They are part counsellors, social workers, listening ears, facilitators, trouble-shooters, advisors, confessors... But, above all, friends to all in this community.’
Mr Foster gave them a tight-lipped grimace before turning and marching back inside the town hall.
The door slammed shut and a wave of euphoria rippled over the crowd, whose chants grew louder.
Joyce was powerless to stop her tears. ‘Tears of happiness,’ she managed, as Dore reached for her hand.
‘I feel I should resign in solidarity with you, Dore.’
‘You’ll do no such thing. We need someone good on the inside.’
She squeezed his hand. ‘Thank you.’
‘I don’t know if this protest, or my resignation, will do any good, though,’ he sighed.
‘But it can’t do any harm either,’ she pointed out. ‘The library is one of our last true democratic spaces, especially in a time of war. People must feel heard.’
They turned to stare at the crowd. Mitsy was standing on the mobile library steps, leading a new chant.
‘Books not bombs!’
And then, Mitsy did something that – had Joyce not seen it with her own two eyes – she would never have believed.
Mitsy put down her banner and took Dore’s hand. A long look passed between the pair and, suddenly, Joyce understood.
‘I’ve been waiting for proof that you were the man I suspected you were,’ Mitsy said. ‘Will you marry me?’
The sparkle returned to Dore’s eyes as he took her hand and placed a chivalrous kiss on it.
‘Madam, it would be my greatest honour. I am, after all, your biggest fan.’
The extraordinary events of the public protest, coupled with Mitsy’s unexpected proposal, gave Adela, Joyce and Harry the perfect distraction as they drove to Devon the next day in the mobile library.
‘Did you really not have any clue that Dore was in love with Mitsy and was the writer of those anonymous letters?’ Harry probed as he drove the van along winding countryside roads.
‘None whatsoever,’ Joyce laughed. ‘That woman is incorrigible, and now she has a toyboy.’
‘Churchill should have her on his war cabinet,’ Harry joked. ‘Good luck to ’em. Get your happiness wherever you can find it, I say.
‘Do you think the protest’ll have any effect on the council decision?’ he went on.
Joyce wound down the window and breathed in the sweet countryside air, enjoying the feeling of spring sun on her cheeks.
‘Who knows? In all honesty, I doubt it. I looked to see if the local paper covered it this morning, but of course not.’
