‘I like children,’ she protested.
‘So do I, but you’ve got a master’s from Oxford, for pity’s sake. You should be running that library, not sitting cross-legged readingMilly-Molly-Mandy.’
Annie ran her hand through rumpled chestnut curls, dislodging kirby hair grips. ‘This is our chance for actual change.’
‘I wish I shared your optimism, Annie,’ Evelyn remarked, ‘but we’re a naval town in Plymouth. If there’s bombing, you can bet we’ll bear the brunt, and some...’
She tailed off, and Joyce reached over and squeezed her friend’s hand. Evelyn’s father had barely said one word since he was swallowed up into the hell of the Battle of Jutland.
‘War is an abomination,’ Evelyn murmured.
‘I agree, Evelyn darling,’ Annie said breathlessly, flinging her arms wide and scattering ash. ‘But I think we need to be alive to opportunity.’
Her voice was smoky and crackling, reminding Joyce of all the good things in life, like sitting in front of a log fire with a good book and hot buttered toast or an autumnal walk on Primrose Hill at twilight.
Emboldened by the alcohol, Joyce nodded. ‘Annie’s right. War’s here, whether we like it or not.’
A noise sounded from the hallway.
‘Cooey, sorry I’m late.’ A blast of autumn air swept into the room, shortly followed by Bethnal Green’s children’s librarian, Clara Button. She breezed into the room smelling of pencil shavings and lily of the valley.
‘You’ve heard, then,’ she said, unknotting her headscarf. ‘Would you believe I’ve already been called into an emergency meeting at the library?’
‘Already?’ Joyce asked Clara. ‘What have you been discussing?’
‘Three of our male librarians have already left and signed up since Friday. Peter and I have been working out how we can fill the void.’
‘See,’ Annie remarked. ‘It’s happening already. Our lives are going to be changed beyond measure.’
Clara nodded. ‘Peter and I were musing on this. It’s not easy to assess exactly what the public will want.’
‘Escapist fiction most likely,’ Beth remarked. ‘We’re a nation of readers. War’s only going to increase the demand for books.’
‘Shorts and mercies, here we come,’ Grace laughed, raising her drink. ‘If it’s got a half-naked, swarthy scoundrel on the front, order it in. The good women of Jersey like a juicy read.’
‘But how are we to fulfil our roles properly?’ Jo asked. ‘You can bet that once more of the men get conscripted, women will have to step into their shoes. People’ll be busier than ever.’
‘She’s right,’ Evelyn nodded. ‘Library attendance will be the first thing to slide.’
‘Well, that’s easily solved,’ Joyce said. ‘If people can’t get to the books, we’ll take books to the people.’
‘Is this about your idea for a mobile library again?’ Beth laughed.
Joyce had never hidden her ambition to start a mobile library in Camden. Everyone thought her barmy, but she knew how many vulnerable and elderly people there were in her borough who loved books but simply couldn’t get to the library.
‘There’s an elderly lady called Mitsy who I deliver books to, on the hush-hush. My superior Hildegard would skin me alive if she knew, but I see the joy my visits bring her. Imagine how many Mitsys there’ll be when this war ramps up.’
‘Joyce is right,’ Clara insisted. ‘A library is more than a repository of books. It’s freedom and escape. It’s down to us, friends, to deliver that magic.’
The group digested Clara’s words.
‘It’s settled, then,’ Evelyn announced. ‘That should be our first and only wartime rule. If people can’t get to the books, we take books to the people. All in favour, raise your teacups.’
Slowly, all seven women lifted their teacups, before clinking them together. Joyce felt the stirrings of excitement justthinking about the potential of what might be achieved by such a novel scheme.
‘So, if we’re going to be so busy delivering books, how are we to stay in touch?’ Beth ventured. ‘I hate to sound pessimistic, but these weekends’ll become a thing of the past.’
Joyce nodded. ‘She’s right. Free time will become rationed. Look at Clara. She’s already missed most of the weekend.’
