A line of ARP workers queued in an orderly fashion, each gratefully browsing the shelves for something to read during the night shift.
‘Gosh, this is just what we need,’ remarked a middle-aged male warden in a tin hat, sliding a copy ofMoby Dickover the counter to be stamped. ‘Hitler would throw in the towel now if he could see this. Reckons as how these bombs would bring us to heel, but look at us.’ He gestured round the interior of the library van, eyes gleaming nostalgically. ‘I haven’t seen a mobile library since I was a lad growing up in Devon. I’ll be a regular, count on it.’
At the end of the queue was a young woman in a boiler suit with dark circles under her eyes. ‘I want something thought-provoking please, something to read between the raids.’
‘Have you heard of Virginia Woolf’sA Room of One’s Own?’ Joyce answered immediately.
‘No, but I’m willing to give it a go.’
Joyce slid the book from the shelf and ran her hand over the plain dust jacket.
‘It’s...’ How to sum up the book that had become not only her talisman, but her connection to Dorotha and the rest of the Secret Society.
‘It’s been a comfort over the years.’
‘But what’s it about?’ the woman pressed.
‘Hard to define, but I can quote you my favourite line. “Lock up your libraries if you like; but there is no gate, no lock, no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind.”’
The woman looked at her strangely, as if Joyce had seen into her soul. ‘I’ll take it.’
Joyce filled out her reader’s ticket and stamped the book before the woman left, ducking her helmeted head as she passed through the low van door.
The little mobile library hummed, a quiet and purposeful energy vibrating through the stacks.
Stepping through this tiny door was a portal. The twisted, smoking buildings outside belonged to another world. Here, her patrons could open the door to any world they desired. She hoped it gave all who discovered it the same thrill that Mary Lennox must have felt when she stumbled upon the door to her secret garden.
Finally alone for the first time all day, Joyce was caught off guard. She felt the presence of Dorotha, as clearly as if she were standing next to her. She pictured her pointed chin, the determined gaze and those eyes, impossibly blue. She remembered the day that Dorotha had pressed the book in her hand, right after she’d caught her reading in that broom cupboard.
It occurred to her that their friendship had moulded her into the woman she was today. In a strange way, everything she did was to make Dorotha proud of her. Wasn’t that the basis of the Secret Society of Librarians, in fact: women raising each other up?
‘Where are you?’ She murmured it out loud, as if the answer would somehow uncurl itself from the stacks.
‘Do you always talk to your books?’ The voice was gravelly, with a hint of mischief, and she jumped.
‘Oh, Harry! It’s you. I was just thinking out loud.’
‘Don’t worry,’ he chuckled. ‘I talk to myself all the time. No one else will ever listen.’
‘Look here, I never got a chance to say thank you earlier for standing up to that wretched man.’
‘Happy to oblige. He was a bully.’
She felt herself stiffening.
‘Don’t let him get to you,’ Harry murmured, stepping closer to her.
He smiled, and suddenly the library van felt incredibly small, the space between them closing. Up close, she could see he wasn’t handsome, not in the traditional sense. It was as if someone had sketched a picture of a handsome man, then smudged it. But the broken nose, slightly chipped front tooth and dishevelled mop of dark hair added up to something oddly reassuring.
‘I shouldn’t, but he was so judgemental, almost as if he couldn’t wait to report on our failure.’
‘Bugger him,’ Harry announced, and Joyce’s eyes widened in shock.
‘Sorry to be so blunt, but the world is full of ignorant people. Add to the mix that people are frightened, exhausted and looking for an outlet for their anger. You just have to focus on doing what you believe in.’
He swept an arm around the library van. ‘This is what’s important. Books, reading, stories. It’s magic.’
At that moment Library Cat leapt onto the polished mahogany counter and circled three times, before curling up asleep.
