“What were you talking to Mrs.Bransworth about?” Marjorie asked when they were behind closed doors.
“Nothing.”
“Was it about this group they’re setting up? Because if it was, I’m telling you now, you can’t have anything to do with it.”
“What? Why not?”
“I just had that awful Sarah Thwaite from the council on the phone—she recognized you at the meeting last night. She told me, in no uncertain terms, that library staff are not allowed to speak out against the council or the planned closures in any way.”
“Why not? She can’t do that!”
“You should have heard the way she talked to me, ghastly woman. She said she was reminding all library staff that the council pay our wages, and if we’re involved in any kind of action against library closures, then, and I quote, ‘our contracts would be under review.’ ”
“But surely that’s illegal?”
“Call it what you like, but the last thing this library needs is you getting sacked for embarrassing the council. I’m sorry, but we need to keep our heads down and our issue numbers up.”
June hesitated. “Are you really saying we can’t fight for our jobs?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. And don’t you dare tell anyone about this conversation, either. If people ask you to be involved, you have to tell them you don’t want to. Do you understand?”
“I still think this is—”
“I said, do you understand?”
“Yes, Marjorie.”
“Good. And I want you to take down those posters about the meeting. We can’t be seen to encourage them in any way.”
•••
June spent the rest of the afternoon trying to avoid the conversations around her about tonight’s meeting. Part of her was furious. How dare the council tell her she couldn’t join FOCL or fight for her own job? But another part of her, the part she hated, was secretly a bit relieved. This meant that she wouldn’t have to socialize with people outside of work, wouldn’t have to speak up or risk embarrassing herself again in public. All she wanted was to go home, put on her pajamas, and hide in the pages of a book.
At four forty-five, June was starting to tidy up when Chantal came rushing in through the door.
“I heard about last night.”
“I’m sorry, Chantal. I wanted to speak up for you but—”
“Stanley told me you’re setting up a group to save the library. I don’t mind helping with social media.”
“The thing is, I—”
“The meeting starts at eight, yeah? I’ll see you there.”
June opened her mouth to tell Chantal she wasn’t going, but the teenager had already run off.
•••
At seven fifty-five, June was sitting at her kitchen table, biting her nails and staring at the clock. There was no way she could go to the meeting. If she went, she risked getting fired, and the consequences of that were too terrifying to even consider. June ate a mouthful oflukewarm jacket potato. This was out of her hands; she couldn’t go even if she wanted to.
At eight fourteen, having bitten one nail so much that it was bleeding, June went through to the living room.Matildawas waiting for her on the sofa where she’d left it last night. In times of stress, June found she always returned to the same books from her childhood: Roald Dahl, Malorie Blackman, Philip Pullman. There was something comforting about getting lost in stories she knew so well, novels she and her mother had shared together on this very sofa. But now, as she tried to concentrate on the page in front of her, June found her mind wandering back to Chalcot Library. The FOCL meeting would have started by now. Who would be there? Mrs.Bransworth and Chantal, and some of the parents from the Children’s Room. Stanley would be there too, of course. What would he think when he realized June wasn’t coming?
She threw the book down and went upstairs to run a bath. June had never understood it when people said they found baths relaxing; she always got hot too quickly, and the more she told herself it was meant to be relaxing, the sweatier and more uncomfortable she became. But tonight she needed to do something, so she ran water into the tub, added some ancient bubble bath, and started to get undressed.
Alan Bennett came up to the bathroom, curious about this unprecedented change in her evening routine, and tangled himself in her feet.
“Bog off, Alan,” she said, nudging him toward the door. He snarled and jumped onto the pink fluffy toilet seat, where he sat glaring at her.
