June watched as she went to Stanley’s chair by the window and showed him her phone. June was dying to hear what they were saying, but she didn’t want to raise their suspicions by walking too close. She spotted the returns trolley sitting in the middle of the room where she’d abandoned it earlier, so she grabbed it and began to steer it over toward them. But the trolley was in a particularly uncooperative mood today, and as June pushed it right the thing started veering off toward the left. As she coaxed it nearer to the window, she could hear snatches of the conversation.
“I think we need to pass this information on...” Stanley was saying.
“But how do we know we can trust this Matilda?” Mrs.B said.
June edged the trolley closer.
“Does it matter who she is? What we need to do is—”
“Ouch!”
June swung round to see Vera bent over in pain.
“What the hell are you doing, you stupid girl? You ran over my foot.”
“I’m so sorry, Vera. Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not. I think you fractured my toe.”
“What’s going on here?” Marjorie was pacing toward them.
“June deliberately ran me over with that trolley,” Vera said.
“What were you thinking, June?” Marjorie glared at her as she helped to lower Vera into a chair and elevate her leg.
June bit her lip. “It was an accident.”
“She’s always had it in for me,” Vera said.
“We should call an ambulance,” Marjorie said.
“Quite right. I’ve a good mind to sue the library—this is gross negligence.”
“For god’s sake, stop making such a bloody fuss,” Mrs.B said,walking over. “There’s a bus due soon; I’ll help you get to Winton Hospital.”
Vera looked up at her with a frown. “I think we’d better call an ambulance.”
“Don’t be soft. The NHS is stretched enough without having to send out ambulances for bruised feet. Come on, stand up and I’ll help you.”
Vera opened her mouth to complain but thought better of it. She stood up, hobbling after Mrs.B.
“As if we didn’t have enough problems already,” Marjorie hissed at June once they’d gone. “Do you realize what will happen if she makes a formal complaint to the council? They’re looking for excuses to shut us down, June. And you could well have handed them one on a plate.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
On the morning of Gayle’s hen do, June was awake at six a.m. in a cold sweat. Why had she told Alex she was going? Now, if she didn’t go, he’d realize that she’d been lying and actually had no friends. But if she did go, June would have to see Gayle and all those terrifying women from school again, plus Marjorie would probably fire her for not stopping the stripper.
“What am I going to do?” she groaned at Alan Bennett, who was lying at the end of the bed. He stared at her with contempt. “You’re right, Alan. Of course you are.”
She pulled herself out of bed and opened her wardrobe. Gayle’s e-mail had said they had to come dressed as film heroines, so June stared at her clothes for inspiration. Two pairs of black jeans, one black skirt, and five identical white blouses, all for work. Several gray cardigans, also for work. Her one black dress, which she’d worn to her mum’s funeral, and some old faded T-shirts and jumpers. How was she going to fashion a fancy dress out of these?
June turned around and scanned her eyes along the bookcase in her room. This was where she kept some of her favorite childhood books, the ones that made her feel most comfortable and safe. One book caught her eye.
“Yes, Alan, Hermione Granger!”
June hurried through into her mum’s room and pulled her wardrobe open. A rainbow of different colors greeted her, from a long patchwork coat to a gold sequined dress that her mum had loved. Nothing in this wardrobe was black or gray except for one item, so June rummaged around until she found it. Her mum’s old university graduation gown—perfect for a Harry Potter–themed fancy dress.
Back in her own room, June put the gown on over a white shirt, her old school tie, and a black skirt, and then stood in front of the mirror. Now there was just her hair. She undid the tight plait that she slept with every night and allowed her hair to fall loose. June couldn’t remember the last time she’d looked at her unruly curls like this: every morning she went straight from the plait to a neat bun, and vice versa in the evening. But as much as she hated to admit it, her wild mass of hair did look quite like Hermione’s in the early films.
