Now Stanley was on-screen, standing in front of the library. “We may only be a small library, but it’s vital to this community. People rely on it for so much more than just books. It will be a travesty if the council shut it down.”
And then the picture was back on Rocky, this time wearing nothing but a tiny thong. As the camera panned around, it showed Vera sitting in front of him, rubbing what looked like whippedcream into Rocky’s chest, a look of absolute concentration on her face.
The news piece ended, and June sat staring at her phone in stunned silence. It had worked. Rocky’s performance had got the library protest on the news. A smile slowly spread across her face, and she laughed out loud, startling Alan Bennett, who’d been sleeping next to her.
“I did it, Alan,” she said, as the cat looked at her in confusion. “I actually did it.”
June picked up a picture frame from the table next to the sofa. It held a photo of her mum, taken years ago outside Chalcot Library. Beverley was grinning, the clock tower rising above her head as she squinted at the camera. June brushed some dust from the glass.
“I’m sorry I’ve been so hopeless, Mum,” she whispered. “I know I’ve been wasting my life and I’ve let you down. But I’m going to try to change that now, Ipromise.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
When June arrived for her shift on Monday afternoon, she found Vera camped out at a table inside the library, telling everyone who’d listen about her exploits with Rocky.
“You know I thought it might be shaving foam, but it was real whipped cream. I had a taste,” she was telling an excited crowd of ladies from the Knit and Natter group.
“It was the most remarkable sight,” Stanley said, joining June as she started tidying up the noticeboard. “He had three different outfits: policeman, cowboy, and fireman. And he had Velcro on his trousers so he could rip them off easily. Such a prudent idea—I might try it with my suit.”
“Stanley, look at this,” said Chantal, coming over to him with her phone. “Before the news went out yesterday, we had one hundred and eleven likes on our Facebook page. Now we have almost a thousand.”
“That’s wonderful!”
“People keep messaging, asking what we’re doing next.”
“We need to ask Mrs.Bransworth. She’ll have a plan.”
“She’s here now,” Chantal said, pointing toward the door.
“Here’s the hero of the hour,” said Stanley. “Three cheers for Mrs.Bransworth.”
“Stop it,” Mrs.B snapped. “That stripper had nothing to do with me; I disapprove of sexual exploitation in any form.”
“Well, who organized it, then?” Stanley said.
Mrs.B lowered her voice, and June had to strain to hear her.
“The stripper told me he’d been redirected to the protest by someone called Matilda.”
As Mrs.B said the name, June almost dropped the pile of leaflets she was holding. She quickly turned her back on the group.
“Who the hell is Matilda?” Vera said.
“Matilda is our secret informant,” Stanley said. “She sends us information via Tweeter.”
“You mean Twitter,” Chantal said.
“Yes. She’s our spy and sends us twits. She’s the one who told us about Brian Spencer at the pub and Marjorie’s secret meetings with the management consultants. And now she’s done this for us.”
“Well, I may not approve of her methods, but Matilda has saved our arses once again,” Mrs.B said. “Now, we need to strike whilst the iron’s hot.”
“What about staging something outside county hall?” Stanley said. “We could make placards and sing songs.”
“Yes, like in the American civil rights movement,” Mrs.B said.
“Don’t tell us you were there as well,” Vera muttered under her breath.
The group carried on chatting, but June moved away. A county hall protest was a good idea, but what the library really needed wasmore books being taken out. The council had said they’d be basing their decision on issue numbers, and June knew that right now Chalcot’s numbers were perilously low. She glanced back at Mrs.B, Stanley, and Chantal, and then she pulled her phone out and quickly typed a Twitter message from Matilda.
