“I’m afraid there’s not much to tell.”
“Nonsense. Let’s begin at the beginning. Were you born in Chalcot?”
“No, in Bath, but we moved here when I was four. Mum inherited the house when my grandfather died, and then we came here after she got her job at the library.”
“And what of your father? I don’t believe I ever had the pleasure of meeting the fellow.”
“Me neither.”
The sun was getting low in the sky, stretching long shadows against the shelves. June picked at a loose bit of wood on the desk.
“I am sorry to hear that,” Stanley said after a while. “May I take the liberty of asking you another question?”
“Of course.”
“Did you ever feel you missed out, not having a father?”
June so rarely thought about the man who had conceived her that the question caught her off guard. “Not really. I got teased about it a bit at school, but my mum was so brilliant that she did the job of two parents.”
Stanley was staring off into the distance, lost in thought. June looked around the library, trying to work out where they were going to sleep.
“I have a son,” he said.
“I know. I’ve seen you e-mailing him.”
He closed his eyes for a moment. “It’s a little more complicated than that. I’ve not seen Mark for a long time.”
“Well, America is a long way away.”
“No, my dear, you misunderstand me.” Stanley paused. “I wasn’t a very good father. I had some serious problems with alcohol. My wife... ex-wife... decided that I wasn’t good for him.”
June was so stunned that she didn’t know what to say. Stanley always seemed so proper; he was the last person she’d ever have imagined having an alcohol problem.
“They left when Mark was thirteen,” Stanley continued. “Kitty had some family in California, and the two of them emigrated out there. It was thirty-two years ago.”
“Have you not seen your son since then?” June tried to hide the shock in her voice.
“I went out there to visit once, the year after they left. And he came over here to see me when he turned eighteen. But I wasn’t on very good form back then and I’m afraid I rather messed things up.”
“I’m so sorry.” June reached toward him, but he shook his head as if to shake away the sympathy.
“It was my fault entirely. Alcohol and I were not good bedfellows and I made some poor decisions. Kitty did the right thing moving away.”
“But you’re not like that anymore. You could be a wonderful father now.”
“That’s kind of you to say. And, I’ll admit, that’s why I’ve been writing to him. But listening to you talk makes me realize that he’s better off without me. Mark is forty-five now, and I hear he’s done very well for himself. Why would he want me in his life now?”
“Oh, Stanley, don’t say that. Our situations are completely different. My dad doesn’t even know I exist. Your son knows about you; you’ve been sending him all those e-mails. I’m sure—”
June was interrupted by a tremendous hammering sound on the door. They both ducked down to the floor.
“Who’s that?” she whispered. “Do you think it’s the police?”
“I’ll go and look.” Stanley started to crawl across the library floor.
June cowered behind the desk, her heart knocking against her ribs. The banging continued, louder and more insistent, and she could see a beam of torchlight swinging across the front windows. Whoever it was, they were angry and desperate to get in. Just when June was about to scream, she heard an “Oh” from Stanley and thesound of the door being unlocked. When June peeked over the desk, she saw an indignant Mrs.B marching into the library.
“What the fuck are you two doing here?”
