Now, more than two decades after her first visit, June knew that Chalcot Library was actually pretty small, even by provincial village library standards. Visitors regularly complained about the poor lighting, unreliable heating, and terrible acoustics. But for June, the building always retained some of the magic she’d felt coming here for the first time. Even after ten years of working here herself, ten years of underfunding and depleting resources, the library was still a place of wonder, especially early in the morning with no one else around.
June began her setting-up routine: turning on the computers, stamping and putting out today’s newspapers, restocking paper in the printer. She normally enjoyed the quiet, meditative nature of these jobs, but this morning she couldn’t relax. It was going to be another scorching day and June was hoping that families would decide to go to the park or the river rather than come here for Rhyme Time. Yet when she unlocked the front door at ten o’clock, there were already several parents with small children waiting to come in, along with Stanley.
“Good morning, my dear. Isn’t it a beautiful day?” Stanley didn’t wear a hat, but if he did June imagined he’d tip it to her. “I’m sorry I lost you in all the commotion on Saturday. Did you hear that Mrs.Bransworth nearly got arrested for disturbing the peace?”
“Is she okay?”
“Of course—you know how she loves a fight. Would you be so kind as to clock on for me?”
“Sure,” June said, following him over to the computers. Stanleyhad recently opened an e-mail account to communicate with his son in America, although he’d not managed to log in once without June’s help. She typed in his password.
“Thank you,” Stanley said. “Are you on your own this morning?”
“Yes. Marjorie has a meeting so I’m covering Rhyme Time.”
He must have heard the tremor in June’s voice because he gave her an encouraging smile. “I’m sure you’ll be marvelous. I’ll save the crossword until you’re done.”
By ten thirty, the library was full of strollers and the noise level had risen by ten decibels. When she couldn’t put it off any longer, June made her way to the Children’s Room and peeked in through the door. Most of the floor space was filled with children and adults, all facing toward the front, where a single empty chair stood. An unbidden image flashed into June’s mind of her mum sitting in that very spot, dressed in a pair of dungarees, at complete ease as she strummed a guitar and sang to the delighted children.
Gripping the door handle, June exhaled slowly and walked into the room, her mouth dry as she picked her way to the front.
“Hey, you’re not Marjorie,” said a small boy, whom she recognized as a serial book-destroyer.
“Hello, everyone. I’m June.” Her voice came out as a weak croak.
“Speak up, love. We can’t hear you at the back,” called one of the mums, who borrowed psychological thrillers.
“Where’s Marjorie?” said her friend, who secretly took out Mills & Boon romances.
“She’s busy, I’m afraid,” June said.
There were “awwws” from several of the children.
“I want ‘A Big Red Truck,’ ” shouted the book-destroyer.
“We can get the toy box out after the session,” June said.
“Noooo, the song.”
“Ah, sorry, I’m not sure I know that one.” She heard a tut and felt her cheeks growing hot. “How about ‘Old MacDonald’? One, two, three...”
All eyes were on her. When no one started singing, it dawned on June that she was going to have to go first. All she could hear was the pounding of blood in her ears.
“Old MacDonald had a farm...” June hadn’t sung in public for years and her voice was a small, tuneless squeak. She saw an unfamiliar woman raise her eyebrows and there were a few titters from the children.
“E-i-e-i-o.”
Still no one joined in. June wiped the sweat from her top lip. Her heart was hammering and when she closed her eyes she was back at school, standing in front of the class and hearing the whispers and sniggers of her teenage peers.
“And on that farm there was a...”
There was an agonizing pause before a boy shouted, “Cow!”
June saw that it was Jackson and gave him a grateful “E-i-e-i-o.”
A few people joined in now. By the time they got to the second verse most of the room was singing and June lowered her voice.
They sang a few more nursery rhymes: “Wheels on the Bus,” “Incy Wincy Spider,” “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” But the children kept asking for songs she’d never heard of, songs about spacemen and sleeping bunnies, and when June apologized for the sixth time, she could see some of the parents exchanging looks.
