“We’re occupying the library,” Stanley said. “And June is Matilda; she’s been our whistleblower all along.”
“You’re Matilda?” Mrs.B looked at June as if she’d gone mad. “But you’ve never shown any interest in helping us.”
“I’m sorry. The council said that if any library workers were seen to be involved, then we’d be sacked, so I had to help you anonymously.”
“Bloody hell. All along I thought you were a scab, and actually you’re one of us.” Mrs.B gave June an enthusiastic thump. “Welcome to the fight, sister.”
“Thank you,” June said, smiling as she rubbed her sore arm.
“We decided it’s time to show the council we mean business,” Stanley said as they all sat down again. “That’s why we’re occupying the library.”
“Too bloody right. It’s time we stepped this campaign up a gear. And I’ve not been at an occupation for ages.” Mrs.B had a glint in her eye.
“Stanley thinks the council might send in the police,” June said.
“Let them bloody try. I’ve faced water cannons, tear gas, kettling. A few rural bobbies aren’t going to scare me.”
“Were you ever scared at any of your protests?”
Mrs.B gave her an indignant look. “Do you think the suffragettes were scared when they chained themselves to railings? Or Rosa Parks when they arrested her on the bus?”
“But we’re not like them.”
“Why not?”
June felt embarrassed that she had to spell it out. “Well, obviously the library is vital to us and our community. But they were protesting for huge, universal things, like the vote for women and the end of segregation.”
“And we’re fighting for social equality, for literacy and the futures of our children.” Mrs.B jabbed a finger at June. “Did you know that in the past ten years they’ve closed almost eight hundred libraries in this country? And there’ll be more if our bloody government has their way. So, we might be a small village library, but this is much bigger than us. We have to fight for Chalcot as if it’s the last library on earth.”
“Hear! Hear!” Stanley said, raising his mug.
“So, in answer to your question, June: no. I’m never scared when I’m fighting for something I know is right.”
“I’ve been terrified,” June said, hugging her knees to her chest.
“What, of being arrested?” Mrs.B looked incredulous.
“No, of everything.”
June took a sip of her lukewarm tea. No one spoke, and she inhaled the comforting scent of the building and its stories. For a brief moment she allowed herself to imagine the library closing—the books being taken away, the space becoming a coffee shop like she’d been in earlier today—and she was hit by an overwhelming wave of sadness.
“I think some of my happiest memories are of me and Mum here together.”
“You must miss her terribly.” Stanley reached out and patted June’s knee.
“After she died, the grief was... all-consuming. I’d devoted three years of my life to caring for Mum, and with her gone I feltlike I had nothing left. I think the only thing that kept me going was working in this library.”
“Grief can do funny things to you,” Mrs.B said. “I lost someone a long time ago, and for ages after that I lost any desire to fight or protest. I just wanted to curl up and sleep.”
“Were you married, Mrs.Bransworth?” Stanley said.
“No, I bloody well wasn’t. I’ve never really seen the point in men. But my partner, she—” Mrs.B stopped. June had never seen her lost for words before.
“How did you deal with the grief?”
“I realized that by moping around and feeling sorry for myself, I was doing her a disservice. She loved me because I was angry and noisy and a pain in the arse. And by not living my life, by being scared and hiding away, I was letting her down.”
“So, what did you do?
