“Do you know any actual nursery rhymes?” said the Mills & Boon mum.
“I am sorry, but I don’t usually do this.”
“What’s the point of Rhyme Time if you can’t sing the songs?”
“I really am sorry.” Tears pricked at June’s eyes.Please, please don’t start crying in front of all these people.
“For god’s sake,” said the psychological thriller mum, and she stood up and pulled her grumbling daughter out of the room.
The other children were starting to fidget, and the parents were talking among themselves. June looked around for something, anything she could do to reclaim the room. On one of the low boxes was a discarded copy ofThe Very Hungry Caterpillar, one of June’s favorite stories when she was little. She grabbed the book and started to read, even though no one was listening.
When she got to the last page, June looked up and realized the whole room was silent, entranced by the story. There was a wonderful, peaceful pause.
“I want another one,” a little girl said, breaking the spell. “I wantThe Gruffalo.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s all we have time for today.” June stood up and started tidying before anyone else could complain.
Most of the families drifted off home and June made her way toward the office to get a glass of water, her heart still racing. Behind her, she could hear a couple of the parents giggling as they walked out, and June’s heart sank at the thought that they were laughing at her. She was just relieved that Marjorie hadn’t been there to witness what a disaster it had been, although no doubt someone would take great pleasure in telling her soon. And they’d be right, of course. What kind of library assistant couldn’t take a simple children’s session without almost crying?
It was twelve o’clock and the start of the lunchtime lull. The only other people in the library were Stanley, snoozing behind a newspaper in his chair, and Mrs.Bransworth, skulking around theshelves, muttering to herself. June sat down at the desk and took a few deep breaths, filling her nostrils with the comforting scent of the library. As a child, she used to believe that each book had its own smell, specific to its story, and the smell of a library was the combined scent of thousands of different tales. She once explained this theory to her mum, telling her that the Children’s Room smelled best because everyone knew that kids’ books had more exciting stories than grown-up ones. For months after that they’d played a game whenever they read a book together, deciding what particular aroma the story had.The Secret Garden, for example, smelled of mud and roses, whileCharlie and the Chocolate Factorysmelled of both sugar and cabbage soup.
“Excuse me. Can I take these out, please?”
June looked up to see a tall pile of books in front of the desk, with a pair of eyes blinking at her over the top. “Of course you can, Jackson.”
Linda’s eight-year-old grandson was one of June’s favorite visitors to the library. He was homeschooled, and from a young age he’d come on his own, clutching his library card as if it was his most prized possession. He was a voracious reader and was already breezing through books intended for children twice his age.
“Ah,Lord of the Fliesis a great choice,” June said, taking his books. “If you enjoy this, you might likeWatership Downtoo.”
“I read that when I was seven.” Jackson wiped his nose on the sleeve of his bright purple sweater, no doubt knitted for him by Linda. “Do you have a copy ofOliver Twist? I’m doing a project on the Victorians and Stanley said I’d enjoy it.”
“Let me check for you.” June typed the title into the computer. “Did you know this library was once a Victorian school? I can help you do some research about it; I’m sure we have some old photos in the archive.”
“Yes, please,” Jackson said. “Did you know that the Victorians used to make orphaned children live in workhouses, and they weren’t even taught to read and write? I read about it in the encyclopedia here.”
Linda often complained that Jackson should be outside playing with children his own age, rather than spending so much time in the library. But for June, the boy was a kindred spirit. She recognized the look in his eyes every time he walked in, that mixture of anticipation and excitement at the promises held within the shelves. And she understood implicitly what it felt like to be more at home with books than with people, to prefer the adventures and travels within their pages to those in real life.
There was a crash at the front door, and a young man wearing an ill-fitting suit came rushing into the library, his face a dot-to-dot of angry red pimples. “Have you heard the news?”
“Sorry, what news?” June said. “Who are you?”
“My name’s Ryan Mitchell. I’m from theDunningshire Gazette. Haven’t you heard the council’s announcement?”
“What’s that about the council?” Mrs.Bransworth was striding toward them from the Science and Technology shelf.
“They’ve issued a press release saying they’re looking at closing six libraries in the county. Chalcot is one of them.”
June’s breath caught in her throat. “What?”
“They’ve been threatening it for years, but they’ve just made it official,” Ryan said. “They’re doing some sort of consultation and then they’ll make their decision.”
“Those bastards!” Mrs.B shouted, with such force that Stanley leaped up from his chair.
“I was hoping to get a comment from a librarian,” Ryan said to June, pulling his phone from his bag.
“I’m sorry... I’m just a library assistant,” June stammered. She felt dizzy and grabbed hold of the desk to steady herself. Close the library?
“Can they really shut it, just like that?” Stanley said. “So many of us rely on the facilities here.”
