They turned around to see Mrs.B striding through the door, brandishing a copy ofHamlet. She stopped when she saw them all huddled together. “What’s going on? Is there news from the council?”
No one said anything, so June stepped forward. “I’m afraid I have some bad news, Mrs.Bransworth. Stanley’s dead.”
June saw her draw a quick intake of breath.
“Was he here?”
“No.”
“Alone?”
June nodded and Mrs.B closed her eyes. When she opened them again, it was with a look of determination. “You all know what we need to do now.”
“There’s less than two weeks of the consultation left,” June said. “I think we should stage a protest at county hall, see if we can get loads of young people involved this time. Maybe they could even do a school strike?”
“I’ll message all my friends from school,” Chantal said.
“I’m not sure there’s much point.” They all looked at Marjorie, who in turn was staring at June. “You were right, June. Brian finally confessed everything yesterday, although only after I threatened to leave him.”
Mrs.B frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m afraid not everything has been aboveboard,” Marjorie said. “A coffee chain has set its sights on this building and they’ve beenpaying my husband to help them. They’ve made a ridiculous financial offer for this place. There’s no way the council will turn it down.”
“You bastards!” Mrs.B shouted. “You and your damned husband—”
“This has nothing to do with Marjorie,” June interrupted. “She was as surprised about this as we are.”
“If it’s dodgy, then can’t we go to the police?” Chantal said.
“I’m not sure it will be possible to prove anything,” Marjorie said. “They’ve been very careful; there’s no e-mail trail or evidence of any conversations. My husband appears to be smarter than he looks.”
“But he confessed to you,” June said.
“He’ll deny it,” Marjorie said. “Not that I care. He can be arrested and thrown into prison. I’ve had enough of that bloody man and his lies.”
“Marjorie—” June desperately wanted to apologize for what had happened at the wedding, but Marjorie had already turned away.
“We have to report this to the police,” Chantal said. “We can’t let them get away with this.”
“You’re right, Chantal, but it won’t save the library.” Mrs.B shook her head. “These things take months to investigate, by which time the council will have made their decision about this place. And even if the coffee company loses the building, someone else will buy it instead.”
“So what, are we just giving up?” Chantal said. “After everything we’ve done, are we really walking away?”
“We have to go to the council meeting when they vote on the library,” June said. “Stanley was the one who suggested it, so we have to go and make them listen. It’s our last hope.”
June spent the rest of the morning inside the library. Her access to the network had been blocked, but she busied herself with visitorqueries and tidying the shelves. She assisted a woman with her universal credit online, and when a young boy with dyslexia came in, June helped him choose some books. It felt good to be back here among the shelves and the people, having a purpose again. But every now and then June would hear someone walk in through the front doors, shuffling their feet or whistling, and she would look up expecting to see Stanley’s smiling face. And then she’d remember and feel the loss all over again.
The library closed at one o’clock, and June found herself alone in the building with Marjorie. As her boss dealt with some paperwork in the office, June sat down at one of the public computers where Stanley had spent so many hours. She opened up a browser and typed in a web address. When it asked for the password, she paused. Was it illegal to log in to someone else’s e-mail account? Stanley had told her his password many times, so it was hardly hacking. June’s fingers hovered over the keyboard and then she typed it in.
The inbox sat empty, not one single e-mail. She clicked on “Sent Items” and saw the same. Then June clicked on “Drafts” and the screen was suddenly filled with dozens if not hundreds of messages. All to the same e-mail address, with subjects like “Greetings from rainy England” and “Update on our library battle.” It took June a moment to work out what was going on, and when she did her heart ached.
Stanley had written all these e-mails to his son but never had the courage to send them.
The most recent message had been composed on Thursday, four days ago. It must have been Stanley’s last day in the library. June hovered the cursor over it. She wanted to read the words and hear her friend’s voice again. How had he been feeling? Was he unwell? Was he happy?
She stared at the mailbox for a moment longer, then scribbled something down and turned off the computer. These weren’t her e-mails to read.
•••
