Just The Way You Are(21)

‘Half the month, I live on rice and vegetables. But when Mr Howard tells me to help myself to the fridge, I won’t say no. Those dogs eat steak and organic chicken, so why shouldn’t I?’ She shook her head, dark plait swaying. ‘This is what my life has come to – I eat like a dog now!’

She burst into laughter so unexpected, I couldn’t help joining in.

We established that while Yasmin’s spoken English was competent, she needed help getting her reading and writing up to college level. Given the focus with which she tackled our first session, I predicted she’d be there in a couple of months.

As soon as she left, Irene stomped over.

‘Good morning, Irene. How are you on this gorgeous day?’

Irene’s nostrils flared in reply. I waited for her to get to the point.

‘While I appreciate that your lessons require some verbal communication, may I remind you that this is a library, not a gossip club. If your clients can’t adhere to appropriate standards of behaviour, you will have to find an alternative venue.’

‘Excuse me?’ I sat up, meeting her steely gaze with my own. ‘What standards of behaviour are those?’

Her eyes flickered to the side before coming to rest about three inches to the right of my face. ‘Raised voices. Outlandish laughter.’ She pursed her lips in disgust. ‘Attention-seeking behaviour.’

‘You’re objecting to my client laughing?’

‘Well…’ Irene flicked her hand. ‘She was… distracting other library users.’

My jaw clenched. A handful of people had come into the library that morning. Most of them had smiled and said hello. One elderly couple had asked what we were studying, and we’d had a brief conversation about adult education classes. Another man had openly listened as Yasmin recounted how she taught Mr Howard’s bichon frise to put his toys away, her smile lighting up the dingy atmosphere.

Yasmin and I had laughed maybe four times. On two occasions, other people had joined in. For a moment there, the library had been in severe danger of transforming into a community space where people connected with one another.

‘Did any of these users complain?’ I asked.

‘Not in so many words.’

‘Because I heard some comment on how lovely it was to see the library being used in such a positive way,’ I added. ‘Someone suggested we hold more classes in here. Perhaps restart the creative writing and the book groups. I’m sure I heard them making that suggestion to you.’

Irene blinked, her scowl briefly giving way to a flash of panic before she regained control of her features. ‘I beg your pardon?’ she spluttered. ‘This isn’t a community centre. We have strict policies about what goes on here. I’ve run this library for twenty-seven years. Who do you think you are, telling me how to do my job! It’s bad enough installing all this new-fangled technology. Self-service machines and drink dispensers! Expecting me to hold toddler story-time and school holiday nonsense, like I’m a children’s nanny, rather than a highly qualified librarian. If people like you had their way, we’d do away with the books altogether!’

And then I saw, beneath the bitterness and the bluster, the faint glimpse of a woman who had given her life to this library, and was feeling it pulled out from under her one inch at a time. Her animosity wasn’t because she thought I lowered the tone – quite the opposite: she saw me as part of the threat.

‘Would you like to join me for a coffee before I head off?’ I asked, resolving to convince her that I was not interested in being her enemy.

Irene jerked her head back. Her mouth twisted in a sneer. ‘Certainly not.’ She marched over to the help desk. ‘The sign clearly states that refreshments are for library users only. If you’re finished with your session, I must insist that you leave the hot drinks facilities for those legitimately entitled to them.’

I packed up and went home, refusing to allow a sour grouch to deflate the high of such a positive coaching session. Another note had been pushed through my letterbox:

My only request is that you clear the clutter off your lawn before tomorrow morning.





A friendly lot, this Bigley bunch.

I cleared the forgotten empty lemonade bottle and bin bags full of wallpaper strippings and went to search online for fence panels.

At eight o’clock on Wednesday morning, as I perched on the step for my morning tea, it took a moment to realise what was different. The lawn had been mowed into perfectly aligned stripes. The weeds that grew in the cracks between the paving slabs by the back door had disappeared. I wandered in my bare feet to where my section of garden met the far hedge. The windows in my neighbour’s cottage were shrouded with Venetian blinds, but I offered a huge smile and a wave, just in case.





I spent most of that day on the phone, contacting local agencies to tell them about the new service and following it up with emails and information packs. In the afternoon I baked a batch of sticky toffee muffins, placing one carefully inside a gift bag, with a note saying:

Thanks for tidying up the garden! I’m happy to mow next time, if you don’t mind me using your mower.





I placed it on the doorstep of Middle Cottage, knocked firmly on the door and scuttled back home.

An hour later, the doorbell rang. It was Joan, holding up the gift bag. ‘This was outside your door.’