‘It’ll be a walk in the park,’ said Ren with an ironic smile.
A few days later I was, for my sins, back at another golf club social. I knew that Joe had moved on from trying to schmooze Steve (having been partially successful in that venture) and was now good friends with him and quite a few others up at the club. He also loved playing golf, and I couldn’t begrudge him something he found so rewarding just because I absolutely detested the wives.
I was also aware that I’d been completely consumed with the imminent library cuts and that every time I’d seen my husband over the past week I’d been talking about banners and online petitions and dates for the march. Joe would be justified in feeling a little bored by now so I owed him an evening in his own venue of choice and I was determined to go in with an open mind (as you can tell from my earlier comment about detesting these women). I had swung from despair to tentative optimism regarding the library and although I knew the road would be hard, I was still bathing in the early glow of exciting plans and ideas. However, as expected, some of the golf wives were determined to dunk me in despair again.
‘So, it sort of functions as a homeless shelter as well as a library?’ Felicity said, after I’d described my workplace, its precarious future, and the broad variety of clientele. She wrinkled her nose at the very idea.
‘No,’ I said, determined to be patient with this woman, idiot that she was. ‘It’s very much a library. I just mean a lotof different types of people access our service for community reasons as well as books and information.’
‘Well, it sounds as though you get all sorts in there,’ she said, turning her nose up again. ‘Is it not quite dangerous, with all the addicts and beggars turning up?’
‘It’s not exactly a crack-den, Felicity,’ I said. ‘Admittedly sometimes we have people who come in just to keep warm, but nobody gives us any trouble.’
‘Of course, half of those sorts of people are just pretending to be homeless,’ she continued sniffily. ‘Driving into town from their three-bed semi in the suburbs to ask for handouts from hard-working people. In addition to all the benefits they claim.’
‘That’s quite a hard-hearted attitude, Felicity,’ said Tiggy, the corners of her mouth turned down in disappointment. ‘Ialwaystry to do what I can to help the homeless and those less fortunate than myself. You need to check your privilege.’
‘Are you still referring to that time four years ago when you brought in two tins of pineapple chunks when school were collecting donations for the local soup kitchen?’ said Felicity, with admittedly one of her better comebacks. Tiggy opened her mouth to respond but decided against it.
‘It’s that building near the station, isn’t it?’ Felicity continued, turning back to me. ‘Your library? Next to the massive multistorey car park. Where all the tattoo parlours and thoseethnicshops were, before they closed down.’
I nodded. ‘There’s some fantastic architecture in that part of town if you try to look past the, uhm, rougher elements of the urban environment.’
‘Oh, I love the gritty feel of a true inner-city area,’ said Tiggy, back in the game with her hashtag positivity. ‘The buzz of it, the bars, that diverse ethnic mix, the graffiti, the melding of different cultures.’ She clasped her hands together. ‘Very much takes me back to my student days.’
‘I thought you studied in Winchester?’ said Carol.
I stifled a laugh. I hadn’t seen Carol since the Christmas party but there seemed to be a steelier look in her eye tonight. I wondered if her tolerance levels for Tiggy and Felicity’s bullshit had finally reached capacity.
Tiggy started mumbling about how Winchester was actually a lot more metropolitan than people initially supposed but Carol didn’t engage and instead turned to me.
‘I think you’re so lucky with that job, Hattie,’ she said. ‘It’s obvious how you feel about the place and I’m so envious that you get to spend the day surrounded by books. What are you reading at the moment?’
‘Oh,’ I said, pleased beyond measure to be asked for a book recommendation in this unlikeliest of venues. ‘It’s the next read for the Book and Bun Club.’
‘What’s the Book and Bun Club?’ Carol smiled as widely as she could with the fillers. I’ve become accustomed to her face now and it doesn’t take me by surprise like it used to. I’m just hoping she doesn’t have any more work done anytime soon.
‘It’s one of the many book clubs we run at the library,’ I said. ‘Book and Bun is quite an eclectic mix, very varied reading tastes. The only rule is that the members take it in turns to bring some baked goods, biscuits or cakes or whatever. It’s on Thursday evenings.’
‘Oh, that sounds great!’ said Carol. ‘I might come along. Steve thinks I need to get out more. And not just bottomless brunches with the girls, amirite?’ She elbowed me in the ribs and gave me an exaggerated wink. ‘That’s what he says anyway, my Steve. Bottomless brunches fuelled bylady petrol. That’s what he calls Prosecco. Isn’t he a scream?! Anyway, could you message me the details?’
‘Of course! And I can lend you my copy of the book when I’ve finished. It won’t take me long, it’s so pacy I’m ripping through it.’
Tiggy was evidently unable to cope with this amount of positive interaction between two people she thought herself superior to.
‘Gosh I do envy you Hattie,’ she piped up. ‘All that time on your hands to be able to indulge in a hobby like reading. I simply don’t have a minute of the day where I could sit down and read a book. I’m far too busy with the children. I guess that’s the benefit of having an only child – when they leave home you’re free to do as you please!’
‘Actually, I’ve always made time to read,’ I said, feeling the barbs of my status as mother to a solitary offspring, and the fact that I was now an empty nester, landing with a sting. ‘I sometimes think it’s the only thing keeping me sane.’
‘I love to read too,’ said Carol. ‘Always have done. Nothing highbrow like you Hattie, just trashy novels.’
‘There is no such thing as a trashy novel,’ I said vehemently. ‘You can read whatever you want to read.’
‘Well yes but you’reanotherone with no children to worry about, Carol,’ said Tiggy, bringing the conversation neatly back to her. ‘Which rather proves my point.You’vegot all the time in the world to read your books, trashy or otherwise. Nobody insisting on you finding their stinking PE kit, or making a mess of the kitchen that you’re going to have to clean up, or screaming about how much they hate you for interrupting their time on the Xbox – for example.’
Carol and I shared the briefest of glances at this admission of trouble in paradise, and Tiggy clearly realised she needed to return to familiar perfect-life territory.
‘Whereas I have to find time to make space for the arts in other ways,’ she said, the serene tone back in her voice. ‘Ways I canshare with the family. Of course, the children love our trips to the theatre and I regularly take them to art galleries and choral recitals. Reuben, in particular, hasveryadult tastes when it comes to performance art.’
