Story Time

Three women whose lives intertwine

Amanda

I need an IDENTITY that doesn’t REVOLVE around being a MOTHER

Hush falls and all the young children look up at me. I wriggle to get comfortable in my chair and then open the book. A buzz of anticipation ripples around the room.

“Are we all ready for today’s story time?” I ask.

Working in a small neighbourhood library can be hard these days. Like many other branches we are hanging on by the skin of our teeth. Trying to prove we’re still relevant, that we provide a much needed service, that we should be funded. It seems they try to get rid of as many staff as possible, including qualified staff. Especially qualified staff. I feel like I’m looking over my shoulder all the time.

We do what we can. All the business of borrowing books is automated now. Soulless and sterile. But we can still help customers who want specific information, people who want to make use of our research skills. That’s what I trained for, and I hang on to it grimly.

Events like the one we’re doing this morning help to prove that we are still needed.

The pre-school reading group has been running for about six months now, and it’s doing well.

We usually have about a dozen parents and an ever-shifting number of children. Parents drop their older children off at school and then they come here and we give them coffee or tea, and squash for the children.

But this is the highlight. After they’ve had a drink and a biscuit, we all gather in the cosy corner of the library and I open whatever book I’ve chosen for that week.

Today, we have DaveyThe DeterminedDolphin as our chosen story, and I can’t wait to get started.

Elise

Thank goodness we can come to the library on Tuesday mornings. Lily is jumping up and down on my knee in excitement as the lady at the front holds up the book she’s going to read. Something about dolphins. But at least she’s quiet. At least she’s not crying. And she’s had a biscuit and some squash. We’ve run out of squash at home and I can’t afford to buy any more at the moment.

I take a deep breath. Things are bad, but they could be worse. At least Pete still has a job, even if it isn’t bringing in enough for us to live on.

The woman who runs the reading group seems nice. And she’s so confident and clear in her reading. Amanda, her name is, according to the library service badge she wears.

She opens the book and starts to read. “Davey the dolphin was busy swimming in the sea with all his dolphin friends and family…”

Lily is enraptured, but I’m not really listening to the story as Amanda reads it. Instead I look at her, and I can’t help feeling a bit jealous. She seems so competent and professional. Not like

me. I know I should get a job when Lily starts school. We need the money. And it’s not just that. I need to regain my confidence as well. To have an identity that doesn’t just revolve around being a wife and mother. But since having Christopher, and then Lily two years later, I feel like I’m stuck in the mum rut.

It’s hard to know how to get back from that to having a job and going out every morning to an office, or somewhere like this. I’d love to work in a library, but I just don’t have the skills. I couldn’t sit up there and read out loud like Amanda. I don’t have the confidence. But what am I going to do? That’s the question.

Before the children were born I was in advertising sales for the local newspaper, but that’s closed down now, moved all its content online.

And that worries me as well. My IT skills are stuck in the world of five years ago. Everything’s changed now, hasn’t it? I used to think the cloud was just something up in the sky, but now it’s where you have to store your documents.

The whole thing just seems overwhelming. If only I could be more like Amanda. She’s holding the children entranced now as she tells them all about how Davey the dolphin is swimming out to sea to help a smaller dolphin who has got separated from the pod. Lily tenses on my knee as the story gets more exciting and Amanda gesticulates with one hand while balancing the book in the other.

I go back to worrying about the future. I’m sick of my thoughts going round in circles. Will Pete be able to hang on to his job? Will we be able to hold it all together until Lily starts school? How can I retrain so I can find a job when I can’t afford to pay for a training course? But what else can I do but think, and worry.

Amanda

Davey the Dolphin seems to be going down well. The children are looking up at me with barely contained excitement in their eyes. And, to be

honest, I’m loving it too. It’s great when a story gives me a chance to really interact with the children. There’s been a lot of splishing and splashing in this one and they have all been enthusiastically joining in.

“What noise does a dolphin make?” I ask them now. Too late, I realise I have no idea what noise a dolphin makes.

The children are welltrained and they respond with a variety of animal noises. Moos, woofs and cheeps fill the air, along with a few unidentifiable sounds.

“That’s close enough,” I say and there’s a ripple of amused laughter from the parents.

Moments like this make it all worthwhile and keep me going through the inevitable stresses I have to deal with every day.

One parent in the front row doesn’t join in with the laughter though and I realise I’ve lost her. Her eyes have a faraway look and she is obviously thinking about something completely unconnected to the adventures of Davey the dolphin.

Rose

Icome to the library every morning nowadays. Everyone said after Gordon died that it would help me to get out of the house. And they were right. It’s no good sitting around being miserable, is it? Besides, it’s warmer here than it is at home. That made a big difference in the winter.

Most days, I just sit and look at the magazines. Or sometimes I browse the bookshelves. I don’t take books out very often because I don’t like those machines they have nowadays. They’re not as bad as the ones in the supermarket that shout at you when you put your bag in the wrong place, but I miss the days when the staff at the desk used to stamp your book. You always got a cheery word back then.

Not that the staff aren’t cheerful now, it’s just that there aren’t very many of them and they only come over if the machine’s playing up. Anyway, it’s easier not to bother borrowing anything really. I can read the magazines here and I can even get through one of those large print books in a couple of sittings if I want to.

Tuesday’s my favourite day, though, because it’s Story Time. Now I know it’s aimed at kiddies, not at pensioners like me, but a cat can look at a king, as my mother used to say.

I don’t go and sit with all the parents

There’s no good SITTING around just feeling MISERABLE, is there?

of course. I’d get some right funny looks, wouldn’t I?

No. I take my magazine and I go and sit at one of the tables near to the reading group corner. That way I can hear the story being read out without feeling like I’m in the way.

The young woman – Amanda, her name badge says – who is reading today is really good. She’s great with the children. It really takes me back to when mine were young. I loved reading to them. Maybe some day soon one of them will make me a grandma. I’d love that. Neither of them are showing any signs at the moment. But you never know, do you?

I just want something to give my life some purpose again. Coming and sitting in the library is all very well, but it would be nice to feel needed. To be doing something for other people.

Tuning back into the dolphin story, I listen as Amanda describes how the whole pod of dolphins work as a team to surround the baby dolphin and bring him back into the group and to safety.

I realise I’m sniffing slightly. I’m not crying though. I’ve just got a bit of a cold coming. I tuck my tissue back into my sleeve.

Amanda

Then Davey the dolphin and all his friends swam off to look for fish together. And from that day on, they never forgot to look out for the smallest dolphin again.”

I finish the book with a flourish, and smile at the enraptured faces of the children.

As I stand up, an elderly lady approaches me. I hope she isn’t going to complain about the noise created by story time. People sometimes do.

“That was wonderful,” she says. “I do envy you having the chance to read to children like that.” “I enjoy it,” I say. “I hope you didn’t mind me listening even though I didn’t have a kiddie with me,” she says shyly. “No, of course not, Mrs…?” “Gregson. I come here a lot. I’m at a bit of a loose end nowadays.” Suddenly, I have an idea. “You know, Mrs Gregson, if you would enjoy reading with children and you’re at a bit of a loose end, there’s a scheme for getting adults into schools to help children who are struggling with their reading. I’ve got some leaflets over in the community section. Follow me.”

Mrs Gregson takes a leaflet and leaves looking happy and assuring me she’ll get on to the organisers of the scheme as soon as possible.

Then I spot that the mother who’d looked so lost and worried earlier is scanning the leaflets as well.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” I ask.

She looks a bit startled. “Oh, I don’t know really. I was just thinking you might have some information about training schemes or something.”

“Yes, of course. What sort of training do you want to do?”

“I don’t really know. It’s just that Lily here will be starting school soon, and when she does I want to get a job. But I haven’t worked for years and I don’t know where to start and I haven’t got any money.”

As the words tumble out, tears come into her eyes and I can see she is really distressed.

“Well,” I say. “If you want to refresh your computer skills we have some computer classes here at the library that are free. They would definitely help you update your office skills. And you could bring Lily with you if childcare is a problem. Do you know what sort of work you’d like to do?”

“Not really. I’m not much good at anything these days. I’ve been off work too long with the children,” she says, looking down at Lily, who is starting to get bored and impatient now story time is over.

“Here,” I say. “We also have a careers information section. These leaflets tell you about different types of career and the skills and qualifications you need for them. I bet you’ve some great transferable skills from bringing up your family. You could think about retraining to be a teacher or a classroom assistant or a nursery worker.”

For a moment her eyes shine and she looks excited, then they cloud over again and I can feel her shrinking away.

“Can we go home now? I’m thirsty,” Lily says.

Anxiety crosses her mother’s face, and I realise I’ve lost her again.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I’m not very confident. I’ll think about it.”

Then she leaves without taking a leaflet and I feel a bit deflated.

Once all the parents have gone, I turn to my computer and try to focus on what needs to be done for the rest of the day.

There are books to be ordered if I can squeeze the last drop of money out of the budget. There are events to be planned so that I can prove we’re still useful and relevant. I make a few notes to myself about both those things, then I go and get a much-needed coffee.

As I get back to my desk, an email pops into my inbox. It’s headed Library Review. My heart sinks and I can’t face opening it. I can’t bear it if they’re going to suggest shutting us down again.

For a moment, I feel like giving up. I’ve fought as hard as I can, and I don’t think I can do it anymore. I’m already running on as few staff as is humanly possible, filling in myself and working all the hours to breach the gaps. What else can I do?

And maybe I’m wasting my time. I helped Mrs Gregson, but I couldn’t help Lily’s mum. Maybe I’m not as good at this as I think I am. I steel myself to open the email. The building is quiet around me, basking in the small spot of calm before the lunch-time rush.

Suddenly, I feel very alone. I’m just one person and I don’t know if I can go on fighting much longer. Perhaps it’s time to give in to the inevitable.

Then the door opens and someone pops their head cautiously in. It’s Lily’s mum. “Actually. I think I will take some of those leaflets you were talking about after all. I might do that computer course you mentioned. It can’t do any harm, can it?”

So I give her a stack of leaflets and an encouraging smile, because that’s what she needs.

As the library starts to fill around me with the lunchtime crowd of office workers and harassed shoppers grabbing what might be their only chance to change their books, I feel my strength and determination returning as I turn back to the dreaded email with renewed vigour.

Holding my breath, I open the email. Then I exhale as I realise the news isn’t as bad as I’d feared. They are reviewing us, but they want to know about all the activities we’re doing and how we’re enriching the local community.

Being able to help Lily’s mum has buoyed me up. I’ve been given a chance to fight for what I love, and now I know exactly how to tackle the review.

Closure isn’t going to happen on my watch. Whatever I need to do to keep the library open, I’ll do it. Because people like Lily’s mum and Mrs Gregson need me to.

And the beauty of it is, they’ll both soon be in a position to help other people as well. Mrs Gregson helping children to read and Lily’s mum rediscovering her talents in a job where she can use the skills she doesn’t even realise she has.

I catch sight of the book I was reading to the children earlier, on my desk next to my computer, and I take courage from it. Positive actions spiral if you let them and if you’re determined enough. Davey the dolphin believed that and now I believe it too.

Helping has BUOYED me and I have a CHANCE to fight for what I LOVE