Excerpt from The Last Chance Library by Freya Sampson, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"For goodness' sake, June, it's children's nursery rhymes, not Songs of Praise."

June opened her mouth to argue, but Marjorie had turned to her computer in a manner that said Do Not Disturb.

June left the office, trying to ignore the tightening in her chest. It was almost five o'clock, so she began the closing-down routine. As she tidied up the abandoned books and newspapers, she pictured all the expectant faces at Rhyme Time, the children and parents watching her impatiently, waiting for her to speak. June let out an involuntary shudder and dropped a pile of newspapers on the floor.

"Do you need a hand, my dear?" Stanley Phelps was sitting in his chair, watching her.

"Thanks, but I'm fine," she said, picking up the scattered pages. "It's five o'clock now. I'm afraid it's time to go home."

"May I request your assistance first? 'Organize liaison to prevent this.' Nine letters, first letter i."

June thought for a moment, breaking the clue down in her mind like he'd taught her. "Could it be 'isolation'?"

"Brava!"

Stanley Phelps, who enjoyed historical fiction set in the Second World War, had come to the library almost every day since June started working there ten years ago. He wore a tweed jacket and spoke like a character from a P. G. Wodehouse novel, and she pictured him living in faded grandeur, sleeping in silk pajamas and eating kippers for breakfast. The Telegraph crossword was one of his daily rituals.

"Now, before I leave, I have a little something for you." Stanley reached into a crumpled old bag and pulled out a small bunch of wilting flowers held together by a piece of string. "Happy birthday, June."

"Oh, Stanley, you didn't have to," June said, feeling herself blush. She never discussed her private life with anyone at the library, but years ago Stanley had somehow discovered her birthday, and he'd never once forgotten it since.

"Are you doing anything special tonight?" he said.

"I'm just seeing some old friends."

"Well, I hope you have fun. You deserve a grand celebration."

"Thank you," June said, staring down at the flowers so she didn't have to look him in the eye.



At five thirty, June stepped outside into the warm early-summer evening. She locked the heavy library door and made her way down the Parade, past the village shop, the pub with Union Jack bunting fluttering over the door, the old bakery where she and her mum had bought jam doughnuts every Saturday. A couple of library patrons were standing outside the post office, and June nodded a silent hello as she turned down the hill, past the village green and the Golden Dragon takeaway, and left into the Willowmead estate. Built in the 1960s, it was a rabbit warren of identical semidetached houses with boxy gardens and wheelie bins sitting in front driveways. It was here that June had lived since she was four years old, in a house with a green front door and faded red curtains.

"I'm home!"

June took off her cardigan, left her shoes on the rack, ready for Monday morning, and went through into the lounge. One of the picture frames was crooked and June straightened it, frowning at the frizzy-haired, braces-wearing teenager staring back at her. Thankfully the braces were long gone, although she was still stuck with that crazy mass of brown curls, now tamed every day in a tight bun. With the picture back as it should be, June crossed the living room to the large bookcase that filled the left-hand wall, crammed with neat rows of spines. Adichie, C.; Alcott, L. M.; Angelou, M. She found the one she wanted and carried it through to the kitchen, where she put a frozen lasagna in the microwave and poured herself a glass of wine.

There was no sign of life, the house still, apart from the faint noise of a TV from next door. June picked up this morning's post: a flyer about bin collections and a copy of the Dunningshire Gazette. She checked inside the paper in case any birthday cards had got caught up inside, but there was nothing. A small sigh escaped June's mouth and she took a gulp of wine.

Excerpted from The Last Chance Library by Freya Sampson. Copyright © 2021 by Freya Sampson. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.