The Night Shifters

Tabatha Furlong always went the extra mile for her regular customers. She telephoned everyone when their books arrived and emailed the latest news about forthcoming publications. Despite her best efforts to revitalise the Catworth Library, it remained under threat of closure and the fire didn’t help matters.

#

When Tabatha arrived from London three years ago, she’d encountered an institution that was struggling to justify its own existence. The local council was keen to save money and claimed the library’s running costs were too high. Miss Chatham, the retiring librarian, was an ex-head-teacher who was stuck in her ways. “Libraries aren’t meeting places for idle gossipers,” she’d say. “They exist to provide the public access to reading matter.” 

In her view, clients should choose their books, present their membership card and vacate the premises as soon as possible. She didn’t encourage loitering. The booked-lined reading room offered little in the way of comfort. There was one comfy seat in the entire library. It was out of sight of the reception and often occupied by a gentleman called Jimmy. He was an elderly customer who snoozed away his daylight hours. He’d seen better days and so had the chair. There was also a child-sized rickety table and two matching plastic stools. They didn’t offer much of a perch for contemplation either. 

The library was more like a storage facility than a sanctuary for enquiring minds. If it was supposed to be the pulsating heart of a lively community, then it was screaming out for emergency resuscitation and a helping of defibrillation. Miss Chatham was the ruler of her kingdom. A world of potential stunted by archaic rules and warped by a closed mind.

Miss Chatham didn’t ignore all her customers’ requests. She made occasional compromises to prove she wasn’t a misanthrope. In the lobby area she had allowed a cork notice board. It bore scrappy cards selling second hand bicycles and washing machines, and she charged a weekly rate for its use. Most local societies had given up displaying the notices here because of the poor footfall. They preferred to alert everyone to their forthcoming events in the nearby supermarket. 

Miss Chatham saw the lack of interest as a positive. She didn’t want the public hanging around and asking daft questions. She wasn’t a tourist information service. “If you want to know what’s going on,” she’d say, “consult a newsagent. This is a library, for goodness’ sake.”

There were two identical plywood signs hanging above both the entrance and the reception desk. She painted the word ‘Silence’ in bold red letters. When the opportunity presented itself, Miss Chatham enforced the rule with relish. She’d peer over her glasses, raise a finger to her lips and emit a threatening hiss like a venomous serpent. Miss Chatham didn’t look kindly on further transgressions and often revoked customers’ membership cards for a six-month period.

#

Tabatha arrived from London three years ago to care for her father, who’d become more or less bed-ridden. She needed to be close to her dad and seized the opportunity to work in the local library. The library was a short bicycle ride from her father’s house; what could be more convenient? 

It didn’t take long for her to spot areas in the library that needed updating, and she was determined to make an impact. She outlined her plans for improving everything and presented her ideas to Miss Chatham. If Tabatha had been expecting approval, it wasn’t forthcoming. In no uncertain terms, Miss Chatham said ‘no’ to the entire list. 

#

After the frosty response from the retiring librarian, Tabatha held her council. Miss Chatham intended to leave an orderly establishment and made it clear, “the library is quite happy and works well just the way it is.” Tabatha’s interference wasn’t welcome under Miss Chatham’s regime, and no further discussion took place. The rule about silence in the library became a convenient way to avoid any talk on the matter. During her three-month probation, Tabatha made notes and extended her original ‘to do’ list.

#

After Miss Chatham left her post, Tabatha saw a chance to utilise all the library’s amenities. There were three decent-sized rooms that were never used, a staff changing room and a kitchen on site. She imagined the building playing a central role in the community. It had potential to be a nurturing environment for learning, meetings, and music events. 

The library had a Victorian ethos and ran on ancient principles. There were no computers, and the antiquated records system still relied on a postcard filed in wooden boxes labelled according to subject. Tabatha prepared a convincing proposal and approached the council to help fund the renovations.

#

Everything took shape with the unofficial help of an elderly gentleman called James McGuigan. Jimmy, as he was known, had been a regular visitor under the previous management and was often discovered dozing in the easy chair at the rear of the antiquarian section. 

In his time, he’d been a travelling sales agent for a specialised book company who sought and collected ancient tomes. His claim to fame was locating an original copy of the 1616 Illuminated King James Bible. It was a unique example of Jacobean Art and sold for £218,000 to an undisclosed bidder in the United States.

#

Tabatha and Jimmy discussed the plans for renovating the library. She had schemes to extend the library’s remit and encourage a wider range of customers. He loved her ideas and saw the exciting potential in her vision. Their relationship transformed his weary demeanour, and he gained a new lease on life. 

Jimmy was keen to transform the unused rooms in order to provide a welcoming atmosphere. He suggested installing a shower in the locker room for Tabatha’s use. “You never know when you might get a soaking on your bike,” he’d said. They both researched comfortable furniture for the reading room and even a coffee machine. She joked that he’d never leave if they bought all those out-sized sofas, and they laughed at the idea. Jimmy was a handy fellow and between the two of them they transformed the décor. He was also confident in the kitchen and often made Tabatha a hot snack and drinks during her busy day.

#

The unfortunate incident with the emergency services was probably just a misunderstanding. Roger Furlong had called the library late one afternoon and announced he’d had a ‘bit of a funny turn’. He wasn’t a man to feign illness, and Tabatha had to leave early. She had no choice; it was urgent. Jimmy was on hand, so that was fine. It wasn’t the first time he’d come to her rescue. It was simple; lock up and post the keys through the letterbox. She could check in the pile of returned books tomorrow.

#

Mr Furlong had fallen on the hall staircase, but when Tabatha found him he’d crawled into the front room. She invoked her first aid training and secured a splinter to his shattered forearm. The paramedics arrived within an hour which allowed her time to prepare an overnight bag. Tabatha thought it was odd that the lights were on as she passed the library in the ambulance. However, she had more immediate issues to distract her mind. 

The A & E at the Catworth Community Hospital was always busy on a Friday evening, and tonight was no exception. The triage nurse examined Roger and complimented Tabatha on her first aid work. “Yes, it’s a fracture,” she said. “Is he allergic to anything? I can offer pain killers.” The nurse was patient and caring however she couldn’t do much about the queue. The end of the week had arrived and the first of the evening’s casualties had arrived from the local bars. By the time Roger saw a doctor, the waiting room was full of bloody noses, bruised fists and boxed ears. They’d have to join wait for an X-ray. It was ten o’clock when Tabatha got the call from Leopard Security Service. “Is that Tabatha Furlong?”

“Speaking,” she said. “How can I---?”

“We’ve had an intruder alert at the Catworth Library---”

“A break in?” She looked at Roger, who shrugged. “I can’t believe, are you sure---?”

“You are the key holder?”

“Yes,” she swallowed, “Tonight was different, but yes.”

“Can you check the premises?”

“I’m at the hospital and---” 

Roger motioned for her to leave. “I’ll be fine, love.” She grimaced at him.

“The police will meet you there.”

“I’m on my way.”

#

The windows were dark when Tabatha arrived at her place of work. However, flashing blue lights illuminated the exterior facade of the sandstone building. Two officers were on a walkie-talkies and the air was full of squawking static and garbled transmissions. “Good evening.” He checks his note pad. “Miss Furlong?”

“What seems to be the problem, officer?”

He points up to a box above the doorway. The translucent white plastic is flashing orange and bleeping for attention. “I assume you have a key?”

Tabatha delves into her handbag. “I have a spare, here, somewhere…”

The officer confirmed Tabatha’s arrival with his colleague on the two-way and followed her as she gained entry and approached the security system. She turned a key to take command and silences the unit. A red diode shows an open point of access in zone one. It’s in the large hall that now hosts the learning resource centre.

The library is quiet except for the gentle hum of desktop computers in the room beyond the vestibule. Tabatha ventures into the communal space. There is a gentle pulse from twelve animated screen savers. Tropical fish, hot air balloons, and ballerinas drift across the monitors. In the far corner, a chink of light betrays a fire door left ajar.

“That’ll be your problem.” The officer points to the exit.

Tabatha shuts the offending door and the security box makes a series of three high-frequency pips. 

Squawks on the two-way tell of another incident happening in the centre of town. “Gotcha, control.” Splat-squawk-splat. “All sorted here.” He nods at Tabatha. 

She mouths a thank you and side-squints a nervous grin. 

“We’re on our way.”

The patrol car disappears as she searches for her phone. 

Tabatha couldn’t help noticing a smell of burned toast. She walked into the kitchen. Was that the source? There’s a mug of tea on the work surface. It’s still warm to her touch; but it couldn’t be. 

As Tabatha left the library, she mulled over the evidence and wondered. She calls the hospital. Roger is ready to be discharged. She has to collect her father.

It wasn’t until later that night she got a call from the fire service.

The End