I think of the teetering pile of paperwork on my desk upstairs and groan. When I became a librarian, I had dizzy visions of inspiring readers and working amongst books all day long, my fingers touching authors’ words and handing them down to generations. I also had a very rosy view of the old Browne book-issue system, picturing myself flicking quickly through the cards and staring over the top of my glasses at people. The reality is that I don’t wear glasses, the library card system was thankfully replaced with an online version, and I spend so long on paperwork that the only reading inspiration I provide is when I recommend a book to someone on the Tube. However, I love the job passionately, and I could never do anything else.

I ease back from my thoughts, and a quick check of the clock tells me that it’s break time. “Sue, you’re up,” I call.

“Ooh thanks, Charlie,” the older lady says. “My feet are bloody killing me.”

“Were you out dancing last night?”

“We certainly were.” She laughs. “The bruises on my feet from my husband will stay with me for the rest of the week. The jive doesn’t make allowances for his size twelves.”

“Was he always a bad dancer?” Bethany asks.

Sue smiles. “Oh yes, but he was gifted with talented moves in other and much better areas. The man’s hips are poetry in motion.”

“I will never look at him the same way again,” I say faintly, and she giggles and moves off towards the back of the library and the door to the staff areas.

I lean more heavily against the counter, enjoying the peace that usually descends at this time of the morning. The first rush is over, and now the library has an air of quiet bustle. We’ll pick up again as it gets closer to lunch and people come in to use the computers. I can feel tiredness tugging at my body, but I refuse to give in and straighten up instead.

“Why didn’t you take the first break?” Bethany asks chidingly.

“Why would I do that?” I pull the stack of books towards me that the little sex pest left behind and grab the Tipp-Ex from the drawer.

“Charlie.” Something in her voice makes me look up. “You look knackered,” she says quietly.

“I’m fine,” I say automatically. “Just a few late nights.”

“Oh really? You would need to have lived the life of Mel Gibson to earn the massive circles under those pretty eyes.” I smile but don’t answer, and she sighs. “You’re on break next,” she says firmly. “And you’re going to stay up there. I’m sure you’ve got stuff to do in your office. Like sleep on the sofa or pass out on the floor.”