‘Trev!’ I chirped as he stiffly shook my hand. ‘So great to meet you in person! I’ve got us a spot over here, where we can chat without being disturbed.’ I gave Irene a firm smile, and she wrinkled her long nose to reassure me that she’d be keeping well away from the riff-raff.

We spent the next hour doing some simple assessments to find the best place to start. The vast majority of new readers found even contacting us a huge hurdle, and before I could help with anything else, I often had to help them overcome a lifetime of shame, fear and low-to-no self-esteem.

Trev’s was a familiar story. I fetched us both a mug of over-stewed tea from the machine, and he tentatively began to describe how he’d fallen behind at school due to what he described as a ‘mad’ home-life. Once he’d missed the basics, there was never the chance to catch up, and he’d covered up being so ‘stupid’ by messing about and getting into trouble. He hung his head in shame when he confessed that he’d spent decades in and out of prison, and for a long time he couldn’t see any way to break the cycle, even if he’d wanted to.

‘So, what’s changed now, Trev?’ I asked. ‘I know it’s not easy facing up to something like this, let alone asking for help. What pushed you to call our number?’

He ducked his head. ‘Well, I know it’s hard to believe, but I met someone.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah. Who’d a thought it at my age!’ Trev was fifty-one, but he looked nearer to seventy. ‘We met at the pub quiz. I can’t write the answers down, but I know enough not to embarrass meself. Anyway, we got to talking, and I thought, Bloody hell, Trev, she’s a proper lady, this one, she deserves better than a deadbeat like you. So, me brother gave me the number for this. I’ll probably never see her again, but I want to be ready so next time I click with someone, I can at least send her a text without spelling mistakes.’

Which was such a lovely reason, I had to scoot back over to the hot drinks machine to hide my watery eyes.

Trev left once the hour was up, earnestly clutching his new workbook, and I started packing up my bag, becoming aware of Irene, sturdy shoes planted two feet apart, hands on hips, berating someone just out of sight in the adult fiction section.

‘The library is closing in ten minutes; you must return your book now and be on your way.’

‘Please let me stay for the ten minutes!’ a child’s voice replied, carrying a faint Liverpool twang. ‘The Ringwraiths have found Frodo and I have to know what happens! I’ll just read for another eight minutes, then put it away. Six! Five, even!’