Jacqueline Wright called her office The Library Without Order. She even had a plaque made up to stick on the door, and another beneath it that warned those bearing liquids to steer clear or face the five foot nothing stick of wrath that would be coming their way.
Currently the plaques were hidden by her fiancée Edward and he in turn was hidden by the stack of four, grey, storage boxes piled one on top of the other in his arms.
“Explain to me why these are so important again?” he asked, doing his best to peer around the side of his burden to where Jacq stood with her hands on her hip, glaring at the overflowing shelving units as if doing so would cause them to miraculously part and create extra room.
“Sixteenth and seventeenth century dairies of course,” she explained, “and if I didn’t buy them then who knows, they call fall into the wrong hands, it’s lucky I the charity shop had me on speed dial!”