This Book Made Me Think of You(90)

Alfie Lane, owner, Book Lane



Tilly pushes on the door, the bell jangling cheerfully, jarringly at odds with Tilly’s mood.

“Alfie?”

Prudence and Blue look up from the counter, Prudence on the computer and Blue wrestling with a sheet of brown paper and a roll of tape. Blue places the paper down on the table and lets out a sigh.

“I can never get the corners neat like Alfie does.”

“Where is he?”

Tilly glances around the shop, noticing more “sale” signs dotted around among the books. “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” plays over the speakers, and Georgette sleeps in a corner, oblivious.

The words from the notice roll around in Tilly’s mind. Closing at the end of the month.

Prudence and Blue glance at each other.

“He’s not here.”

“I take it you saw the sign?”

“Yes. I can’t quite believe it. I mean, I knew the shop was in trouble, but everything’s been going so well. The crowd funder, all the new orders…”

“We can’t believe it either. But despite how well it’s been going, it wasn’t enough. I think it’s hit him hard. He’s asked us to look after the shop until the end of the month.”

Tilly tenses. “He’s not coming back in?”

Blue shakes her head sadly. “We tried to convince him that people would want to see him, but I’m not sure he could face it. We figured looking after the shop for the next few weeks for him was the least we could do. I’ve loved working here. He’s always given me flexibility if I need to go off for auditions.”

“I don’t know what I would have done without this job,” says Prudence. “I felt completely lost after my teaching career ended. When I was forced out of my job, to be more accurate. I tried not working, but I hated it. It was like I’d stopped being a part of things. Like I’d given up. Or more accurately like the world had given up on me. I doubt anyone else will hire me now. Not at my age.”

“Which is fiftysomething?” Tilly says, attempting a smile.

Prudence smiles back, but it’s clear that her heart isn’t really in it. “It’s the end of an era, that’s for sure.”

Overhead, Michael Bublé sings about holly and carols, and they can hear the faint hum of Georgette’s snores. The door opens, the bell tinkling as a woman in a black puffer coat steps inside, looking around her.

“Is it true? Is the shop really closing?”

“I’m afraid so,” says Prudence.

“Oh, that’s such a shame. I love it in here. I remember coming in when my son was a newborn. I was having an awful day and just needed to get out of the house. A man who worked here rocked my pram while I browsed.”

“That would have been Alfie.”

“Well, I really appreciated it. It was the first ten minutes I’d had to myself in weeks.”

Tilly is in no rush to leave the shop, hoping that Alfie might change his mind and show up. Throughout the rest of the morning, more customers come in, bringing their stories with them. About the recommendations that helped them through a difficult time. Being allowed to browse and read for as long as they like on a tough day. So many of the stories mention Alfie. A book he chose or went out of his way to find, but also his patience for listening to the stories that seem to just come out when you’re in a bookshop.

In a momentary lull when it’s just the three of them in the shop again (or four if you count Georgette, who plays with a roll of Sellotape on the floor), Blue jumps up from where she’d been leaning against the counter.

“Your book, Tilly! I can’t believe we forgot. That’s what you came in for. Let me go and get it, I think I know where Alfie put it…Ah, here it is.”

She hands over a brown paper parcel tied with a Christmas-tree-green ribbon.

“Here you go. Quite a big moment. The last book.”

Tilly grips it tightly, trying to keep her hands from shaking.

“Are you doing OK?” asks Prudence, placing a warm hand on Tilly’s shoulder.

Tilly nods, slipping the book into her satchel. “Yes, thanks. I’m OK.”

The bell rings as the door opens again.

“Is the shop really closing down?” says a wide-eyed teenager dressed head to toe in black, looking quite a lot like they might burst into tears.

“I can’t stand this!” says Tilly once the teenager has left, sniffing and with a stack of YA novels tucked under their arm. Whatever might have happened between her and Alfie, the thought of the shop closing feels too much to bear.

“I know,” says Blue. “It’s awful.”

Prudence glances at them. “There’s something I want to show you both…” She reaches under the counter and lifts out a large leather-bound book, dropping it with a thud.

“Alfie’s book!” Blue exclaims. “You didn’t look, did you, Pru? He’s always so secretive about it…”

“I couldn’t help myself! I wondered whether there might be something in here that could help us. Look…”

Prudence turns the cover, letting the book fall open on a random page. Tilly sees pages of tightly packed handwritten notes, a mix of two different types of handwriting, one large and looping and the other smaller and more tightly spaced.