Chapter 15
‘So, how is the book business?’ asks Alfie’s brother-in-law, Stu, a large glass of Rioja held aloft. ‘Because I heard that indies are holding on by their fingernails these days.’
Alfie is sat in Tash and Stu’s open-plan kitchen in their Surrey home, on an armchair that probably cost more than he makes in several months. He can hear the giggles of his nieces in the playroom on the floor above and wishes he could be in there with them instead.
Tash whips her husband with the tea towel draped over her shoulder.
‘Don’t be such a pessimist. Just because you haven’t read anything since that Steve Jobs biography I gave you two Christmases ago …’
Instead of bristling, Stu looks up at his wife adoringly, saying, ‘Maybe you’re right, darling.’
Because, for all of Stu’s faults, Alfie can’t deny how besotted he is with Tash.
Which is why he doesn’t let himself react to the line of questioning that he has heard many times before, other than to say, ‘Business is fine, thanks, Stu.’ Which might be a lie, but Stu is the last person Alfie is going to talk to about his problems.
His sister turns back to arranging candles on a purple birthday cake shaped like a unicorn, as a loud squeal erupts upstairs.
‘But I’m just saying,’ says Stu, ‘the offer is still there if you ever want to come and work for me at Office World. You’d be selling office supplies not books – but retail is retail, isn’t it?’
Alfie tries not to wince. For him, selling books couldn’t be further from selling staples and printer ink cartridges.
‘Thanks for the offer.’
‘You’d have to buy a suit, though,’ Stu adds, glancing at Alfie’s faded jeans and moth-eaten jumper.
‘Stu, Alfie doesn’t need a job,’ Tash says as she carries plates over to the table, Alfie leaping up to take them from her arms.
She gives him a warm smile. She has his same dark hair, but hers is curly and worn pushed back behind a floral headband.
As his eyes meet hers it’s like looking at his dad, and he has to glance away as Tash says, ‘He’s amazing at the job he already has.
People love Book Lane. They always have and they always will. ’
Alfie forces himself to smile back, grateful for his sister’s confidence in him – even if it is undoubtedly misplaced.
‘Girls! It’s time to do the cake!’ Tash calls.
There’s a shriek and then the sound of thumping footsteps so loud that Alfie half expects to see a pair of trolls appearing in the doorway.
Instead his nieces charge into the room, Mia dressed in her birthday outfit of a tutu over combat trousers, and Mabel following in a Pikachu costume.
There’s much chattering as they gather at the table, Alfie having to brush something out of his eye as he watches Mia’s eyes widen at the sight of the unicorn cake, her sweet face glowing in the light of the seven candles.
He still remembers meeting her for the first time, back when she was a bright pink bundle who looked a lot like a potato – but a potato he fell instantly in love with, nonetheless.
Tash was glowing and proud, but the moment was tinged with the sorrow of absence.
‘Your dad should be here,’ their mum said, the first to voice what they were all thinking.
‘I know.’
‘He’d be so proud of you, Tash,’ Alfie said, somehow managing to hold the baby with one arm while wrapping his other arm around his sister and letting his mother lean her head heavily against his shoulder.
It was only when he left that he let himself break down.
They all tuck into the cake, and then it’s time for presents. Alfie hands over a flat parcel wrapped in unicorn paper.
Mia lets out a sigh far older than her seven years. ‘Uncle Alfie always gets us books.’
Across the table Stu stifles a laugh. ‘Got to keep the business going somehow, eh?’
As Tash elbows her husband, Alfie reaches for another, larger box.
‘I almost forgot, I’ve got another one here for you too.’
‘Glitter!’ Mia shouts as she unwraps the parcel and pulls out a pair of sparkly trainers. ‘And they light up! THANK YOU, UNCLE ALFIE!’ She throws herself into his arms and then pulls the shoes on and races off, Mabel following at her heels.
‘Well, I tried,’ he says, looking at the abandoned copy of The Adventures of Pippi Longstocking.
‘She’ll love it,’ says Tash, picking up the book with a fond smile. ‘I remember Dad reading it to me when I was little. It was one of my favourites.’
‘I remember that too.’
Later, as Alfie does the washing-up, Tash stands beside him drying, watching Stu chasing the girls around the garden, all of them roaring with laughter. An ache spreads through Alfie’s stomach. Too much cake.
‘I’m sorry he gives you such a hard time,’ says Tash as Alfie passes her one of the ceramic plates that are too delicate to go in the dishwasher.
‘We just worry about you sometimes. You work so hard and yet you’re still living in that tiny flat.
But I’m really proud of you, Alf. The way you’ve kept the shop going all these years … Dad would be really proud too.’
One of the plates slips out of Alfie’s hands and smashes on the slate floor.
‘Oh god, I’m so sorry.’
He immediately crouches to pick up the pieces.
‘Don’t worry about it. I’ve never liked these plates.’
‘In that case, I can smash some more of them if you like?’
Tash laughs, then pulls him in for a hug.
‘Thanks for coming. Mia loved her presents. You’re a good man, you know that, Alfie Lane? Don’t go forgetting that. And don’t you think that maybe …’
‘Maybe …?’
‘You know you’ll always be part of our family.
You’re a great uncle. But you’d be a brilliant dad too.
I know the shop is important to you, but make sure you don’t forget about life too.
I know Freya messed you around, and things were really hard in the years after we lost Dad, but …
well, life goes on, Alf. It has to, doesn’t it? ’
Her eyes glisten as she turns to look at him, the remnants of her daughter’s birthday tea scattered around them.
‘Life goes on,’ Alfie repeats, kissing her on the side of her head. ‘Thanks for inviting me today. You and Stu made two great kids.’
‘Love you.’
‘Love you too.’
His nieces squeeze him goodbye before Tash sends him off with a bag filled with leftover birthday cake, and he heads back to Primrose Hill alone.
The next morning, as he unlocks the shop, there are the usual bills and catalogues waiting for him on the mat, along with a postcard. The image shows a white sandy beach dotted with palm trees, the sun setting over the horizon.
Dear Alfie,
The sun is shining here in Bali (sorry to make you jealous).
I wanted to let you know I’m halfway through Beach Read and loving it. I think you described it as the perfect rom-com and I’d have to agree.
I hope all is well in the bookshop. See you again soon. I have a feeling I’m going to be needing more book recommendations.
Tilly Nightingale
Alfie pins the postcard to the shop noticeboard, and with no one there to see it he lets himself smile. But as soon as he opens the next letter in the stack of post, the smile slips from his face.
Tilly puts off turning on her work phone until she is back in her flat after the holiday and has unpacked her suitcase. She finds a dusting of sand in the bottom that brings back memories of their last evening when they joined a full moon party and danced the night away, barefoot under the stars.
As soon as she switches it on, the phone lights up with notifications.
She starts with the voicemails, and is surprised to hear Esmerelda Love’s voice filling her flat.
Tilly. We need to talk. I’ve had some ideas for the memoir that I want to run by you. Call me back as soon as you get this. I’ve been thinking about the cover too. What do you think about getting Annie to take the photo? Leibovitz, obvs. Call me back!
All of the voicemails are from Esmerelda, as well as ten of the emails, each getting increasingly irate about Tilly not answering. Esmerelda is screeching by the time Tilly reaches her final voice message.
I know your out of office said you’re on holiday, but this is really not acceptable.
I’m Esmerelda Love! I’ve got nine hundred and fifty thousand followers …
no, wait, nine hundred and fifty-three thousand.
How many do you have? Oh yes, that’s right, fifty.
I looked you up. And I bet half of those are your family.
You’re making me feel like you’re not interested in sharing my story.
I bet plenty of other publishers would be. CALL ME!
Her last words are shouted so loudly that Tilly expects her neighbours must have heard. Every instinct urges her to call Esmerelda back straight away.
‘Fuck this shit,’ Tilly says under her breath. She tosses the phone into her empty suitcase, makes herself a cup of tea and picks up the book she was reading on the plane. She was just getting to a good bit.