Dear customers,
It is with regret that we have to inform you that, after twenty-one years, Book Lane will be closing at the end of the month.
Thank you for your loyalty over the years.
Our final trading day will be 24th December.
Alfie Lane
Owner
Book Lane
Tilly pushes the door, the bell jangling cheerfully, jarringly at odds with her mood.
‘Alfie?’
Prudence and Blue look up from the counter where Prudence is on the computer and Blue is wrestling with a sheet of brown paper and a roll of tape. She 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?’ Prudence asks.
‘Yes. I can’t quite believe it. I mean, I knew the shop was in trouble, but everything’s been going so well. The crowdfunder, 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 twenty-fourth.’
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 like the world had given up on me. I doubt anyone else will hire me now. Not at my age.’
‘Which is fifty something?’ 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 here 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, or how they were always encouraged to browse and read for as long as they liked. So many of the stories mention Alfie. A book he chose, or went out of his way to find, but also his patience in listening to the stories that seem to just spill out when you’re in a bookshop.
