During a momentary lull, when it’s just the three of them in the shop again (or four, if you count Georgette who is now awake and playing with a roll of Sellotape on the floor), Blue jumps up from where she’s 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, who looks 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 novels tucked under their arm.
Whatever might have happened between her and Alfie, the thought of the shop closing feels just 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 lifts 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.
Mr Theo Manning – likes natural history and non-fiction. Does not like novels. Favourite book:The Salt Path, Raynor Winn
Miss Cleo Martin – likes books with strong female leads and magic. Favourite book:Amari and the Night Brothers, B. B. Alston
Alongside the notes are contact details and lists of books they have bought.
‘It’s a record of all the Book Lane customers,’ Tilly says.
Blue peers closer, running a finger along the page. ‘Some of this looks like Alfie’s writing but a lot of this must have been written by his father.’
‘I imagine it’s how he managed to keep things running so smoothly when he took over,’ says Prudence. ‘It’s like the bookshop bible.’
Tilly flicks through a few more pages, skimming over the painstakingly recorded notes detailing hundreds of customerswith completely unique reading tastes. How many of these customers’ lives have been altered by the books they bought here? She turns quickly towards the middle of the book until she finds ‘N’:Matilda Nightingale.
There is a list of all the books Joe ordered for her, as well as everything she has bought herself this year.
As well as the books there are a few notes.
Likes cats and Yorkshire tea, crafting and running (sometimes). Does not like camping. Favourite food: pasta.
A smile creeps across her face. Flicking further through the book, she notices something poking out at the back and pulls out a handful of photographs.
‘Oh wow. Blue, Prudence, look at these.’
There is the photograph that Alfie showed Tilly on his phone – the one of his father stood in the middle of the bookshop holding a stack of books – but there are more too. There’s one that must be Book Lane’s first day, a red ribbon tied across the door and Alfie’s father beaming at the camera, joyfully holding the hand of a tiny woman who could only be Alfie’s mother.
And there’s one that makes Tilly’s heart tighten: Alfie’s father holding the shop ladder at the bottom, two children stood on the rungs above, laughing at the camera. A young girl with pigtails, and there on the rung above, with a gap-toothed smile and hair that is just as messy as Tilly is used to seeing it now, Alfie. He is wearing a jumper with a dinosaur on the front that is a little too short for him. His face is lit up with an open, carefree smile, his eyes squeezed half-shut. Looking at the photo, she aches for the little boy laughing at the camera, confident that his dad’s hands are firmly on the bottom of the ladder, steadying him.
