You Will be Able to Draw by the End of This Bookby Jake Spicer
Field Notes from an Unintentional Birder: A Memoirby Julia Zarankin
By My Hands: A Potter’s Apprenticeshipby Florian Gadsby
The Curse of the Boyfriend Sweater: Essays on Craftingby Alanna Okun
22
Alfie is helping a regular customer choose a birthday present for her niece when Tilly Nightingale arrives on the first of May, red hair worn in a long braid tied with a green bow that matches her vintage-style dress. Usually, Alfie would relish taking the time to find something perfect for a customer but it’s hard to take his eyes away from Tilly as she walks up to the counter with a bounce in her step.
She looks different somehow, not just because of the braid or the fact she’s shed her usual scarf and coat. Her arms are bare and covered in nearly as many freckles as her face. She seems to … sparkle. Alfie shakes himself, trying to pull his attention back to the customer, but not before he spots Tilly looking around, a smile lighting up her face when she spots him. He gives a little nod, then turns back to his customer.
As he gives a synopsis of each of his suggestions he half listens to the conversation between Tilly, Blue and Prudence at the till. Tilly recounts her Parisian trip, telling them all about the bookshops and galleries, bakeries and parks.
Alfie’s customer weighs the options in her hands. ‘Hmm, I like the look of all of them. You’re not making it easy for me.’
Over the customer’s shoulder Alfie can see Prudence handing Tilly this month’s book from its spot on the collection shelf. Blue heads over to continue unpacking a delivery but Alfie and his customer are in a tight spot in the shop, soBlue takes hold of Alfie’s hips and moves him to one side with a ‘Thanks, my love’.
‘I think I’m going to take this one,’ Alfie’s customer says decisively.
‘Great choice,’ replies Alfie, spotting Tilly looking in his direction, her latest book tucked under her arm. He hopes she might stay long enough for him to hear about her adventures himself and maybe even get to see her open May’s book. But before he has time to speak to her, she waves and is gone, leaving behind a faint smell of apples and vanilla.
‘Did you hear about Fred’s café closing down?’ the customer says as she pays for her book.
‘Oh no, that’s terrible,’ says Prudence from the children’s section where she is reorganizing the picture books after a toddler decided to pull every single one from the shelves.
Prudence has suggested moving the children’s books to a higher shelf but Alfie thinks that rather defeats the point. His youngest customers might make a mess but he wants them to grow up thinking of books as things that can be touched and played with and enjoyed.
‘It makes you wonder, doesn’t it – which local place will be next?’
Alfie reaches for the brown paper to wrap the customer’s book, focusing on getting the corners neat.
‘It has been a little quiet in here recently …’ says Blue.
‘But people have been ordering plenty online. And I’ve got lots of author events lined up for the summer. The shop is going to be packed.’
He wonders if they can tell that he’s saying it as much to reassure himself as them. It’s getting harder to put on a brave face, especially since receiving the letter in March informing him that their annual electricity bill is going up, just like every other utility bill.
‘But do young people actually read books any more?’ says the customer.
At that exact moment the door opens and a girl around fourteen dressed in short dungarees bounds in, followed by her mother. The girl heads straight for the Young Adult section, carefully reading Alfie’s handwritten reviews attached to the shelf.
‘Mum, can I have these ones?’ says the girl, handing her mother a small stack of books and giving Alfie a rush of satisfaction.
But the girl’s mother takes out her phone and snaps photos of each cover, before handing them back and saying in a clipped voice, ‘We can get these much cheaper online.’
Once they’re gone Prudence lets out a groan.
‘See,’ says the customer.
‘The bloody cheek!’ cries Blue. ‘That woman was wearing Louboutins, for Christ’s sake.’
‘That almost never happens,’ Alfie lies, swallowing hard.
The truth is, when he saw the ‘Closing Down’ sign in the window of Fred’s café it had shaken him too. He remembers his father taking him there when he was young. The café is part of Primrose Hill, just like the red telephone box at the end of the street and the pastel-coloured houses. Just like Book Lane.
His hand hovers over the rolls of ribbon he keeps behind the desk. He chooses a bright shade of yellow, wondering if this customer’s relative will appreciate it or whether it’s a waste of time. And money. But the bookshop has always wrapped their orders in ribbon for as long as he can remember. It’s just one of the small things he has never wanted to let go of, determined to keep the shop as it has always been.
