‘I think it’s Cece you have to thank,’ grinned Noah.
‘Nonsense,’ Cece protested. ‘You were the one who helped him out with that knotty issue of Gyndor being his own uncle.’
‘Still,’ Noah added. ‘I don’t think it hurt our chances that you agreed to go on a date.’
Cece wrinkled her nose. ‘It’s hardly a date. I said I would take that great lump Dottie to the groomers with him to get her claws clipped. And maybe we’d get a coffee while we wait.’
‘Sounds like a date to me,’ Noah said.
Thirty-Seven
The fandom was already bristling with news of Tom’s first public appearance in years. But this was going to blow things up. I hesitated to pull the trigger. If it fell through, I’d be public enemy number one. But there wasn’t room for doubt. I had to be decisive, there was so little time left.
And so, fingers shaking, I started to type. Thirty minutes later the phone started to ring off the hook. Oh boy.
Of course, the announcement was greeted with scepticism in some quarters. But sceptical or not, with the long-awaited news about the penultimate book in the series finally out there, things really started taking off.
I tracked the announcement over various platforms with the aid of some analytics software. It spread like wildfire, just as I’d hoped, going viral before the day was through. And that was not the only way to judge the success of this promotion. Straight away the number of ticket sales took a huge leap upwards.
Whereas before we’d sold only a few hundred, now it was thousands. And counting. Glued to the laptop screen, my mouth was dry as I watched the numbers mount. I suddenly realised the enormity of what I’d done. I started to shake. What if it all went wrong?
Now that he was fully on board, Tom was making a thorough pest of himself about ticket sales, his ego not happy with anything less than record numbers. Finally, I had to get firm with him, reminding him that he had better get busy writing if he wanted to be ready by Friday. I did manage to wheedle a chunk of money out of him, which when added together with a whip round we did in the Nelson allowed me to put together a fairly substantial digital advertising campaign. Ticket sales crept up yet again.
The night before the big day, I lay curled up in bed checking, double checking, and triple checking my to-do list. As far as I could tell, all the many boxes had been ticked off. Closing the laptop, I lay back against the pillow, looking around the room at all of its now-familiar features. I realised it had morphed into something more than just an impersonal space. I had my own little library of books, hand-picked by Alex, which had appeared one morning with a note that read, Thought you’d like these, decorated with a little smiley face.
On my desk sat a framed picture of me and Wolf on the moors, our hair windswept, both of us grinning madly, Alex behind the camera. Then there was Wolf himself, curled up on the cosy dog bed we’d bought for him, snoring gently. For the last couple of weeks, I’d enjoyed joint custody of the Great Dane and had him with me on alternate nights.
The place was starting to feel like home, and yet I was scheduled to leave this Sunday. With all the madness and drama of the last few weeks, that fact hadn’t really sunk in until this moment. And as much as I wanted to get back to London, and sort things out with Phil, I couldn’t help feeling a stab of regret at leaving this room, and the bookshop, and all of my new friends; Alex more than any of them. In fact, I felt a bit tearful as I switched the lights out and curled up under the sheets, snug in one of his old T-shirts, and tried to get some rest for the big day tomorrow.
Thirty-Eight
Friday went by in a blur as the clock ticked down to seven pm, the hour of the reading.
Outside, groups of people in costume began to gather. The production manager and camera man turned up. Janice helped them get everything ready for the streaming broadcast.
‘One less thing for you to worry about,’ she said.
‘That’s brilliant, Janice. Thanks. You’re an absolute star.’
She looked at me carefully. ‘How are you holding up? You must be knackered.’
‘A bit,’ I said. ‘But it’ll all be worth it if we pull this off tonight.’
‘Alex is lucky to have you,’ she said.
I frowned defensively. ‘I’m not sure “have” is how I’d describe it. I will be leaving on Sunday, you know. I can’t stay here forever.’
‘Why not?’ she said. ‘I can think of worse fates. And as for London, let it take care of itself, and your crappy boyfriend with it. Better off without him, if you ask me.’ Janice was nothing if not blunt.
With nothing left to do, I fussed about the room, straightening the curtains, moving a chair a millimetre one way and then putting it back, trying to keep my nerves in check. When I checked my phone again, it was already five thirty-seven. It felt like time was a whirlpool, speeding up alarmingly.
Tom was scheduled to arrive at six for a brief run-through. Cece had agreed to go and pick him up at five-thirty and calm any last-minute nerves. At five-forty, I went over to the window and stared down at the road, hoping to see Cece’s Mini come rolling along it. But as the minutes passed, and six o’clock came and went, there wasn’t any car in sight.
6:02, 6:04, 6:06…
With every minute that passed – every second, actually – the sinking feeling grew more intense.
At six-fifteen, I decided to call Cece and see what the holdup was. She answered on the third ring.
‘Hey Daisy,’ she croaked. Her tone filled me with dread.
‘Oh no, what’s happened?’
‘Tom doesn’t think he can go through with it.’
I ran a hand though my hair, panic flooding my whole body.
‘But he has to.’
I peered out of the window onto the street. The throng had got bigger. A carnival atmosphere seemed to be building. One entrepreneurial soul was selling dubious looking hotdogs. Another was playing a lute.
‘He’s an absolute wreck, Daisy. I knew this was going to be hard for him, but I had no real idea just how difficult.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘In his study, pacing about frantically, breathing into a paper bag.’
Oh God, they hadn’t even left yet.
‘Put him on,’ I said firmly.
Cece hesitated. ‘You’re not going to shout at him are you, Daisy?’
‘Of course I’m not going to bloody shout at him!’
‘All right. Just a minute.’
Through the receiver, I heard footsteps, a knock at the door, and then a low mumble. After another few seconds, a man’s unsteady breathing.
‘Tom, is that you?’ I asked as delicately as I could.
‘Daisy, I’m so sorry, but I can’t go through with this.’
‘Listen, Tom, we’re all here for you. Me, Alex, Cece, Noah. There’s no need for nerves. We’ve got your back.’
‘It’s not that,’ he said. ‘What if they don’t like it? What if I’m a laughing stock?’
‘Impossible,’ I said. ‘Would the Elden of Tarf worry about that? Would the fearsome Lady Beaumont? The man who wrote those kick-ass characters should never be afraid.’
‘You read my books!’
‘Guilty,’ I said. ‘Meet your new number one fan.’
There was a long pause on the other end of the line.
‘You’re right, Daisy. The hero must always vanquish his enemy. Fear is my enemy and I must slay it. “Do one thing each day that frightens you,” Mother always used to say. Well this ought to last me for a year.’
He was gearing up to make a speech.
‘So are you cool?’ I hurriedly interrupted.
‘As a cucumber,’ he answered.
‘Great! You won’t regret it, Tom. I promise you, we’re all here for you. But if you could get your skates on and hop in Cece’s Mini
, that would be wonderful.’
‘Darling, I really feel I ought to have a whisky first.’
‘Just the one though, Tom. A quick nip. We need you here in the next ten minutes.’
‘Okay. I hear you. See you shortly.’
Putting the phone back in my pocket, I breathed a huge sigh of relief as Alex entered the upstairs room, carrying a tray of canapés. Seeing the flustered look on my face, and the empty room, he put two and two together. The upbeat expression he’d struggled to maintain all week crumpled.
I held my hand up. ‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘Disaster averted. Tom’s on his way.’
‘You’re sure?’ he said.
‘Positive,’ I said. ‘I just spoke to him.’
Now it was Alex’s turn to sigh deeply. ‘This thing has been making me think about my dad a lot. I know it was years ago, but I maybe haven’t dealt with him passing as well as I thought I had. We don’t always talk about our feelings as much as we should, us men.’
‘Well, I’m sure he’s looking down on you now and couldn’t be any prouder.’
Alex held a hand up. ‘Stop it,’ he said. ‘You’ll start me blubbering.’
I smiled. ‘Nothing wrong with that,’ I said. ‘After all, if I hadn’t bawled my eyes out when I first met you, we wouldn’t be standing here right now.’
‘And if you hadn’t walked into my life at that point, I’d have lost the bookshop and been out on my ear.’
‘You don’t know that,’ I said.
‘I do know that. You’re a bloody miracle worker, Daisy Monroe. Don’t let anybody ever tell you otherwise.’
I found myself leaning into him, my forehead on his chest. I felt the impression of his body as he rested his chin on top of my head. It felt right. Totally natural. I knew I should step away, but I couldn’t.
‘We’ve got this Daisy,’ he murmured into my ear.
We both jumped apart as we heard the creak of floorboards behind us a second before the door flew open. It was Geoff and Auntie Lou.
Geoff looked embarrassed, eyes glued to the floor, but Auntie Lou grinned and winked at both of us. ‘About ruddy time you two got it on.’
Our guests were starting to arrive.
Thirty-Nine
By a quarter to seven, all the guests had arrived and an air of keen expectancy hung over the reading room.
Outside, a few photographers slouched around smoking cigarettes and drinking the mugs of tea Janice had thoughtfully provided.
The select press I had managed to beg, bully and cajole into attending the reading were already inside, milling around sipping prosecco and chatting to the local dignitaries – the Mayor of Upper Finlay, various members of the Ladies’ Guild, The Editor in Chief of the local newspaper. And Auntie Lou.
The camera was set up in one corner, aimed at the lectern, the video feed safely connected. After confirming this for the umpteenth time, I checked the ticket sales again. I did the maths quickly. Holy crapola, even with the ten percent commission we had to pay out, this was going to wipe out a pretty chunk of Alex’s debt. This was either going to be an utter catastrophe or an unbelievable success. I practised my deep breathing.
I kept scanning the back street for any sign of our all-important guest. But the longer I stared, the more I started to wonder if there’d been yet another cock-up. Maybe Tom had jumped out of the car at a set of traffic lights, and run for the hills, leaving Cece and Noah stranded in his wake.
The crowd was getting a little restless too, and their sense of expectancy was starting to give way to a few sceptical mutters. But just as I was starting to fear the worst, the green Mini finally turned the corner, whizzed up the road, and screeched to a halt outside the bookshop’s front door. Wasting no time, Cece jumped out the car and raced around the passenger side. She held her hand out and Tom took hold of it after a few more hesitant moments. Emerging from the vehicle, he blinked several times into the flashlights of the paparazzi.
Tony made sure the small crowd didn’t get too close and Tom chatted with the fans for a moment, signing books and taking selfies. I gritted my teeth and tried not to spontaneously combust from impatience. We needed to start.
Finally, Tom seemed to remember why he was actually there, and he headed towards the bookshop, a little unsteady on his feet.
Rosie and Jim were suited and booted, handing out canapés and some sparkling wine that a local vineyard had given us for free in exchange for a bit of product placement. I reminded the production team to get a shot of the bottles into the stream at some point. Just doing my bit for the British wine industry. I was practically the patron saint of grapes.
Alex and Joe were talking and laughing with an elegant looking woman who I thought might be their mum. I caught Alex’s eye and he beckoned me over.
‘Daisy, meet our mum, Maria.’
‘Hello Daisy,’ Maria said with a warm smile. ‘I’ve heard nothing but your name out of these two for the last month.’
Her eyes were chocolate brown like Alex’s, radiating warmth, and she spoke with the faint trace of an Italian accent.
‘Muuuum,’ Joe said, suddenly a little boy again, practically stomping his foot. ‘You’re so embarrassing.’
Alex grinned.
‘I hope these two have been looking after you properly, especially after everything you’ve done for us. It’s really not on that they haven’t at least brought you round for dinner.’
Cripes, not another feeder in the family.
‘Is he here?’ Alex asked, meaning Tom. I nodded.
‘Come on Mum, let’s get you seated,’ Joe said. ‘We’ve reserved you a seat at the front. Guest of honour.’
‘Well, it was very nice to meet you, Daisy dear.’
‘You too,’ I said.
She kissed me on both cheeks, and on a cloud of perfume she was gone.
‘Do you want to get the introductions started and put the good folk of Upper Finlay out of their misery?’ I said to Alex, conscious that the stream was due to start any minute.
‘I’m not much of a public speaker,’ Alex said, pulling a crumpled bit of paper out of his pocket.
‘You’ll do great,’ I said, adjusting his lapel.
He looked great too. His tailored suit hugged his broad shoulders and he was wearing the tie I’d helped him pick out. Dark eyes stared back at me, his expression serious, no trace of his trademark smile.
‘We’ve got this,’ I said, mirroring his words from earlier. He nodded, took a deep breath and headed for the lectern.
Checking the laptop again, I saw that we were scheduled to start our broadcast in less than a minute and so I gave the sign to start filming.
Alex reached the lectern just as we went live, and tens of thousands of viewers from all over the globe joined us remotely for the event. I could feel the weight of their expectations sitting heavy on my chest. This was it. Tom was here. Against all odds I’d pulled it off. I just had to hold out for one last miracle. Could the eccentric Tom Benchley stay on script, or would this be a disaster of epic proportions? To be honest, I thought it was 50/50 either way.
The crowd quieted as Alex stared out at them. He looked poised and confident, although I knew inside he was a roiling mass of nerves.
He cleared his throat and took his glasses out from his jacket pocket. Putting them on he said, ‘Firstly, many thanks to all of you for coming here tonight and thanks to those of you viewing online. Here at The Bookshop Café in Upper Finlay we like to support our local authors. I know it was something my late father took great pride in and I’m glad I can follow in his footsteps tonight. That said, I’m not sure this particular author needs any help in getting the word out, what with him being a household name from Derbyshire to New Delhi, Caracas to Timbuktu…’
As Alex said this, we could all hear footsteps out in the hallway, adding to the sense of
drama, and then the door handle started to turn inwards. Taking this as his cue, Alex gestured to the entrance.
‘And so, without further ado, I give you Tom Benchley…’
The door swung open revealing Tom, who looked absolutely petrified and seemed rooted to the spot. I could feel my heart in my throat. Was he going to back out at the very last moment?
Cece spoke some final words of reassurance to Tom. Whatever she’d said, it seemed to do the trick. Tom made his way to the lectern, shaking hands with people as he went.
Cece joined me at the back of the room.
‘I thought he was just going to have the one quick drink to calm his nerves,’ I said to her.
‘I don’t think that man has ever had just one drink in his entire life. But don’t worry. I took the bottle off him after three.’
‘Good move,’ I said. ‘That would have been all we needed – Tom Benchley rolling drunk.’
‘Well it would be pretty entertaining,’ Cece said, giggling.
‘Not what I had in mind.’
She poked me in the ribs.
‘He’s here now, that’s the main thing.’
Tom had reached the lectern, which Alex happily vacated. Now he was gripping its wooden edges, his knuckles bone white. He looked over the heads of the audience, fixing his eyes on the back wall, and for a long time it seemed like that was all he was going to do. Finally, he lowered his chin and made brief eye contact with the front row of guests.
‘Hello, Upper Finlay…’
It wasn’t meant to be funny – at least, I don’t think so – but the whole room cracked up with laughter instantly when Tom said this. It was the kind of thing a rock star might have uttered when greeting a huge stadium audience.
Tom raised his eyebrows, surprised by the response, but also emboldened by its friendly nature.
‘Well, I must say it’s great to be in front of a home-town crowd,’ he said, ‘what with me being a native of this fine village.’
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